ForumHobbies ► Poetry
[TotallyNotJaxon's great poem]

I had so much that came to my mind with that one that I decided to use pastebin cause I didn't want to put two huge paragraphs in this post.

Follow that link, anyone who wants to see what all came to mind. If it's too small to read, copy and paste it somewhere else. Ya don't know how much I wish I could write an essay on your poem than on a book I'm reading for class.

TL;DR That was really freaking good and you should keep up writing cause you're good at it.

Breaking diamonds down does in fact yield smaller diamonds. But tiny tiny diamonds are not interesting just because they're literally made of diamond. Consider a glass cutter - it's a metal matrix holding a lot of microscopic diamonds. And there is nothing remarkable about the blade of a glass cutter or a diamond masonry saw. In contrast, a large shiny diamond is eye-catching. And what do people notice about celebrities, those multi-carat public-eye gemstones? What gets talked about? Their flaws. The people with the most drama get the most press.

So don't hold your diamonds out for inspection. Don't pass them around at parties or let your 'friends' dare you to stomp on them to see what happens because guess what, it'll happen. The deepest part of who you are is delicate and powerful and that's something worth guarding, worth hiding away from the boorish crowd. It takes gentleness, patience, and experience for a master gem cutter to reshape a flawed diamond into something different and more beautiful. And that reshaping doesn't come for free because you can't just edit out flaws. You have to break a diamond apart to separate the good from the bad. Not just anybody can do that and success can be just as painful as the consequences of a mistake.

As a final warning, remember: You can't put the pieces back together. If you search for gemsmith after gemsmith to fix your diamonds again and again, the result will be not only tiny and valueless, your once-unique jewels will look just like all the rest, indistinguishable.

What you can do with little risk is to set your diamonds differently. Surround your true self with life and character and friends who complement and accent you. People, places, things that don't try to break you to fit in. Someday you may well meet the right person to help you make big, permanent changes to yourself, but in the meantime... build before you break.
Here are two poems I wrote when I was in highschool.

The Chase!

Pitter-patter, skitter, CRASH!
My cats, flying, leaping, tore right past!
One in front, ahead the other.
The one behind, she chased her brother.

A sleek, black missile my Shadow soared.
He streaked across the marble floor.
On his tail scarce four steps behind,
Pursued light, little, orange-ish Chai.

Shadow, he bounded atop his house.
Chai, she crouched and then she pounced!
They grappled. They wrestled. Chai hissed and growled.
No longer playful, Chai wanted out!

With a puzzled look he backed away;
Shadow looked around. What ruined their play?
Chai, she glared, upset at the roughness.
She sputtered and growled with much gruffness.

With a sigh, Shadow jumped to the ground.
He departed to let Chai cool down.
While he attacked a ball on the couch,
I scolded Chai. Said, “What a grouch!”

Now all by herself, Chai, she thought,
“Chasing was fun. Be cross I ought not.”
So twelve minutes later as Shadow napped,
Chai wriggled her rump; her tail she flapped…

Pitter-patter, skitter, CRASH!
My cats, flying, leaping, tore right past!
And so with a rush this poem began,
Only to happen all over again.

Tears Bring Life

Rain clouds engulf the air. A clear sky turns
Ashen to the eye, damp to gentle touch.
No longer good-natured, the white wind churns.
Dust billows, leaves flicker, caught in gale’s clutch.

So it begins, first falls one tear, then two.
Soon sky lets out a heaving, sobbing sigh.
Tears rain down to earth, souse all ground in view,
Bring life from grief, and growth through bitter cry.

Bathed in liquid ache, tender green shoots sprout,
As sky pours out her torments from above.
Her well wept dry, sky hears her friend call out.
The sun warms her, her pain fades in his love.

She dries her tears, smiling up at the sun.
Through pain and sorrow new life has begun.

