xkcd

by **Leery** » Sat Jan 05, 2008 9:37 pm UTC

running around inside myself
watching sunsets set the sky ablaze
tomarrow the night will come
but tonight, no night will stay
twenty four hours found us 20 miles away

lying on the sand, content to play make believe

told her i'd take her out of this world
into exotic places inside her skull
she looked at me, unsmiling, stared hard into my eyes
while we watched each other beneath the burning sky
she never blinked
nor did i

she got up and with a serious shrug
laughed at all the worries
swarming around us
and for a while we could do this

we worked for a while

by **Maseiken** » Tue Jan 08, 2008 1:38 pm UTC

Are we allowed Short Fiction/Prose?

I wrote:Silence isn't silent anymore, everything I'm not hearing is there, more so than when It's audible. My Computer whirrs at me as I try to sleep. It's been turned off for an hour, I know this because for some reason I noted the time as it's screen went blank, and my Alarm clock is flashing the current time across my eyes, even when they're closed, Everything is dark except the clock, and my eyes, that make whorling patterns across the dull canvas of my inner eyelids, leviathans drift on the horizon I cannot see, when I open my eyes I can see right through them to the wall that's flashing red. My retinal cells are breaking off and drifting around my eye, this is what I am seeing, I know it's what I'm seeing, what's there. But I can hear them call out to eachother, in the manner leviathans do, groaning and singing through the sea, and another sound is added to the silent Ensemble.
I drift to sleep on Sonatas and Rhapsodys.

For some reason, I can only ever be arty about lying in bed late at night.

Not sure about the last two lines or so, but I like it.

by **TheAmazingRando** » Wed Jan 16, 2008 4:06 am UTC

Got a couple (well, a lot, but only a couple I would bother sharing)

Smog
He spent the better part of the afternoon
 lying on his back
 pondering the existence of hell
 it didn’t rain.
 it rarely rained.
 but the ceiling fan spun 
irregular blasts of frigid wind
 rattled rhythmically against its bolts
 not unlike raindrops 

 which sizzled against the flames 
now rising from beneath his bed 
stygian hellfire lashing
 elysian rain recoiling 
cooled from above
 warmed from below 
and the two merged into vapor
 sour in his throat
 he closed the door 
and left it to settle

  He packed his things 
and drove up the coast 
escaping the cloud  
that enveloped his room 

a thick smog had settled over Los Angeles
 and a haze blew through San Francisco

I wanted to write something where white space was important, so I did:

Silenced
So ended every convoluted sentence
 all at once, I swear it,
 as though everything ceased in this
 broken down and 
----now 
----don’t be alarmed
 ----this is natural
 ----this is evolution
 ----this is progress
 ----this is revenge 
crying almost, without tears
 without eyes, much of them anyway 
without a voice, certainly
 but ceased like
 ----isn’t this want you wanted 
----a chance to start over
 ----and be redeemed?
 ----redemption is overrated
 ----you’re right
 ----don’t think of it like that
 a mouth dripping bile
 --------the words aren’t even coherent
 --------repackaged 
--------filth without obscenity
 --------or vulgarity
 like a stalactite dripping 
for the better half of a millennium 
--------filthy in the telling 
--------rotting of uncertain half-truths
 --------bold and ir-
 ----reverent abandon is all this is 
----reverent abandon 
----ok fine I will explain that no
 ----no, no it isn’t a contradiction, at least
 ----just hear just hear me out 
stopped in its progress by
 the hands of some
 not even malicious
 curious, awe-stricken 
wide eyed and
 --------reverent, honest
 --------but only in a literal sense 
wanting to touch and 
wanting to feel 
the earth move
 the distant rumble of some 
monumental change
 or the past reawakened 
in the clutch of some 
bespectacled tourist
 the ravages of time undone by
 the creations of time
 ----it’s almost unholy
 ----except there’s nothing more holy
 ----reverent abandon is to me
 ----the acknowledgement of something 
----beyond or above, more maybe
 ----knowing it and
 feeling it in a single grip 
----letting it go, respectfully
--------the words were poison
 --------from a finely honed tongue
 --------and it was without remorse 
--------that it was 
----ripped away from sanctuary 
----willingly 
----to embrace a chaos that is
 known to be tragic 
it wasn’t quite like this 
pardon the metaphor 
carried away, all that
 some poetic dream... 
but it stopped
 the words ceased to drip
 and it wasn’t 
----curiosity, mainly
 ----all else be damned 
--------torn away 
--------bloodied and writhing
 --------beaten into 
----subversion and perversion
 innocent and unplanned 
----reckless and untethered 
--------terror and silence 
--------only not so much 
----exonerated
 --------beaten; 
----released 
--------decimated 
------------The body was resting at
 ------------the bottom of a lake
 ------------somewhere unknown.

