Anybody Write Poetry? (Good or Bad)





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Discus: College Confidential Café: 2004 Archive: Anybody Write Poetry? (Good or Bad)
By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 09:15 am: Edit

Submit yer linguistic jewels below!

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 10:41 am: Edit

I'll start:

This falls under bad, by the way.

Ezra Pound hangs his weighted words
upon a black and twisted branch of diatribe.
His torpid rage and impotent wrath goes not unheard;
but I shall decline (in marked self-interest) to imbibe
the boiling, toiling, troubling, noxious brew.

His rancor roils at the loss of once-gilded tongues
Each silenced, one by one.
They, never to sow again their timeless wisdom;
They, never to drop their bilious blossoms
each gravid with the lore of yesteryear—
and classical allusions once abloom but now consigned to yore.

He sits alone atop a hill in paralyzed omnipotence
Gaining strength from hatred of modern insolence.
He gobbles up his young as they hatch—full-grown Minervae
They have the semblance of life and the passion of life,
but lack the quietude of a soul at rest, and so they are consumed;
the snake swallows his own tail and so is doomed.

Thus his words are yet stillborn to most who read them now.
He has failed to infuse his vainglorious calls to past
—redolent of bygone heroes and legends lost—
with the life and limitless appeal of love.
This, others humbly note with less disdain than he
as central to the poet’s craft and timeless above all else.

This anti-Frost attacks the reader for his supposed slothfulness
chastising him unmercifully for his worldliness.
He stands in full tirade, berating us with pen aflame and fists clenched,
at all times ready to retreat into the aloof and lonely cave of his own genius
while hurling ferocious fire from within his bottomless abyss.
He remains, today, entombed, enslaved, entrenched.

I stand in awe, but only for a moment.
I turn away, and laugh, self-satisfied and free
because his blows have landed only on my ego(Which is not the center of my being).
His soul is the only one left scarred, not mine,
and I am free to go.

By Flipflops (Flipflops) on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 12:58 pm: Edit

Wow.
You know you can enter contests and stuff at www.poetry.com and your friends can look up your name to read your stuff.
OK, here's one of mine....
Snowflake

So unique, so beautiful,
I reach out to catch it
but it melts in my hand.
Many of my thoughts
I try to catch on paper
Only to melt.
Always there
but I can't explain
to try to keep a snowflake
would only be in vain.

I think it's kind of dumb....Oh well! It's an old one.

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 03:00 pm: Edit

I didn't know that! Cool!

I think it's rather sweet, actually.

By Flipflops (Flipflops) on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 03:31 pm: Edit

Why thank you!

By Sp_Guy (Sp_Guy) on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 08:30 pm: Edit

Here's one:

In the Depths of the Night

Feel my pain in the depths of the night
Hear my soul cry out in agony
See the fear within my eyes
As the world turns against me

I see no hope for all is dark
and none wish to understand
Judge right away and never wait
to appreciate the man

Understand my love for my own
Judge not my vicious
Support me in my time of trouble
The path that is my fate

I know right from wrong and up from down
but isn’t there a way
It is not always black and white
But sometimes appears gray?

Come with me into my sorrow
Share with me my hurt and grief
Hold me as I fade away
A lonely falling leaf

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 09:38 pm: Edit

That would make a great song. I like the last line best.

Thanks!

By Purgeofdoors (Purgeofdoors) on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 09:56 pm: Edit

http://lateralinherency.tripod.com/bradhargreaves.htm

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Thursday, May 20, 2004 - 10:01 pm: Edit

Yow! This is gonna take me a while! Cool.

By Musefinity (Musefinity) on Friday, May 21, 2004 - 12:15 am: Edit

Purge, I really like "a thousand my lives, only." Actually I really like your other poems, too: They are light and melt quickly enough on the tongue.

By Twinkletoes696 (Twinkletoes696) on Friday, May 21, 2004 - 12:34 am: Edit

I try to write poetry sometimes, but it is so pitifully bad that I think I might get laughed off the board if I post any.