What do you think?
I'm not really sure how to criticize poetry, but I really liked both of them for what it's worth
I thought they were pretty good. I like the creative way of describing imagery.
Thanks. : )
You're welcome! :-)
Laphroaig 10, Cola
Iced, Bass resonance tonight,
Burning lamplight.
Life in this city here is so different from my home.
Down here the oaks and willows sway, up north are found the pines.
Between the oaks and willows' sway, the tallow trees emerge.
The ugly rats that roam the town at night.
Up north among the pines and streams, the fires that heal the sad, hurt woods.
Down south among the oaks' and willows' tallowed sway there I'll be awake,
But north among the pines and streams, where all the box turtles play
It's there I'd like to spend my time, among the pines and dreams.

Criticism/advice welcome. It was made in 10 minutes.
I remember times when I was younger when I would entice the others
To tread the lands that I had roamed and walk there in my wake.
Excited and fearful yet filled with glee, their hearts set out to follow us
Who had gone through marshes, swamps, and forests
And found ourselves entranced.

I watched them sway as gayly as they could, and saw them at their weakest.
I saw them cry in joy and sadness, I watched them flee for shelter.
I watched some others who saw this flight, and they were the ones who fled too far
To the hills, the villages, the small towns, the farms
And they found themselves so dull.

They watched us there in all those mires, they saw us go to the stars.
They sang for us and gave us clothes, but they would walk the beaten path.
For fear for them was all too much, and so they sought out the sticks to be free -
The sticks, the sipping, the vapors, the speeds -
And they lost all care for themselves.

Now we watch ourselves little different from they, though we have not relented.
We have returned from the dire planes, where time no longer passes.
To there again we may return, but those lands need not be tended.
But the hills, the farms, the sticks unfree
We find they must be ended.

I’m shitty at titles, it’s about watching the differences in drug abuse between teenagers I knew growing up and how they’ve changed and become now that they aren’t teenagers.

Some Thursdays
Are like golden rays filtering through leaves
Like a guitar in the park
Playing old records
Writing stories
Laughing at yesterday.
And if it rains
I'll share my umbrella with you
And we'll talk endlessly
Until we part at the crosswalk.

Other Thursdays
Are like the tops of evergreens trying to reach a cloudy sky
Like a sad violin
Chamomile tea
Bittersweet songs
Running out of things to talk about.
And if it rains
I'll just go alone
Stop at the light
And watch the streetlights flicker.

But then there are those very special Thursdays
The kind I like the best
The ones where we can talk endlessly
Wrapped up in our own world
Just the two of us
Music echoing throughout.
And we only part
When the golden day becomes a purple night.

I know one day we'll have to part
But not forever.
And on some Thursday
I'll see you again
And the days will forever be golden
The nights forever purple
Just like it was
When we were a couple of kids
The day we met,
A Thursday.

(Criticism/comments welcome)
gws said:
I like the last two stanzas the best, are they an untitled piece or part of the one before?

Sorry, I didn't see that someone responded to it. Also haven't been on the forums in a while hi. It's part of the same poem. The spacing is just for dramatic effect

Here are some more recent ones

Memories built on stilts
And old guitar picks
Are still better than the shit they fixed

Reaching for sticks
With feathers and quills
And keyboards with emphasis
On the sticky shift key

Please just tell me really
What happened to me

Memories made of thin air
Have always been there
Like forever could've ever always
Been anywhere

Nobody has to tell me I'm scarred
Nobody has to tell me I'm scared
I just want to know where

Like I wouldn't know
Gifting me with a goddam dead lighter
Trying to tell me that it's a fighter
Like me
Like I wouldn't know

My phone wants to die
Or at least hide
Under low light
Most of the time
Like I did at certain points of my life
Like I wouldn't know

No one comes to my shows
But sometimes try to sell me false hope
On some time they'll go
But really rather stay home
Like me
Like I would but I don't
Like I wouldn't know

Pretending to know me
Like I pretend to know anything about anybody
Or even myself
Or even anything else
Like there's anything I wouldn't know
Everybody puts on a mask
One that they only wear when in public
Hiding who they really are
I was lost in a sea of nameless faces
The only one without a mask
The only one who truly was
It’s not that good. I wrote this ‘cause my seizure meds weren’t working right so I grabbed a pen and wrote this in about 5 minutes. So it’s not that good.