by **thecommabandit** » Thu Jan 17, 2008 11:13 pm UTC

I can't remember where the inspiration came from, but I just liked the line "Drowned in alcohol, you told me truths" and a whole poem flooded out. It even rhymed! It's a real poem!

Drowned in alcohol, you told me truths.
A gutter-bound confessional, instigated by booze.
We talked of life, of God and It All,
And wondered what to do, in our hazy drawl.
Shall we give up? Make now end of life?
Go out in peace, or do it with knife?
We decided no, we'd leave people behind
Who love us a lot and to whom we'd been kind.
So what do we do? How do we make sense
Of this life of change, secrets and past tense?
It was then that you spoke of size and of stars,
How small we all are, compared with quasars.
How little we matter in the grand scheme of things,
How even in our world, some manage to sing.

It was then as I saw your eyes to the sky
Reflecting the Universe, I found an ally.
Life is hard; we need help to persevere,
I'm not sure about you, but I've found mine here.
Your hair lit by sodium, head shrouded by hood.
It felt so right, so proper, so good
To be sitting here with you,
With nothing else to do.

You turned your eyes to mine, away from the heavens
But still in your eyes lingered the far suns,
Though my vision was blurred, I saw with clarity
The thoughts in your head, that with mine did agree.

We lay there till the dawn's grey light
Threatened to blind us, unlike the night
Who's star-soaked dark had shown us more
Than the light of the sun could have done while it soared.
Staggering away from our slab where we sat,
We leant on each other all the way to the flat.
When we fell through the door, we rushed to the bed
Hoping together that we could rest our heads.
We lay down betwixt, from wake and from dream
As through the window did fall a sun-beam.
As you drifted from sight, of one thing I was sure.
We'd awake with hangovers, and love, in the morn.

I want to give it a title, but none I come up with sound right; "Life in the Gutter", "The Hangover Revelation", "Of Love and Alcohol" and "Hangovers and Love" just don't work. I might call it "Gutter-bound Confessional" or "Drowned in Alcohol" but they seem a bit superfluous as titles when they're both phrases used in the first two lines.

So what's with all this putting the question marks at the beginning of lines? Seems fairly arbitrary to me.

by **l33t_sas** » Wed Jan 23, 2008 9:56 am UTC

I doodled the first six lines of this poem when I was bored in class one day. I later wrote some more and submitted it to an English class as an assignment. I'm fairly proud of it:

AHHH! It's Pubezilla, we must flee!
Who created this monstrosity?
A creature compromised of pubes.
Tightly curled in little tubes,
Snorting smoke and breathing fire,
Taller than the tallest spire,
Howling with ferocious power
See all the peasants cower,
As it grabs a villager by the neck,
The poor man is a bawling wreck,
“Have mercy!” he cries,
As Pubezilla reaches between his thighs,
And grabs the poor man by the hair,
The special type that grows down there,
And with many a angry roars,
He rips the hairs right from their pores.
And as the man draws his final breath,
He curses Pubezilla ‘til his death.

by **reflectia** » Fri Jan 25, 2008 8:44 pm UTC

Just something off the top of my head now...