I really like all of the ones that were written here though. Good job everyone!

By Musefinity (Musefinity) on Friday, May 21, 2004 - 12:38 am: Edit

Yeah, good job.

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Friday, May 21, 2004 - 05:13 pm: Edit

A hand within a hand
clasping, grasping,
both searching for more than warmth.
I am the Universe to him. And then I am not.
He lives moment by moment;
each one moving to the next, fluid, viscous,
always now.
He sees like I no longer can-—
truly, purely and unencumbered
never looking sideways, inward,
somewhere else
for approval, meaning, reason.
He laughs at my cynicism
without mocking
or even knowing that by simply being
he is living proof that maybe
I am wrong about people,
about myself.

"God is Love"
I remember writing in the condensation on the mirror
in the house where I grew up.
And I knew that it was true.
I was a child then, too.
Where did that wisdom go?
When did I forget ?
I have become so entangled, enmeshed in myself
that I do not know what is what
anymore.
I have become corpulent and thick,
bloated with ideas and overfed with judgements.
I gorge myself on life without tasting or enjoying
even a single morsel of this great gift.
I need to unlearn
to unbelieve
before I can believe anew.
So I am not the teacher;
I am being taught
by my son.

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Friday, May 21, 2004 - 05:14 pm: Edit

I run as fast as I can
in place.
I reach for goals
that morph
before my bleary eyes.
The rules change
constantly.

Always the brass ring
Never the ride

I do not chew the food of life
I gulp it whole
A pelican
swallowing a fish.

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Friday, May 21, 2004 - 05:24 pm: Edit

Baby stirs
Mind whirrs
Blood is moving
Body stretching
Dreams fading
Cold floor
Neck crick
Trick knee
Nerves firing
All alive and well tonight.
(relief)
Tiny sighs and squeaks and grumbles
Roly-poly bug
Squirmy, clasping, grasping, hands
Someone’s hungry!
Slide quick!
Quiet, deft, practiced hands
Pressing buttons, moving swiftly.
Hissing steam
Burnt sugar
Brew is bubbling
Second shot (rice addition)
Heavy meal, longer snoozing
recommended by the grammas!
Eyes adjusting
to the light
Tongue heavy
(but no need to talk)
Sweet cherub
Nestled near my heart.
Steam fading
One arm motion-snatch and shake
The other in a football cradle.
The two are reconciled
I just wait, now
Stay steady
no bubbles
(Soft, downy head!)
My thumb encircled by his fingers
(Kung-fu grip!)
His eyes black coals
My eyes tight slits
Locked unblinking in the soft morning light of dawn
Rhythmic beat of life
Suck swallow sigh
His stomach
My heart
Full at last.

By Ohio_Mom (Ohio_Mom) on Friday, May 21, 2004 - 05:48 pm: Edit

I like this last -
"Rhythmic beat of life
Suck swallow sigh
His stomach
My heart
Full at last."

Of course, now he's 17 and towers over me. Life moves so fast.

By Somecanadianguy (Somecanadianguy) on Friday, May 21, 2004 - 09:53 pm: Edit

"Here or There"
inspired by
"The Starry Night" by Vincent Van Gogh

The skies have darkened
The days are shorter
the nights longer
Village to village
Town to town
All people seem cold
No one wants to claim a stranger
No one wants to help me

Now the travels seem to be
coming to an end
I see our steeple
I see our hills
our fields
our sky
No longer are we strangers
As I round the corner
The clouds are passing
The stars are out

I’m home at last

"Inside"
inspired by
"Skaters on the Rideau" by Molly Lamb Bobak

People surround us
Wherever we look a smiling face
rosy cheeks
merry children
These men, women, children
There are no cares no worries
the open air the breeze
have carried them away

Yet is there a friend
Are the smiles just a mask
hiding a hidden hate?
If we fell
Would anyone care
or lend a helping hand?

