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Thread: Your Favorite Poems from fellow Lit-Netters

  1. #31
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    mactan, cebu, philippines

    Smile For love of poetry


    I am so glad to have found this site. I have always wanted to share some of the poems I have scribbled for the past years. Maybe you would also be interested to read some of my compositions and perhaps tell me what you think about it.

    Last edited by lalaine; 07-06-2007 at 11:14 AM. Reason: missed out on one word

  2. #32
    Ditsy Pixie Niamh's Avatar
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    Marino, Dublin, Ireland
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    Heres a wonderful sonnet writen by Petrarchs Love for the Form poetry comp. I think its fantastic.

    Scene in a Home

    Still life of a bowl of fruit and flowers
    Painted on a summerís day and filled with light,
    The ticking clock telling the steady hours
    As glowing dawn replaces the dark night,
    A vase of springís first yellow daffodils,
    An open book with half yet to be read,
    The whisper breeze crossing the windowsill,
    The gentle hand that strokes the resting head.

    Deathbed where the hand grasps the sheets
    With near skeletal frailty and the ear
    Closes to the sound of the clockís steady beat;
    Eye closes to the memory from past years
    Of little things enjoyed while she, in quiet hours,
    Painted the still life of a bowl of fruit and flowers.
    "Come away O human child!To the waters of the wild, With a faery hand in hand, For the worlds more full of weeping than you can understand."

    "If it looks like a Dwarf and smells like a Dwarf, then it's probably a Dwarf (or a latrine wearing dungarees)"
    Artemins Fowl and the Lost Colony by Eoin Colfer

    my poems-please comment Forum Rules

  3. #33
    dum spiro, spero Nossa's Avatar
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    I've just read Lost's very beautiful!
    I'm the patron saint of the denial,
    With an angel face and a taste for suicidal.

  4. #34
    Left 4evr Adolescent09's Avatar
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    Here is a unique one from firefangld (I hope I spelt that right) who is one of the latest lit-net members and one of best poets this forum has seen. Great stuff:

    Quote Originally Posted by firefangld
    In morning’s last darkness I found you out
    on your way home, under the full moon,
    through the shroud of misty air. You did not know
    it was me, the soft white night that enveloped you,
    lying moist against your vibrant skin; it was I,
    who could not speak, who drifted lightly to your lips
    and gently rested there, then played and sparkled in your hair.
    Caught within your motion, for the moment your captive there,
    unseen you carried me inside your house, and I watched you
    take petal from petal of clothing and could say nothing,
    and could no longer touch you, could give no sign of love
    you would see, but for one small tear, unnoticed on a chair.

    Later, as you slept, I moved, silently, a thief enthralled,
    through your room, feeling the residual warmth of your
    clothing, touching what you hold dear, cherishing
    each precious item as do you, becoming for the moment
    the enveloped, letting you surround me as I had you.
    For hours, hovering above the floor, so close with the fragrance
    you had worn, like light against the morning breeze, I danced.
    And then, glorious moment, I lie beside you sleeping there
    and by your heat lost all form as I melded into you...
    and slept as you slept, and breathed as you breathed,
    and in the fading darkness, became the fabric of your dreams
    My hide hides the heart inside

  5. #35
    Metamorphosing Pensive's Avatar
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    Aug 2005
    Quote Originally Posted by Nossa View Post
    I've just read Lost's very beautiful!
    I second you. It's a very good poem!
    I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew.

  6. #36
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    Mar 2007
    Quote Originally Posted by vhaney View Post
    To Make a Poem

    The poem understand is easy to make
    Take you your heart which then you must break
    A little sorrow then add and melancholy blue
    I know it sounds silly but really itís true
    Once there has passed a right proper time
    You sharpen your knife to begin in the rhyme
    Slice the heart now in pieces so thin
    Resemble they paper, Thatís how you begin
    Lay them out now and arrange them aright
    (At times you must work this into the night)
    Note on the edges some bleeding there be
    Itís ink of the poem and the part of me
    That flows from the hand thru the plume to the page
    A poet I say and never a sage
    The funny thing is the heartís never used up
    It flows from the hand and again filled in the cup
    A Romantic is messy and bleeds rather well
    When images of life on the pages heíll tell
    Yes the making of rhymes, is easy you see
    Itís the living of life thatís the hardest for me
    I love the poems that reflect the poet's desire and compulsion to write.

  7. #37
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    Adolescent09 wrote:
    Here is a unique one from firefangld (I hope I spelt that right) who is one of the latest lit-net members and one of best poets this forum has seen. Great stuff:
    Yes, I agree....and I was moved by this poem!

  8. #38
    Left 4evr Adolescent09's Avatar
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    Dyingflame is a very deserving and unchartered poet as well. Permit me to introduce his talent:

    I here stand up to defend myself,
    with my every twisting thought
    bearing its mark on your complaint-

    It is time eyes are plucked out
    to be placed into better places
    and gaze into the hazy distance

    of memories undamaged by trappings
    of hollow rites carried out on pavements
    of porn posters on small confused beds.

    It is true that your marks define me,
    my defiance infuriates the helpless child
    within me who only I can preserve,

    unlike you who have torn it away,
    choked it to death with skin cream
    on your now creased but healthy cheeks

    where craters still cast pale shadows,
    a barren pockmarked landscape,
    leftover from the battle against acne.