Urbanite Sighs
The city breathes.

The days are bright and the snow
breathes like the wild growths
of the jungle
except in the city where the jungle
is concrete and twisted metal

and
the night breathes hush-hush
where the lights glow happily out of
buildings a hundred stories tall,
a story from each window,
a man wishing to be home,
a woman wishing she could take a nice
vacation somewhere exotic:tropical

and
Atlas carrying the world,
the weight of the world on his shoulders,
looks in the plaza at all the delightfully
busy people rushing about

and
wishes he had time to rush.

---

Feedback always appreciated.

by **Ren** » Sun Jan 27, 2008 3:53 pm UTC

The only change I'd make is to not re-use the word "breathes" in the third line.

Other than that, I really like it.

by **The Reaper** » Mon Jan 28, 2008 8:46 am UTC

I've got a couple, here goes.

Ode to a Slug I found on my Toilet

Spoiler:

My Tiny Jewel

Spoiler:

I Am

Spoiler:

Devil's Advocate

Spoiler:

Hurt

Spoiler:

Pain defines my existence.

Spoiler:

Hope you enjoyed

by **Maseiken** » Mon Jan 28, 2008 2:23 pm UTC

Oh, to be a Ferret!
their lives have so much Merit.
to inflict their namesake,
on burrowing rodents!
Oh, to be a Ferret!

Mitre was tricky, but I like it.

by **torritorri** » Wed Jan 30, 2008 4:01 am UTC

Hi guys. =]

So i'm a bit of a closet poet, I've never really showed my poems to anyone except a few close friends, hope you like it.

Oh, and please, be merciless. Constructive criticism and suggestions on how to improve are greatly appreciated.

this one was written on a beach, in the middle of the night.

The world is quiet here.

The waves crashing against the beach
Seagulls squawking overhead
A bell ringing somewhere out in the darkness
The water rustling against the pier
The wind whispering its secrets
Out here there isn't any drama
There aren't betrayals
There isn't any stress
No parents
No teachers
No homework
No job
No so-called "friends"
The solace allows you to focus
The quiet seems to be another reality
Just you and your thoughts
Far away from the hustle and bustle of life
Out here there aren't cars rushing by
No people in a hurry to get somewhere
You can hear your own heartbeat
And you have no choice but to reflect on who you are
What you believe
What life really means
It's as if you're separated from the real world
As if, for a moment, there's a little piece of heaven on earth
And just for a moment, it's almost as if you can hear God out here

by **George Orr** » Sun Feb 10, 2008 10:49 pm UTC

I wrote this poem on a plane. I rather like it...

Words to keep the dream alive
The dream of flying
Of wings and stars and sparks
Tumbling from the universe’s pores
One day you look, and
It’s all in front of you, the unity
Of it all

If only the unity were something other than the night sky
The charcoal shards piling up,
Falling back down chimneys
And breaking windowpanes
The purity, the oneness of it all
Is suffocating

But you shine like a mirror,
The light of learning
Or love
Really it’s all the same, all dreams
And hope,
Leaves on the end of so many twigs,
All humanity perched on the edge of winter

Ah, but the glorious tumbling fall!
If you’d seen what I’ve seen you’d know that there’s no regret there
All wishes have become colors
And all colors have become
The winter breeze
Biting through to my naked skin

I want no coat, I need
No master, I am
Delightfully cold
And crying, laughing
A midnight of emotions
Spilling forth
In the softest sunlight

I’m the little red bird
Perched there

by **zaftig** » Tue Feb 12, 2008 12:13 pm UTC

Sol-e

Estrelle, the center,
coordinates her spinning plates,
ages short of stable orbits.

Here, a dependent sphere
who flies in her personal space,
nuzzles nose-to-nose and then
flings himself to the farthest reaches
of maternal gravitation.

There a brooding giant,
jealous of the lesser closer,
struggles to ignite his plasma
powers beyond what she might dream.