The hidden side
Of the human race
No matter who is there
friend or foe
Does anyone really care?


"Changing of the Guard"
inspired by
"Life’s Highway" Courtney Milne

Your time has been
Your peak is passed
Your days numbered
The questions have been asked
answers found or made
Now you reap what you’ve sown
No further sowing will you do

Our time is coming
Our peak is within grasp
Our days are bright
The questions are being formed
Answers mere blurs of thought
We’re pushing our limits
We ask that you understand that
Help us
Guide us
Teach us
Don’t fight our flight
foster our faith

No matter where we head now
We take your knowledge wisdom experience
Develop the ideas plans challenges you contemplated
We are free
Life’s highway is just beginning

this was an Enlgish assignment we had - poetry from pictures we received - and I did pretty well (like 95%) so wandered what you people thought
*note - spacing doesn't work so it loses some of the effect:(

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Saturday, May 22, 2004 - 10:40 am: Edit

It sure does, Ohio mom! I knew a parent would know exactly where that one came from. :)

somecanadianguy: Nice!

By Poison_Ivy (Poison_Ivy) on Saturday, May 22, 2004 - 11:48 am: Edit

A poem about Calliope, the muse of epic poetry. I love mythology so here is my piece of crap:

Sing your beautiful voice in my ears, Calliope

Bore me the talents of your sacred mind

Zeus’ arbitress, judge me highest degree

Enslaved myself in your thoughts

With anticipation to gain the philosophy you hold

Give me your wisdom

Pass the spirit through my hands

Mother of eloquence

Epic of prominence

Be with me

By Jacknjill (Jacknjill) on Saturday, May 22, 2004 - 12:38 pm: Edit

Hey, can you poets help me out? This is a poem by Cilla McQueen...can you guys tell me what it means? cuz i dont see anything special, but who ever i show this poem to loves it...help?

Otherwise

I come
from an opposite country
to yours, where water spirals
and the moon waxes
otherwise.
my stars assemble in unfamiliar patterns
and I watch often not traffic or television
but hour by hour the huge tide
absently fingering rocks and small shells
and the wet brown kelp
where fish go sliding through.

if you were with me now
on my favourite beach
we'd watch the distant seismograph
of silver peaks darkening to indigo
and walk on the breakwater
towards the harbour mouth,
disturbing the flocks of terns
that wheel up shrieking in slim wild voices
to land again behind us
renwing their conference. I would slip
my cold hand in your pocket,
you'd look at me and grin
and we would walk together quietly
right to the very end,
where big chained rocks hold back
the same Pacific ocean, lumbering in.

By Ohio_Mom (Ohio_Mom) on Saturday, May 22, 2004 - 08:15 pm: Edit

This is a beautiful poem. I don't know if you have ever travelled far enough away that the constellations are different - it is very odd to see the night sky. One of the many things that the poet is doing (I think) is use to the imagery of geographical distance to talk about other type of distance between people.

Try reading out loud and see what else you get out of it.

By Ohio_Mom (Ohio_Mom) on Saturday, May 22, 2004 - 08:19 pm: Edit

Poison Ivy,
I'm a sucker for mythology, too. What other language do you speak? One of the Romance languages, I'm guessing.

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Sunday, May 23, 2004 - 10:38 am: Edit

It is beautiful. I believe that the author is saying that things are the same everywhere. That love, friendship, and human experience are universal and not dictated by proximity.

Just my .02

By Poison_Ivy (Poison_Ivy) on Sunday, May 23, 2004 - 10:43 am: Edit

French that is. I'm a French West Indian born in Montreal

By Ohio_Mom (Ohio_Mom) on Sunday, May 23, 2004 - 05:10 pm: Edit

Poison Ivy,
do you also write poetry in French? I don't know if you are trying to do so - but you caress your words more than an English or German speaker would (yes, I know this is a generalization). I think it might be an interesting exercise for you to translate your poem into French - I believe that you might fine room for refinement in the English.