Throughout our lives we all will see
Those upon whom life’s delights implore
Return, return ‘til threads of tissue lay torn and tattered
By what had once excited their owner.

Throughout our lives we all will see those upon whom
Wonder’s mystery jolts the endless searching the passage ‘til dark skies come
And days cease to dawn and
Curiosity has been forgotten.

And throughout our lives we all will see
The man whom life’s beating heart gnaws through all bones and imbues foolish will
To cling to earth ‘til he sees
His endpoint in sight
And takes pleasure in all that is to come after.

If there is one word on a single line, it’s because your phone screen won’t allow it to appear as one single line. I never put a single word on one line.
I, however, am all about single-word lines

Ode to Jo(h)n
O Jon, oh John, Ooh Johnny.
Did you know me
those thirty days?

I wish I could say
I'm with you in Riverside
but I don't know you

I don't know if you're even there
Probably not.

I don't even know if you're alive
You were
strapped to a bed
when I left
like how I was
when I came in.

Let's not even talk about the mysterious bins
going in
and out.

You ate
some of the things off my tray.
At the time it seemed okay.

You had
a fit
things didn't
seem to fit
quite a bit.
I get it.

I made you cry
a few times.
I never meant to.
I never meant to
attach myself onto
I didn't want you
to grab me

Did you know
you were the first one to say
I love you
Besides my family
At least?

It gives me a weird

Not terrifying
like it used to be.
Not so depressing
as it has once seemed.
But it never goes away from me

"John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt
his name is my name too"

That's what he said
the hospital director
but he is not the same as us.

Not you.
Or me.
Or anyone else
in that wing.
Not how they treated us.

They would treat us like test subjects.
They treated us like projects.
Not even like kids
and definitely not like men.

But I can say
we are the same.
I can say

John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt
His name is my name too

Not yet
I swooned over someone
Who bought me a pack of cigarettes
You bought me a carton
A whole fucking carton
Imagine that
And you know what?
I smoked it

You installed me blinds
And we fucked that night
With the blinds down
The next day, they completely fell
I blame myself
I was just messing around
With the strings

And now I'm crying
In my car
When you said
I love you
Oh my God
You said
I love you
Not 24 hours

I didn't say it back, of course
My voice was too hoarse
My skin was too thick
On it
Were oodles of sweat
My lips still sealed shut

I'm sorry
I just can't
Open myself up like that

I can't not
Think of the hospital
When someone says
I love you

I can't not
Think of hangups
That've hung me up to dry
That've crushed me
Or daydreams
That've turned into nightmares

Trust me
When I say
It's a "me" thing

Believe me
When I say
I am happy
To see you

Understand me
When I say
I am happy
To call you my boyfriend
To my friends

And listen to me
When I say
I would like to see you
This is more than fun
But it's not love.

I can't call it that
Not yet
I liked those. The first one sorta got to me, kinda weirded me out, as it seems it should. The second one really made me sad. I think the reason I don’t write like that is because... I’m bad at it.
Thank you! Everyone has their own style, and I think the longer lines in your poem add a more meditative or thoughtful style. I think part of why
I separate lines
All the time
Is because
I hear a meter and find
Slant rhymes
And I just like
To pair them a lot.
That makes sense, that’s a great way for slant rhymes to look and sound nice. Glad you thought meditative, that’s usually the mood I go for. It’s usually just some nebulous crap, but whatever. Everyone writes tons of shit before they find something good and then more shit until another good thing. I’m trying to get better at what I do write but it’s hard. I’ve been making myself write more often, I might make myself do the write every day thing. I think I may go back through some old poems I wrote and make second versions or write something else new off of them.