Estrelle combusts her core
to beam their ultraviolet,
growing life in reliant atmospheres
while hers burns.

She sometimes
wishes to be binary.

by **Verdantis** » Wed Feb 13, 2008 4:19 pm UTC

Gladiolus

Sword lily, the flower of gladiators.
A golden stab in the heart,
too bright, too perfect, too earnest.
Arms curved gently like the keel of a ship,
warm embrace sagging like a cradle.
No far off shores though,
and no plain stretched roads.
Just a wish and love.
And maybe even home.

by **Aristead** » Fri Feb 15, 2008 8:00 pm UTC

Taking a Joyride in my fathers Jag,
Aimlessly circling for hours on end.
Going a little fast.
Driving a little strange.
Blue lights flashing suddenly in the mirror,
a distraction from the road.
Panic and confusion, a brief flash of fur.
Strange sounds break the days somber silence.
A thud..solid at the bumper, at the tires and the ground.
A canine whines as rubber squeals,
A siren droning and high pitched yelps of pain.
Unwelcome guest at my window, tapping with a club,
Inviting me out into the warm summer air.
Filled with reluctance, yet unable to refuse, I join him.
A death scene awaits,
pain and blood smeared on the ground,
pressed into the pavement underfoot.
Convulsing in pain, eyes darting about wildly,
the life pours out slowly at my feet.
Removing his gun, the Blue-man steps forward...
I stare in dis-belief as he aims, squeezes and a new sound joins the chaotic chorus.
A brief jolting shudder, and the struggle for life ends.
He explains that it is cruel to leave a creature to suffer,
That it was the only humane thing to do.
Tickets are written, apologies made,
and a lesson in kindness is learned.
Shaklily getting back into the car, I make my way home,
dreading the return to yet another scene of pain.
The Blue-mans words still play in my mind as I make my way through the door.
My fathers silence greets me as I near his room,
his door open as his nurse walks away.
He lies in his bed, being eaten alive.
His body's cancerous revolution gaining ground daily.
His agonized whimpers break the silence,
oddly familiar to a canines final scream.
I reach into the nightstand for my fathers Savior,
a household version of the Blue-Mans pain reliever.
He looks up and tries to smile.
Recognition and surprise.
Faint touch of fear.
Resignation and peace.
He closes his eyes and trembles his last.
A brief jolting shudder and the suffering is over.
The crying at my feet ends again.

by **Maseiken** » Mon Feb 25, 2008 5:24 am UTC

This is a (Much better) version of a poem I posted earlier:

Ode to a Ferret

Spoiler:

This one is unnamed, and could probably use some work.

Spoiler:

EDIT:
Why does Poetry always have to be so Serious?

by **Dr. Canadian Ninja** » Mon Feb 25, 2008 9:17 am UTC

I assume that all poems are to go here, because while it's not exactly incredible, I don't see other threads dedicated to poems.

Inspired by Alone. Not necessarily about the comic, but about the possibility of him with other women that couldn't engage that.

Spoiler:

by **Sour Apple** » Tue Feb 26, 2008 2:22 am UTC

Fresh off the press. It's shit. You may say so. However, the style is mine. I enjoy wordplay experiments.

aristotelian flight

I had to post a link because the <pre> code wouldn't work. Boo.

by **funnyav** » Tue Feb 26, 2008 8:02 pm UTC

[edit] I love yours, Sour Apple

hm. i feel like writing one now.
lets find some deep emotion.. hmm...
hmm...

oh. right there.

[poem]

Eat your soul
With a spoon
A rusty one
To make it hurt.

Eat my soul
Or maybe don't
No wait, do
I want you to.

Eat her soul
An impossible task
Three word poem
I wrote too fast.