Jacknjill-
Noodleman and I came up with completely opposite opinions on what the poem means! What do you think?

Somecanadianguy -
I like your interpretation of Starry night, particularly of seeing the stars as friendly. I am always amazed that anyone can write poetry to spec. I hope that you can find time in the summer to explore the human condition in verse, in the form and manner of your choosing.

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Sunday, May 23, 2004 - 05:46 pm: Edit

OhioMom: That is one of the best things about poetry! :)

By Ohio_Mom (Ohio_Mom) on Sunday, May 23, 2004 - 05:54 pm: Edit

Noodleman
Absolutely! And art! BTW, I have a chinese poem I have to transcribe in for you - try to do it tonight or tomorrow.

By Gameguy56 (Gameguy56) on Monday, May 24, 2004 - 01:01 am: Edit

I love baseball, so you can see what this is about

The warm fields the tall green grass
echoes of a long past time
the sacred field where ball was played
devoid of reason and rhyme

Here boys became men
on the youthfull field of dreams
but now shattered by adulthood
man has forgotten to play

By Poison_Ivy (Poison_Ivy) on Monday, May 24, 2004 - 11:59 am: Edit

OHIOMOM, Here it is:

Chanter votre belle voix dans mes oreilles, Calliope

M'ennuyer les talents de votre esprit sacré

Zeus’ arbitress, me juger le plus haut degré

M'est asservi dans vos pensées

Avec la prévision pour gagner la philosophie que vous tenez

Me donner votre sagesse

Passer l'esprit par mes mains

La mère d'éloquence

L'épopée de proéminence

Etre avec moi

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Monday, May 24, 2004 - 12:58 pm: Edit

I prefer it in French!

Thanks!

By Gabushida (Gabushida) on Monday, May 24, 2004 - 10:33 pm: Edit

This is a haiku
I dont ever write poems
This is very bad

By Musefinity (Musefinity) on Tuesday, May 25, 2004 - 12:50 am: Edit

Gabushida, what a sage with words you are! Truly, a sage.

By Nmoreno1 (Nmoreno1) on Tuesday, May 25, 2004 - 01:54 am: Edit

Just wrote this tonight (coincidentally (sp?) while writing my graduation speech)

Untitled
We're a world wrapped in ignorance,
Of harsh pleasures and deaths,
And to these things,
For beliefs and servitude,
Are we, to acquiesce.

Trials and pain and misery
of lifes so harsh, but true,
to live and love
among the cruel
world so utterly blue

So how can man exist,
with these things so contradictory?
As to destroy that upon which he stands
while shining the light of Democracy?

By Gabushida (Gabushida) on Tuesday, May 25, 2004 - 04:04 pm: Edit

Muse,
Thank you oh so much.
I try not to play up my poetry-abilities (skillz :b), but sometimes it just flows out

:b

By Mazzo (Mazzo) on Wednesday, May 26, 2004 - 09:35 am: Edit

http://poetry.tetto.org/~Mazzo/

i encourage all of you to join. :)

By Kitkattail (Kitkattail) on Friday, May 28, 2004 - 12:15 am: Edit

I don't write poetry. Why? I have too much respect for the medium to pollute it with yet more trash.

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Friday, May 28, 2004 - 09:25 am: Edit

Good! Then don't.

By Flipflops (Flipflops) on Friday, May 28, 2004 - 02:35 pm: Edit

I like your stuff Noodleman, it's deep but friendly. Makes you smile thoughtfully. :)

By Noodleman (Noodleman) on Tuesday, June 01, 2004 - 09:12 am: Edit

Gee, thanks, Flipflops! Poetry is one thing I do not profess to have any sort of aptitude for; I just like to give it a shot every once in a while. It's ok to suck at things and still do them, IMO.