It is night again.
I’ll lay in bedsheets aching
Then go about in search of comfort;
Something to sooth my nerves.
A book, some teas, tobacco, a phone.
Often this suffices to dull the day’s lingering presence.
Moreover this induces a chasing of malaise.
Let it come, then quell it at its peak.
Let it return, then explore the lingering daylight again,
The inflammation just despised.
Submit to the fever
And collapse upon your bed.
I've shared this in the ask section, and it's really not good, but I thought I'd share it here as well

My fingers float above the keys
My mind thinks of what to say
I don’t want to give too much away
But I want you to know how I feel
To understand that I’ve spent hours upon hours
Sleepless in bed
With nothing but thoughts of you in my head
And dreams of talking to you,
Being with you,
Walking with you
I compose a poetic text
It’s way too long and makes no sense
But I want to send it to show you how I feel
But I’d sound like a creep
And you’d leave
Leave me worse then I am now
And so I delete the text and start anew
“How has your day been?”...Send
A text to you
I don't know if this is any good but here goes nothing.

Deep inside is a feeling,
A feeling that leaves me reeling,
I know this isn't the first time nor will it be the last,
But dammit I wish I could change what I did in the past.
I wish I could see you again and tell you how sorry I am,
I wish I could tell you that I actually do give a damn.
How could I possibly forgive myself for what I've done?
How is it that I never knew that you were the one?
Now it's too late you've left this life,
And I'm left sitting here thinking only of my strife.
I know it's meaningless thinking now and then,
On what shoulda coulda woulda ever been,
But I just want to see you once again,
To tell you I'm sorry,
Love Ben.
It's a good theme you're hitting on here, but with poetry if it's going to have any rhyme scheme you'll want to give it some form. It doesn't have to strictly adhere to the form of a sonnet, villanelle, etc. ; but rhyming poetry without meter sounds odd. Also word packages (or clichés) commonly used sayings/phrases are something you generally want to avoid, and stick out a bit in poetry...

I like the voice, and theme, a lot. It is a bit too vague to evoke the emotion you could with it though... :)
I don’t write poetry too often, usually only like two or three times a year. Here’s my first of 2019:


Calm, hollow abyss of silence

Night follows and enlists her sirens;
The darkness is timeless, its freedom confinement;
Hopeless, her fiefdom but a homeless island;
Still she persists, immortal and defiant.

Cacophonous horrors and ominous song;

The tyrants abhor her; their anonymous wrongs,
Their monotonous litter, are atrocities long;
Caught between two subdued but never gone;
Here stands the Goddess, yet powerful and strong.
This sounds a bit lyrical, and I understand the language and references being made. But, the language is a bit self inflicting. Some of the word choice seems a bit out of place. I like the idea of the goddess being spoken of (directly and indirectly); although I feel you could really put a spear point on this by giving her a bit of character. The goddess seems generally negative, but I'm not getting much of a sense of character through the voice in this.

You're giving a good sense of grim/dark with this; and it seems like a good exercise in rhyme and approximate rhyme. I feel that this piece could be a bit more powerful and invoking if you worked on the voice and word choice. Who is this goddess? How is she strong and powerful, or why? I pick up hints of some musical feel to this; but the language is a bit ambiguous to give a clear idea about any existent voice, character, and message. I nice piece to work with and start the year... :)
I've got 10 minutes before I leave today. Let's see what I can spit out.


I saw an old man,
grey, wizened by years.
His passion telling stories,
for the children.

Was I one of those kids
who knew every thing. I don't remember
anybody really teaching me much.
I knew the world. I had all these feelings,
these thoughts I wanted to share not knowing how.
The words always failed me but writing never did.
Life is figuring out how to get it right, right?

Young, genius, anxious, perfect, wrong.
No one really knows
how to spell it out writing. But,
that's a matter more than meter or verse.
Tone, speaker, rhyme, word choice.

Once you cut to the heart you learn
What matters most is voice.
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