[/craps]

That was fun.

by **elephantitis** » Thu Feb 28, 2008 2:36 am UTC

The coolest poem EVER:

The Reaper wrote:
Ode to a Slug I found on my Toilet
Spoiler:
Silly little slug, I didnt even know kentucky had you, and Lo, there you are.
on my toilet.
chillin
just chillin
what are you doing there litttle shellless snail? and how did you get there?
-poke- wakeup? -poke poke- ARGGGG ITS ON MY FINGER SLIMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
I guess I'll put you outside.
Be free! -flick- ARGGG ITS ON MY OTHER FINGER NOW -flick again- ARGGGG NOW ITS BACK TO THE ORIGIONAL
-hard shake- BE FREE
Odd little slug, crawling on my toilet.

Love.

by **Felstaff** » Thu Feb 28, 2008 5:00 pm UTC

During an English lesson,
I learnt,
That,
Poems don't have to rhyme at all!
And you can make up words,
Like folozle,
Magnog,
And most importantly,
Monoonongong.

by **Chevon** » Fri Feb 29, 2008 5:22 am UTC

Ren wrote:I dreamed you were the astronaut
Of the space inside my head
And I the cartographer
Of the wrinkles in your bed

This line has been stuck in my head for the past 3 weeks. And I'm still not sick of it.

Here's something I've been working on. Feedback will be rewarded with cookies! (Of the pixelated variety)

Leftie

Every day, I’m by her side.
We’ve never spoken.
I brush the hair from her eyes.
She sighs.

I could tell you
What makes her laugh,
What makes her quiet,
What makes her listen.

Nothing will change.
I brush the hair from her eyes.
She sighs.

“Someday, I’ll die”
She said.
But she didn’t mean it:
She was normal,
perfect.

She didn’t mean anything.
Not at all.

by **kellsbells** » Sun Mar 02, 2008 9:31 am UTC

Ren wrote:I dreamed you were the astronaut
Of the space inside my head
And I the cartographer
Of the wrinkles in your bed

When I read this, I was like "Whoa! Brain attack! Where have I heard this before?" And then I realized: it is almost identical to the lyrics of an Andrew Bird song. Weirdness.

The song is "Armchairs" off his album "Armchair Apocrypha".

Andrew Bird wrote:I dreamed you were a cosmonaut
Of the space between our chairs
And I was the cartographer
Of the tangles in your hair

by **Ren** » Mon Mar 03, 2008 11:59 am UTC

Mm, yeah, it's sort of a reference.

Takes away some of my cred, but whatever! I like *both* versions. That is all that matters.

by **kellsbells** » Mon Mar 03, 2008 11:39 pm UTC

I wasn't trying to take your cred. I like your version just as much. And heck, half of literature is references to the other half. That's what makes it good.

by **scrt_rbt_agnt** » Thu Mar 06, 2008 2:59 am UTC

one of my favorite references that i know of (in music).

bruce "the boss" springsteen wrote: "tramps like us/and baby we were born to run"

the hold steady wrote: "tramps like us/and we like tramps"

subtle, but awesome.

by **tiny** » Fri Mar 07, 2008 12:02 pm UTC

After the ferret has been honoured in this thread, I feel it wouldn't be too inappropriate to add a piece of poetry concerning cats.
Or, more precisely:

Some rhymes concerning the feline's dermis and temperatures below 294 K;
to be sung while on the way to the shower in said temperature
and watched by said animal, lying contently on it's hairy back

Do little kitties ever freeze
Or are they always warm and cozy
When they wear little furry suits
And only naked is their nosey

Kitties wear little furry shoes
Perfectly fitted 'round their calfs
And around their little necks
They wear little furry scarfs

They only freeze right after birth
But not for long - their mom sees to it
And licks them dry, as they have come
All drenched and soaked in ut'rine fluids

This his how kitties do become
One of the never freezing creatures
And to me this is the most
Attractive of these creature's features.

by **nsmjohn** » Sat Mar 15, 2008 5:17 am UTC

Currently reading my way through this thread and I love it. I haven't seen a single thing that I don't like. It has been more than a year since I haven't written poetry, probably a lot longer. I was (am) the moderator of a poetry section of a fora for a while but activity died off and the whole fora is a ghost town now. Since then I have had nowhere to read good poetry and post my slightly depressing pieces. Here is a few of mine, I didn't know how to not crowd them so I just decided to individually spoiler them. The first two are untitled, still. If anyone wants to suggest names I would appreciate it. This is also the first time I have let other people read the first two.