:)

By Victimofapathy (Victimofapathy) on Saturday, June 05, 2004 - 12:58 am: Edit

"You know you can enter contests and stuff at www.poetry.com and your friends can look up your name to read your stuff. "
Poetry.com is a complete scam. Don't enter anything, they'll accept everything. Then you get a letter saying that they want to publish you, but you have to pay 30 bucks to own the book in which you're being published. Afterward, even if you don't give them permission to publish you, you keep getting letters about poetry contests you've won. If you don't believe me, write the crappiest poem you can, and wait until they send you a letter.
And this, is a poem I wrote a while ago, but I'm feeling romantic, so, yeah. This would probably go under "bad".
BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT SHEDS LIGHT ON NAIVITY
Your face moved toward mine
and I had butterflies in my stomach
Just like the movies said I should.
And our lips touched,
pressed for but a moment,
and
there were no fireworks.
No waves crashed,
rolling in and out.
No secret sudden knowledge was passed
through our mouths.
Just your cracked lips against mine,
and the taste of your greasy pizza lunch.

And here is a poem I like a bit better. I wrote it for class (prompt:"I'm most happy when...").

I'm most happy
when I'm with you,
and our bubble of selfish oblivion
encloses us.
Finally, I own that romantic-movie-sigh,
and finally,
love poetry is more than sweet lyrics.
I love you,
and I'd love to stay like this
for-more-than-ever.

By Wishful_Thinker (Wishful_Thinker) on Sunday, June 06, 2004 - 09:05 am: Edit

wow, the talent is everywhere! awesome job you guys. i have to remind myself to dig under all my crappy poems and find something good to post up.

By Nmoreno1 (Nmoreno1) on Sunday, June 06, 2004 - 07:53 pm: Edit

If you ask me, prose formatted to "look" like poetry isn't poetry. Too much enjambment = blah.

That is just my .02's...

By Winkalink (Winkalink) on Monday, June 07, 2004 - 08:00 pm: Edit

I have so many, I don't know where to start, soooo...


Nonentity

She broke in through the doors
From the moonlit squall of strife,
And stuttered to me sorely,
“I was never one for life.”
She crumbled on the couch,
And rocked her brow forward,
Clasped her hands, bit her lip
And pleaded with the Lord,
“God, give me strength,
And protect me from above.
Bless me with your care
And everlasting love.”
Her lids flew open at once
And her hair splashed her face;
I knew she was lost
And felt herself disgraced.
Destiny loved her well,
But she preferred to dance with Death,
And the only thing she measured
Was the pain of drawing breath.
Her eyes found the mirror
And she searched through its frame,
Weeping, “I am a nothing;
A nothing with a name.”

By Winkalink (Winkalink) on Monday, June 07, 2004 - 08:01 pm: Edit

Yeah, I know it sounds suicidal, but don't worry, it was just a rainy day, so I took advantage. :)

By Mparking (Mparking) on Tuesday, June 08, 2004 - 01:21 pm: Edit

I was writing a journal entry, and I got this creative vibe and made improv poetry instead. I was doing my year in review and I decided that conventional paragraphs were boring.
------------------------------------

Call it variation,
call it eccentric,
call it crazy beatnik thinking,
call it what you wish --
but for a moment I will deviate
from the typical journal entry;
for a moment I'll stanzate myself
for a moment I am a poet,
because --
don't you know?
humanity is poetry.
I had said it before;
we all seem to have this intricate way
of writing ourselves out
to be read in lines,
and each time period in our lives is a brilliant stanza
waiting to be read.

So shall I continue with my absurdity?


For the
past
hour
I had been reading
my
past
that I poured out in
words upon
words upon
words,
and I truly amaze myself and what I have done in a meager amount of time.

So halfway to my conclusion,
I look at myself in words.
It is an imperative idea to think that I am insane.
All those sleepless nights in which I enslaved myself to memorization and coming to historical points --
was it worth it?
All those spontaneities of emotion and bouts of insanity and losing my head--
was it worth it?
All those times my eyes percipitated like rainclouds on a dark and muggy October evening--
was it worth it?
Somehow, it all was;
it amounted to my persona now,
and I learned to
never
never
regret anything in life.
It's all a part of character.

