ForumHobbies ► Poetry
This seems like a good place to post poetry. Any interest in bringing back this thread.?
  
I’ll definitely at least read anything posted here.
  
This is something I wrote a few months ago. I wrote it in a 10 minute sitting, and I've since made some changes, but I was always bad at writing poetry, so please tell me what I can improve on;

My body's well worn,
Scratched to the bone.
Looking, wandering,
Yearning for home.

My eyes tell my pain,
With my lips zipped shut.
My thighs tell my tale,
But that's just my luck.

My body fades slow,
My soul is drowning.
I can't feel anything,
I just want a home.

Maybe I'll be whole,
One day I can breathe.
Right now all that's left,
Is for me to flee.

I run from my pain,
But it will come back.
I try to fight it,
I'm under attack.

I don't think I can.
I can't carry on.
My faults are too much,
I can not break free.

Don't cry over me,
This is just my fate.
I'm bound for heaven,
And I won't be late.
  
Dude, I really like that, it's so good
  
Thanks for reading it!
  
Hey, I really liked that too. Especially the vivid, and sometimes blatant, imagery. I really, really liked the last stanza. Especially the last line. It’s so easy to feel that way. It’s something everyone feels. That’s the cool thing about poems like what you wrote there. It’s damn near impossible to not relate to.

I just write nebulous and vague nonsense like this:

Last night’s cares no longer disturb
Nor do its hazes cloud.
Last night dreams came abound,
And the morning clung to them.

No respite from wonderland came
Save the bearable lucid dawn.
Those lurid streams I wandered,
Now hang to me no more.

Somedays I’d like to sit
And hear the sunbeams dance.
Those sparkling rivers call my name
As day breaks in advance.

No more can I wander the waking dream,
For fate dictates me clean,
But some days call my name to see
The vapors arising green.

No more can I wander the silver sliver,
Nor rest my headband’s pillow,
But truly I wish to stay awhile
By that pearly, glistening river.
  
Thanks! <3

That's not nonsense, it really makes you think. I've read it life 5 times now and I still don't completely understand it in the best way possible
  
Duuude, I love thatttt aaaaahhhh
You guys are so good at poetry, you can just make it whatever and however you want it to be and it's all fuckin good lmao
  
These poems are just sad. It feels like you've given up and lay yourself down, waiting for death like a sick old person in a hospice.
We shouldn't be like this. Kick yourself and push on to make a better tomorrow.
Never gonna give up
  
Wow, tooooootally didn't see that one coming ;)

But for realsies, I'm fine now, I've worked past it. I was hurt for a long time, but I'm ok now. Pain does make for decent poetry tho....
  
True. It's a drama of how pain sucks.
Heck I'm not sure when I'm gonna get hit by great loss. Hope I can pick myself up when it happens
  
And we'll be here for you! <3
  
These poems are just sad. It feels like you've given up and lay yourself down, waiting for death like a sick old person in a hospice.
We shouldn't be like this. Kick yourself and push on to make a better tomorrow.
Never gonna give up
Yeah, I think for a little while I’m gonna start trying to write more happy stuff. Or at least write when I’m not down. Or pissed. Writing when I’m pissed is something I do too much. Trees and rivers. I’m gonna try doing that more.
  
I guess it's normal for people to want to vent their fustrations, and these strong feelings just make good litrature.
On the other hand, having a strong emotion of happiness just doesn't happen often if you don't actively look for it
  
I guess it's normal for people to want to vent their fustrations, and these strong feelings just make good litrature.
On the other hand, having a strong emotion of happiness just doesn't happen often if you don't actively look for it


I agree to a certain extent on your last point. I wouldn’t exactly say though that strong emotions make for good writing. Good writing comes from just... writing a lot. Which I don’t do. I’ve noticed something odd though. Even when I am happy or at least not sad or depressed, anything I write still comes out with some sort of sadness. Like that thing I wrote with the “pearly, glistening river”. I was rather okay when I wrote that. I wasn’t sad at all. Writing is just odd in general. There’s bound to be something a bit weird about you if you feel the need to write literature.
  
Alright, I swear I wasn’t sad or depressed or anything when I wrote this one. Someone told me it sounded dark though. God, where’d Antagonist go off to? I could really use their help. Anyone’s helpful though.

Here I wrote t three different times. Mostly changing the first part.

One version
Another
Yet another


EDIT: I think I like the third one the best.

The second line in the third stanza in the third version should read “with which”
  
Nights are not for resting;
The time when cares should go,
Instead they stir up thinking,
From which you cannot leave.

I’d like to lay and relax,
To ease and soothe my head
But now I sit in anguish
Of thorns my bed is made.
  
Nights are not for resting;
The time when cares should go,
Instead they stir up thinking,
From which you cannot leave.