Untitled

Spoiler:

Untitled2

Spoiler:

Follow Me

Spoiler:

Let Go

Spoiler:

by **elephantitis** » Sat Mar 15, 2008 8:21 pm UTC

tiny wrote:And only naked is their nosey

AWWWWOMFGAWWWWWW! Kittehs! ^_^

Is that a Quills quote in your sig? That movie was nuts. I loved it.

EDIT: lhfsskjdfhls

Does anyone know how to use multiple spaces in BBCode? It refuses to show more than one between each character.

I know html, but I can't find anything for multiple spaces in bbcode.

by **Felstaff** » Tue Mar 18, 2008 11:50 pm UTC

The Freogan

We have similar tastes, would you like to be friends?
A cigar and ashtray, (undisturbed), is all I can offer.
Perhaps your diatribe was heeded; we need not talk,
Agreements and verbs, nods and gestures.

Apparently we are neighbours, would you like to come in?
I like your shoes, but not on the carpet.
Perhaps I will understand a brief sentence; here or there,
This time I respond with fervour in vision.

We share the same levels of passion. Respect for metre and verse:
That doesn't mean
That I will entertain your pleasures.

The Gritted Teeth

My ire
Visualised by the fire
of a spirited pyre
Is not something to admire

by **CaptainHands** » Sat Mar 22, 2008 6:14 am UTC

funnyav wrote:Eat my soul
Or maybe don't
No wait, do
I want you to.

that's awesome

i don't really know why though

i write quite a lot of poetry, though it's mostly all really serious, and i agree, poetry doesnt have to be serious at all... but i just don't get the inspiration to write funny things... i'm usually too busy acting like a spazz to actually sit still and write something...
anyway... here's a couple of things of mine that i don't think are entirely bad...

This one's about my girlfriend

Spoiler:

Marble Embrace

Spoiler:

Collections

Spoiler:

Not strictly a poem...but...

Spoiler:

again not strictly a poem, but it follows my poemy writing style. I think Baudelaire called them prose poems because he was cool

Spoiler:

a sucker got punched last night. that makes me sound proud but i couldn't be more ashamed. see, the sucker was a girl. but don't look at me like that yet. it wasn't as bad as that, even if it was. i always thought being a street-fighting man was exactly what i wanted. there's so much blind rage in me, and sometimes words just aren't enough. but i didn't choose a target, it chose me. it was always going to be at a bad oppurtunity. my girl looked so pretty tonight, now i can only think she sees an ugly side of me. it's strange how a situation can become an issue quicker than you can think. an innocent hello in passing was all it took. don't you even fuckin' say hello to me. it's strange how a situtation can become an issue quicker than you can think. i didn't have to pass a retort and it could have been forgotten. but she comes brawling across the street screaming something incoherent. it was then that i should have walked away, but she was chasing after us, and now she's in my face screaming even more incoherently. i look past a screaming shoulder to my girl looking frightened and i think i just want to get her out of here. but now i can't even think because i'm being shoved. there's real force behind those shoves. i'm so used to being light on my feet that i'm not scared. i ask her to stop. calmly i count her out a one two three but by now she's kicking me between the legs so her time is up. my knuckles meet her jaw and tell her what she was waiting for. and she crumbles to the floor. for a second i think she's dead, her face is suddenly so quiet and impassive. what have i done? i can't think. i can't think! it's scary how a situation can become an issue quicker than you can think. i'm in a daze and someone takes my hand and we run like the coward i am. i don't know how this girl can even touch me, but she's holding me close, as much for her as for me, and telling me it's going to be ok. i know it was in defence but i feel like a murderer. a vile inhuman beast. a fucking monster.