(Of course, I will contradict myself on that theory.)

I've kept my head on with bolts and nuts.

Coffee cups, coffee cups, many many coffee cups.
This year I found the glory of a shipmate named Starbuck
who tried to diverge me from spinning away.
Caffeine is a drug.

I've learned of heaven and peace of mind,
I've discovered God's identity,
but I still haven't found what I'm looking for (U2).
I'm getting there.

(I've found that I have a guilty pleasure for the 80's.)

And while I'm at it, I would like to thank
you
and you
and you.
Supportive, vindicative, either.

For all the morning, through-the-day, and after-school talks and your daily guidance, for listening to my rants and not underestimating my mind, all of you,
Thank you.

For all those silly spills in English over Sara's perverseness and your motivation to make me run the mile run for all of its entity,
Thank you.

For all those goofy rehearsals when we would hide behind corners and attack each other from the stairs and laugh like jackals for a hundred times and played tricks on each other in public,
Thank you.

For the good talks, the alphabet game cheap tips at the Chinese restaurant, for stopping me from kidnapping you home, for eating large $5.00 pizzas and Girl Scout cookies, for the "credit card swipe" and inspiration and late-night AIMing,
Thank you.

For being my "best friend in the whole wide world" and oh yes, I'll oil your face to the ground or something like that,
Thank you.

For those strange stalker messages on crumpled notebook paper that were left on my van windshield after school, whoever you were,
Thank you.

For your strange theories about communism and banana republics, for your strange method of thinking, but most importantly for your motivation to get myself away and to pursue my future to its full extent and not let anything stand in the way,
Thank you.

For those times in October when he left the house and came back and I almost fell apart in tears over a silly romance and you let me scream at you about it all and said that I was worth more to you than I was to myself,
Thank you.

For all those days and nights I drove you home and we would talk about the past/present/future and who you are and who I am and how to keep sane, and the IHOP evening,
Thank you.

And,
kid,
for all those times you've swept me off my feet,

Thank you.

You've been a wonderful audience.

Oh, and to answer your question,
Edgar,
my mind works like a gumball machine--
when I need a product I must first have input,
and I churn in the coin like an equation in a calculator;
the answer comes spinning down the guiding ramp,
and somehow I get the result.
It may be at random, but I have my result.

I have typed
word
upon word
upon word
in composing this entry,
nearly nonstop choo-choo train engine sorta thing,
and I am satisfied.
It may be totally nonsensical and chances are,
I will hate it tomorrow,
but tonight,
satisfied.

And with that (ladies and gentlemen),
Adieu.

By Minamora (Minamora) on Tuesday, June 08, 2004 - 05:18 pm: Edit

Poetry theatre! All-right!

Three Haiku



Out comes the Cheez-Wiz.
Cleanup on isle seven!
What luck, no salteens.

---

Physical science.
Undergrunts, grunts and post-grunts:
keep turning the crank!

---

I had had a dream
of skating on thinnest ice,
jackhammer in-hand.

By Somecanadianguy (Somecanadianguy) on Tuesday, June 08, 2004 - 08:11 pm: Edit

Mistakes Made

You sent them there
To that godforsaken land
To spend their lives for nonsense
To pay the price you would not pay yourself

Once they were young waiting for their lives to begin
Hoping to contribute to the land where we live
Hoping to make a difference
Hoping to help a cause

Now they lay there
Cut down in the prime of life
Cut down by the rain of metal
Cut down by things they had to do

Now here we stand remembering
The sacrifice they made
The damage that was done
The things we hope never to endure

By Gameguy56 (Gameguy56) on Monday, June 14, 2004 - 01:27 pm: Edit

ooo more baseball

The green fields of innocense
warm with the spirit of bliss
prance around the sacred diamond
of past and future times

these are the games of joy
of happiness pleasure and love
the shinig sun lights the faces of men
whose boy is set free


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