An untitled poem by YesNo
There was a little birdie
Who dropped a little turd. He
Heard clearly every word he
Was not allowed to say.
And so he dropped another,
On sister and on brother,
On daddy and on mother.
He got us good that day.
An untitled poem by YesNo
There was a little birdie
Who dropped a little turd. He
Heard clearly every word he
Was not allowed to say.
And so he dropped another,
On sister and on brother,
On daddy and on mother.
He got us good that day.
That is great! Reminds me a little of 'spring is sprung the grass is ris, I wonder where the boidies is'. Terrific use of rhyme!
'Plumber's Block' by hillwalker
A dodgy drain at Number 8,
extension rods all laid out straight,
my rubber boots, my yellow pail,
my mug of tea and ‘Daily Mail’.
Then bam…
I stop to roll a fag;
the smell of methane makes me gag,
my fingers fumbling for the wrench
to close the valve inside the trench,
the spanner useless in my grip,
my ‘muse’ has given me the slip.
My brain’s become a marble block,
my body misaligned in shock,
I’ll never lag a pipe again
or handle polypropylene;
without a paddle up the creek
I just can’t face another leak.
Ah, love this one. Well crafted.
Hours
You keep coming, eyes shined to perfect blue,
sometimes dirty grey, or green strewn with gold,
when reflected in a pond, at noon.
I still pirouette with you and the next, in April,
in June, but how poor the contents! all is said, dreamt of,
seen --- old! repeating, copied, never really new.
Truth pulses for its own hidden sake,
nowhere and yearning for boredom. But you,
stiff and relentless,
are always the same at noon, at four,
or under the sun days’ ghost, the moon.
And my spirits sink low, begin to prowl around,
barking about my heels,
I’ve just chased them away, like yesterday,
but they are back, back, growling -
and as you'll pop your dull eyes tomorrow
among the milling city smelling of the day before,
I’ll send them all on you, your lids will fill with rain,
and you won’t watch me rise and escape
into silence, the unmeasured, the new.
Before sunlight can shine through a window, the blinds must be raised - American Proverb
I'm so touched. Thank you Delta for appreciating my modest efforts. With gratitude, Bar
Out of this world pizza By Delta40... read on imaganeers and admire...
We could drive through the night
in your salary sacrificed car,
the electronic red glow
from the controls and meters
remind me as if I'm in space
so I lay back and imagine how easy
it is to be in cruise control, high above the Earth.
We shoot past the stars in search of the best pizza.
My Captain tells me screw the traffic
because I will love it and him when we get there!
After a few light years, we glide
to a smooth landing at the finest Interstellar Pizzeria
in the whole universe.
Inside the robotic waitress points us to
an escavated relic of a sign which reads:
Please wait here to be seated
while she wipes down tables
and the auto chef spins and flips bases
to Enrico Caruso's L'elisir d'amore
We are bound to obey the caligraphic order
because of the laser beams blocking our path.
Suddenly, the waitress looks up and transmits,
2200 hours. Sorry folks, we are now closed. Goodbye!
For those who believe,
no explanation is necessary.
For those who do not,
none will suffice.
I experience when was in plane,
Through the rain I dash to board the plane,
About the weather to the blonde FA I I complain,
Her answer that “It’s like that everywhere” has me worried,
The net said no rain so no umbrella with me I carried.
Up on the bulkhead a bit misleading is this sign,
Definitely no business class this seat of mine.
Hi there - I think you rather missed the point of this particular thread (it's for members to post their favourite pieces written by other members).
As for your own attempt - I'm afraid it's doomed even before the ink has dried on the page.
Back-to-front expressions like 'to the blonde... I complain', 'no umbrella with me I carried' and 'misleading is this sign' are dreadful, presumably twisted in order to maintain rhyme.
Do you talk like this? I'm guessing not. So why not write using your normal language and expressions?
My advice - forget about rhyme and read lots of poetry to get a feel for how it's supposed to be written...
... and when you have more to post on here begin a new thread of your own. Good luck.