    I have seen the future set for me,
    in my brother who drives two cars to work
    and always gets the legal secretary’s number.

    I have to be a first class actor every day,
    but the child in me shouts against it,
    and forces my hand to turn the volume on.

    It is time that this war is brought to end, and the pains providing for “angst-ridden-maniacs who mash-buttons-and-stare-wide-eyed-at-multicoloured-screens like-zombies-high-on-crack-who-know-no-math-and-break-the-law” will be let free to speak, to grow, and plant a new tree.

    And so I tell you-
    together we have dissembled bombs,
    drove rockets into outer heaven,
    brought down the walls dividing us:

    Why can’t we just stand and defend what our youngsters would have us die for?
    Why should we just escape through these flaming woods on motorbikes?
    And leave it all to burn in offices
    While the moon we yearned to reach for aeons
    crumbles behind us,
    reminding us of its craters?
    Last edited by Adolescent09; 07-06-2007 at 07:22 PM.
    My hide hides the heart inside

  9. #39
    Left 4evr Adolescent09's Avatar
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    Dramasnot is a beautiful poet. (both in looks and writing ability). But heck, we all know that. Here is one of her most recent in the Picture Poetry Contest I believe:


    Stillness is a melancholy comfort
    Gone is the baby blue sofa and Sunday afternoon
    a swirl of faded madness left me dizzy, waiting for you in the cold
    Longing for your arms in wind chill
    Left standing in a second-hand stand in Brooklyn
    It was in your eyes I was alive, so real until that fatalist resolution whereupon so many problems
    Left here torn, pale except for a bleak yellow complexion
    Only these passing breezes flip my pages with swiftness not unlike your impatient touch
    Upon being picked up again, I did not forget you
    I leafed through my head
    Only discovering we were
    Blown away
    My hide hides the heart inside

  10. #40
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    Mar 2007
    Ohhh....this is spooky! I just now read Dramasnot's poem below...(thanks Adol!) And yes... it is an exceptional & beautiful poem! Without knowing I used some of her words & imagery in my own poem(submitted for the picture poetry contest) convey the emotions I was divining from the photo! I deliberately did not read any of the poems so as not to be influenced or discouraged... Drama's poem is far superior!
    Last edited by Debrasue; 07-07-2007 at 04:29 AM. Reason: sp

  11. #41
    Springing Riesa's Avatar
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    at the start of some hill or another
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    One of the poets I admire most in this world, and have such desire to see published...
    the one.... the only: Il Penseroso


    Thick black floating orbs,
    Stretching in swift rotation
    The garden routine,
    To doze in petalled beauty
    Having their fill of nectar.

    What delight to be
    Draggling in odorous bliss
    Alike to the wind
    In a wayfaring circuit
    Abreast a personal whim.

    Do these creatures know
    The envy their motion stirs,
    Or that their feeding
    Burdens my listless brow
    With a penitent emotion?

    So unlike their arc
    My accustomed position
    Holds fast to shadow
    And the cool interior
    Of a slumberless dark.

    "Don't matter who they are, anybody sets foot in this house, they are company and don't let me catch you remarking on their ways like you were so high and mighty."

  12. #42
    Not politically correct Pendragon's Avatar
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    Blue Ridge Mountains, SW VA
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    Thank you, Ryu, for the posting of the "Dead" or "obituary" sonnet. I can't seem to stop writing them, so I'm glad you enjoyed yours!

    Some of us laugh
    Some of us cry
    Some of us smoke
    Some of us lie
    But it's all just the way
    that we cope with our lives...

  13. #43
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    mactan, cebu, philippines
    Here's another poem I'd like to share:


    She comes in the midst of a Sunday ritual
    Stooping in a flashy red dress as usual
    A wooden stick she helds to lead her
    A spot she chooses at the edge of a pew.

    She settles down and sits upright
    Reaches from her bossom
    Securely wrapped in a cloth of red and white
    A white-beaded rosary.

    She pulls out what seems like the size of a playing card
    With images of the Sacred Heart.
    The plastic-covered scapular
    She smothers with kisses
    Before she finally wears it.

    From a black bag that she carries
    A black veil she pulls out and covers her head
    She starts mumbling her usual litany.

    So comfortable, so contented
    Her distorted figure doesn't bother her
    Attentively and piously she listens
    To the preacher's sermon
    As she murmurs word of praise.

    This Lady in Red
    Every Sunday I see
    The same dress, the same spot
    The same ritual
    My eyes are glued everytime I see her
    I am entranced with her strength, her faith
    And just by her Existence.

  14. #44
    Ruadh gu brath ampoule's Avatar
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    Which favorite lit-netter of yours wrote this? We should give him or her credit. There is so much to read here that I can't possibly go back and find it.
    I'm in love with The Vinegar Man and Mr. Tanner, but be careful, it could just as easily be you.

    "If you're going to write you better have somewhere to come from." Flannery O'Connor

  15. #45
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    mactan, cebu, philippines

    Smile Lady in Red

    If you're referring to the poem Lady in Red, this is Lalaine from the Philippines. I wrote this when I was attending a Sunday mass with my family.
    Thanks for reading

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