and a short story i wrote... i want to write more and more of this kind of thing (stories that is, not necessarily the style) cause i should be studying animation next year!
I Am Awake

Spoiler:

i have a hell of a lot more... tell me what ya think, the feedback would be much appreciated!

by **LavaLampMaster** » Sun Mar 23, 2008 12:49 am UTC

This is something I did for a poetry class I had, was probably the only one I wrote that I actually like. Manly due to the title... hehe

Go Figure

He takes a bucket of sand to a cold hearth
and douses an invisible flame.
He brings a sack full of stories to an empty home
and reads to unsees children.
He fills a car's trunk with flowers
for intangible bees
I ask why, and he explains to me why this must be done.
But I still don't understand.

by **Ren** » Wed Mar 26, 2008 7:23 am UTC

Western Wall
Went to the Wailing Wall
And there, oh there I saw
A thousand lonely people standing, staring

Death is upon us, death, death!
Darling, a sadness is coming!
And I shall cry my grey eyes blue
Blue like the eyes of a ghost, and blind

What have you lost,
What, what, there are so many of you...
With your hearts tied in knots, tied in braids
In the braids of all the girls you've fallen for
Standing, staring at this wall--what for?

"It is a hazy line between want and not-want
Between lust and lust lost
We thought we were all gamblers at heart
Until our cards turned up short."

Went to the Wailing Wall
And there, oh there I heard
A thousand lonely souls blushing, blazing, angry

Proof of the breezes that flatten cities
Proof of caresses that break jaws
And our eye contact is like a short, secret affair
Before I am going going gone
One last alleluia and I am gone

Stood by the Wailing Wall
Past a thousand years or more
And thought,
"If Bible stories were shot as photographs
If I could linger in the thick of these scary things
If it weren't too late to pick up the sticks
I would tell you all I love you"

by **schmiggen** » Wed Mar 26, 2008 7:40 am UTC

Goodnight
One of the easiest,
simplest pleasures,
and i avoid it like the plague.
Can't stop the search
for metacandy,
eating up the night.
I grow a headache,
cultivate the flowering
need for relief,
pulling up the slack of my life-line
like hair out of my head
as if i were tearing down barriers
between the world and my mind.
But I own this demon, now.
Goodnight.

by **slightlymadscience** » Mon Mar 31, 2008 7:27 pm UTC

For no particular reason whatsoever...I'll share my favorite (parody) Emily Dickinson poem.

I'll tell you how the fart rose,--
A dark fume at a time.
The classroom swam in methane,
The fumes like rockets flew.
Went right into our nostrils,
The sickness begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
"I think I had better run!"

But how it set, I know not.
There seemed a purple hue
That appeared on all the faces
That inhaled those vile fumes
And when I'd reached the classroom door,
And thought that all was well
The farter lit that methane gas,
And blew us all to hell.

(what can I say, I was in high school when I wrote that)

by **ErrantMind** » Fri Apr 04, 2008 4:59 am UTC

My timing is a little off season-wise, but I got a definite autumn feeling from today's weather. This is a first draft so any polishing advice would be appreciated:

St. George of Days

The light of autumn falls wounded on my porch,
Throttled with haze and stillness.
Netted and nestled in a hammock
I feel the press of sunshine's dying weight.

How can it be, that this fulgent beast
Which stalked the summer past,
Is brought low?

It was green-toothed and so fierce;
Pacing mad eyed behind stormclouds
Or stretching,
Long,
Slow,
And easy
Into nights of firefly dreamings.