H
Untitled by prendrelemick
Cold, cold beauty,
Pristine and pure,
Ringed with glittering ice,
Haloed with borrowed light.
Perfect.
We see you now,
Framed and displayed,
laid bare to our fatuous stare,
But you remain aloof and lovely,
As only a cold beauty can.
... and certainly my favourite!
I'm sorry I'm withdrawing this from the Favourite Poems, but I have realized it's so good that the poet (B/V) should send it out for publication.
Bravo again, Bar
Last edited by Bar22do; 12-02-2011 at 07:48 AM.
delete
Last edited by Jack of Hearts; 12-06-2011 at 01:38 PM.
'Beyond the falling comets and persistent stars' by DocHeart
Beyond the falling comets and persistent stars
Lies loneliness. A city sky's seen
Differently from there; stupidly courageous,
Mocking black nights with neon falsehoods.
A blueness, on the other hand, emerges
When one observes such skylines from the ground:
It is the very heaviness with which
Unskilled saxophonists sit on a gentle
Pianist's mouth.
From thirty thousand feet I watch you dance,
Smashing the fragile porcelain of our small romance.
Descending and observing from a shorter distance
Does nothing to alleviate your non-existence.
This one bears repeating. Originally posted by Lokasenna on 3-29-2009
The Youth and the Sea: A Lament
The gentle roar of the careless sea,
The waves that caress the lonesome stones,
The mischievous breeze that blows so free,
And the sun-lit rock that warms my bones.
I lie hard upon its hardness,
My heart thunders in my chest
and stops.
Its touch is more real than any other,
More passionate than a lover,
More caring than a mother,
And closer than a brother.
There is a rock that every wave submerges,
And pulls to the depths of its ancient urges,
Entombed, enwombed, it for a moment merges,
Before being torn out by liquid surges,
with Paradise.
I am not that rock: I can but live upon it,
Entirely severed from my sacred soul,
being locked in this form that can only sit
upon a silent shore, to dream of being whole.
No longer can I make love to the ocean,
Never again shall we in perfect oneness bind,
No more shall I pant beneath its potent motion,
Except in the faded temples of my mind.
I wrote this today, while sitting in the location described - it is, I think, one of the most intensely personal pieces I have ever written, so I'm a little nervous putting it up. Nonetheless, sharing is part of the experience, and constructive criticism is always much appreciated!
Originally posted by Lokasenna on 2-12-2009
I'm at University in Leeds, which is great because inland Yorkshire is much colder than my hometown on the Welsh coast. The other week we had lots of snow (in fact, its just started again!), my absolute favourite weather, and something that, until I went to Uni, I had only experienced twice in my life. I have a great view out over the city, and the other week I was looking out of the window, and the snow was lightly falling from the patchy clouds, and the full moon was hanging over the city. Having just re-read Coleridge's "Frost at Midnight" and feeling rather relaxed, my mind took the opportunity to walk in a great man's shadow. My usual attempts at Romantic poetry are usually awful, but this one is significantly less awful the usual junk.
The Winter's Tale
Celestial secrets, the shining stars,
Adorn the primal night,
A holy host of fallen czars,
that flank the Goddess bright,
Bold Luna, set in childish shade,
To haunt the mind of man was made;
The eye itself at once sublime,
Perception is the sacred art,
Mankind is echoed in thy heart,
Thou true child of elder time!
Evanescent pearl, the clouds serene,
Oe’r this too busy globe,
Fantastic, haunt the orb-lit scene,
The silent light they robe,
Dancing slowly, overhead they fly,
To fill the bastion of the sky,
Or they in raging chaos swirl,
As if in awful anger hurled,
Upon the bastion of the world;
The peace of heaven they warp and whirl.
Snow blanked canvass, the cradle feels,
Alive with deadened blight:
A fullness that in nothing heals,
A wrongness that seems right,
But the dull brain itself shall miss,
Lost in the shallow, deep abyss,
That tender sense of nothingness,
Exuding from the starry pole,
That fills the vistas of the soul,
Our petty self to soothe and bless.
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