I’d like to lay and relax,
To ease and soothe my head
But now I sit in anguish
Of thorns my bed is made.


I like it. It sort of picks up intensity as it goes on. Longer lines get me to read it slow and make me think it'll be sort of ruminating, but it ends with an image of sitting in anguish on thorns. It's concise, too. It does all that in 8 lines.

Here's a short one of mine from a bar bathroom:

The right eye
The right eye
I just need you for security

Look up at me
Look up at me
I just need your head backwards
Keep your eyes open
Keep them open

I need some water
I need some water
I need some water
I need some water

You probably need medical attention
To get your eyes taken care of
You probably think you don't need it
But I'm just saying

I got way too drunk
Way too fast
It wasn't supposed to be like this
It wasn't supposed to be like this
  
strange places


I'm in a strange place
Nothing is good
And everything is alright
Which is all too familiar

It's been a while
Since I felt something
I think I've felt it before
But I don't remember when or how
Or what it even felt like
I'm remembering who I used to be
And I'm not quite the same as myself

I don't feel like I belong here
In a strange place, with strange people
But there's nowhere else I've been
Where I've ever truly belonged
  
Okay I might just be delirious at this point but this is what I just wrote now:

my bed


this bed is my bed
i belong in my bed
this bed is here
but i don't belong here

my bed is at home
i'm at home in this bed
this bed is here
but here is not home

at home i go to sleep
i sleep in my bed
this bed is here
and here i go to sleep
  
Guess what, it's me again.

Dreamer


Why am I so angry?
It's all right there outside my window.
The light from the city becomes a star-spangled skyline,
Promising me anything that I want.

I go to bed hopeful - Tomorrow is a new day!
But I wake up and the stars have faded,
And the sky is clouded over,
And it is just the dreamer that remains.

I dream of the stars, a new dream every night.
But I see now that the sky is black;
I can only see the city,
I am forced to see the light.

The stars, the real stars, have remained faded,
Hidden and out of sight.
The dreams, the real dreams, have remained, faded.
But still I remain, and I dream every night.
  
I really enjoyed reading your stuff jaded!

So, I have a thing I wrote just now, but it's not finished. The thing is, I don't think I can finish it. It's got a pretty simplistic scheme, and I want you guys to add on wherever and whatever you want 🙂

I miss outside,
The wind whipping around my face.
I miss the grass,
My toes wriggling in without a trace.

I miss the cold,
The snow melting on my breathless skin.
I miss my friends,
Their familiarity leaves an unfamiliar ache within.

I miss my house,
The life that grew inside.
I miss my home,
My shelter and my guide.
  
Ain’t a poem. Started out as one. Turned into whatever this is.


He cries. He claps his hands and sighs.
Chasing away the mosquito ringing his ears who flies about incessantly and sickens her food with inflammation yet comes back again three fold, chasing away her hunger ‘round the addled boy’s small bed who sniffles through clouds and dreams to see fields for only trees encircle him.

The wretch approaches his face and lands on his cheek while he lays frozen, wondering if he should stop it or slap his face while the pissant flies away just to see him again in his sedated sleep. No sleep came, only a lull, while he lays and rocks his bed with an anger that no one can quell; his face to the ceiling; his arms to the bed frame; his mind to his family whom he may see no more. The child seethes and cries as a figure across the way has tears in his eyes dreaming to see the boy again; whispering, shouting, begging God for forgiveness, begging to hear the voice that speaks in the music that is joy, that is peace. Yearning again and again to feel the laughter that only a child may bring.
  
Love by William Shakespeare

TELL me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.
It is engender'd in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and Fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let us all ring Fancy's knell:
I'll begin it,--Ding, dong, bell.
All. Ding, dong, bell.
  
Sky.

Night falls over the barren landscape
The comfort of home, far behind
Crickets chirp. I listen to my own breath.
Loneliness creeps in.

I chose this
Leaving was the only option
Staying behind would mean emptiness
Whenever I looked at the sky, I always saw infinity
The possibilities, what could have been
The great unknown.

Now I see beauty.
Stars rise overhead, as the oppressive sun diffuses behind me
I’m not running away, I am running towards
I am running towards the night, the unknown
New Beginnings

Sky.

Miles of road lay before me
East, I find myself thinking
I know not the destination, only the direction
I don’t know where my journey will take me

The desert grows larger,
I see mountains in the distance
The sky is bigger
Wherever I go, it is here for me
I look up, I am enveloped.

Sky.

I remember what I left.
A chance to change the world.
A life, people who cared.
No regrets, I am running towards

Sky.

I walk.
Hours pass.
The desert is empty
I’m not empty.

Sky.

Soon I will only be Sky.
  
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