Now though, sun's blood seeps,
Wicked down into cracked and rusty clay.
Soon the bones will bleach,
Weathering gray-white and cold.

by **Clumpy** » Sun Apr 06, 2008 7:50 am UTC

The Old Man and the Seahorse

Pale blond comrade
Fern and pebble and mock coral
Prefers silence like me

Fearsome lamb
The flotsam pipefish seadragon
Rests his bones like me

The Old Man and the Tea

Weary fumbling
Through the high cupboard
Jostling cumin

A second grasp
Yields a single teabag
Feeble triumph

The Old Man and the See-Saw

Blessed with patience
Thank Goodness
The rising plank directs the runoff

Here I crouch
A perfect game for one
I hope they find me soon

Second Grade

Thirty days hath September
April, June and November
All the rest have thirty-one
Except for August
Which has none

Stratus

“But it’s not about anything!”, she says

As tittering wet beads form on her forehead
Only to combine, lose focus and blot themselves
Out into her jacket lining
As the acrid air brought by the thunderheads
Piques my allergies but smells clean
Through the soot
As calloused earthworms seek sanctuary
Only to drown in heathen puddles

Another day, another debate

And words gather attempting speech
The worth of an author, a single curious semantic
That comes to mean everything to but one person
Hundreds of would-be lyricists pursuing
The Critic's ineffable spine-tingle
Scattering significance
Crucial and indivisible
Like eggs in cake

So she repeats again: "It doesn't mean anything!"
Still missing the journey

by **Moo** » Mon Apr 07, 2008 1:33 pm UTC

FOR PETER

the roles you played: in life, on stage;
though similar in many ways
were never really quite the same

yes, you gave your heart, your all
to each for which your name was called
and played them leaving us enthralled

but the script of your (our) lives
is not that good, and leaves behind
an audience unsatisfied

Not even a mediocre bard
Would craft lovingly such a part
To bow him out so soon, without regard.

Life does not always imitate art.

by **Moo** » Tue Apr 08, 2008 10:36 am UTC

I apologise for double posting.
The above is something I just needed to put down on paper*, you know? I even forgave it it's absolute refusal to cooperate (esp the last stanza aargh). I didn't want to post anything else in the same post as it.

I've always bemoaned my mediocre poetic skills, it's something I really wish I was good at. So my posting here is not to show anything off, but it is quite therepeutic, isn't it?

If you knew
all of the things
I did today-
The silly things,
The stupid things,
Just plain absentminded things;

(He he he)
(You silly girl)

You'd laugh and laugh
And shake your head;
But if you stopped,
And had a think,
You'd be very worried about me.

*Or whatever

by **NINnerd** » Tue Apr 08, 2008 11:41 am UTC

reflectia wrote:Just something off the top of my head now...

Urbanite Sighs
The city breathes.

The days are bright and the snow
breathes like the wild growths
of the jungle
except in the city where the jungle
is concrete and twisted metal

and
the night breathes hush-hush
where the lights glow happily out of
buildings a hundred stories tall,
a story from each window,
a man wishing to be home,
a woman wishing she could take a nice
vacation somewhere exotic:tropical

and
Atlas carrying the world,
the weight of the world on his shoulders,
looks in the plaza at all the delightfully
busy people rushing about

and
wishes he had time to rush.

---

Feedback always appreciated.

I would keep "breathes" in the 3rd line, but I would eliminate the 1st line ("The city breathes.").
This way the (now) 1st and 2nd stanza would both use the word. I would also add the word "sighs" to the Atlas stanza. That gives a hint of breathing, but in a more specific way.

by **NINnerd** » Tue Apr 08, 2008 11:43 am UTC

Ok, here's a poem from me. I have more, but wanted to start out with this one. Not sure how this will go over, but here it is anyways.

My groin is my enemy.
It is two-faced
And lavish with spite.

If egg-whites fall upon it,
Will they pop and cook or
Run down my legs?
Will there be dinner tonight?

I am closing the shop.
Applying a thin strip of
White silicone caulk,
Sure to run a finger along the line
To create a solid, yet flexible seal.

Thanks for reading. I'm still working my way through this thread, and I've seen some wonderful things so far! Everyone here is very talented.

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