Surprised im the first to post this topic, while i myself am a horrible poet, i was curious to see if anyone else on here was good. Feel free to share your work as well.
words can be like poison slowy killing a person they can be like cancer killing them from the inside out they can cut like the sharpest knife they can drive a person mad make the close friends become enemys make the happyist family fall apart make the happyist smarts prouds person feel like trash they can ruin lifes or crush the world dont underastmate the power of words a singel word can devastae a life the power of words are stronger then the fist dont take people lightly cause they can do what ever they want with words a person can rule the world with words ever one has power think befor you use yours you never know what words can do
found one of my old ones
There once was a poet
Her name was Farside
And she couldn’t write poetry
even if she had a rhyming dictionary
so she just sort of separates prose
Your poetry’s lacking in grace
I’ll say that right to your face
Your name won’t deceive me
Your poems always leave me
Longing for death’s cold embrace
POETRY SLAAAAAAMMM!!! (all in good fun )
Oh me oh my
Oh dear god why
Are the bunch of you so terrible?
One should be
Equipped with the six essentials
Rhythm and rhyme
Rosemary and thyme
Lace and a good bit of grace
And with the lace (and all in good taste!) one can make a graceful gown!
For if thou do wear
This graceful gown I speak of
Wearing this gown
Will cause one to fall down
The stairs and into a thornbush!
Why there are thorns in the house
No one knows
Except perhaps the spouse
Or maybe even the louse!?
And THAT is how it’s done! (All in good taste of course! And in good fun as well!)
Farside the Terrible spoke
to a Master.
“Thorns and gowns
are all good and well
But true poetry mastery
giving a damn.”
The Master then closed his eyes,
meditating six days he did,
and Farisde still couldn’t rhyme.
A poet I have never been
Prose is far more my in
The ambiguous wording much too broad
Thus my interpretations are quite odd
I do quite like the pretty words
Like forests, scarves, trees, and birds
But I get those in the genre of “beat”
And without the rhymes of defeat
I can’t fit this in one comment, so prepare for a double post. This is something I wrote a while ago.
Oh strange, oh fickle fiend,
Is it you who hath gleaned,
That which I have sought,
For so many battles I have fought,
On so much time that I have spent,
Only to find out that it went,
Further than I may reach,
Further than any beach,
Out beyond that sea,
So far away from me,
Deep within that place,
From which so many race,
To find safe haven,
To find, that fickle raven,
Who should guide them home,
Else, such a distance they should roam.
So where do I begin?
I see that spreading grin,
Growing on your lips,
Like the hill that soars and dips.
And so it changes once again,
And to myself I think, what if, then,
You change your mind once more,
And leave me standing at your door,
All alone out here,
With just my brooding fear,
Of what might come out from the dark,
Of what could see that shining mark,
You have placed above my head,
To protect me from the dead.
Those mournful souls that seek,
To consume the many meek,
Who find their way down here,
Where hell is just so near.
And what now shall we do,
That I seemed to have inspired you,
To leave your gloomy lair,
To ascend that spiraled stair,
To meet me eye to eye,
To not have said goodbye,
To remain right here before me,
To have not just let me be,
In this sorry state,
The reason I have come to you, to clear my slate,
And find what I have sought;
That which betrays my very thought.
But surely you would understand,
Oh you from such a foreign land,
Oh you, strange, oh fickle fiend,
With whom I’ve just now convened.
Yes, it is your aid I need,
Without which I fear I shall bleed,
All my soul and all my heart,
Into some great work of art,
But why, you ask, is that so bad?
Is this not something, that should make me glad?
Indeed it should, but is it true?
If it were, would I be here now, standing before you?
Then what, you ask, is so wrong,
Have I forgot, where I belong?
No, I say, my mind is set,
And has been since the day we met.
That day of frost and sleet and snow,
When I realised that what I needed to know,
Lied within your greater grasp,
Around which your hand could easily clasp,
And then to me it could be passed,
And then I’d know, finally, at last.
You and I, we’ve met before,
Long before that dreadful war,
That cost so many their sacred lives,
And brought them here, like bees to hives.
You do remember, do you not?
I should hope you have not forgot,
For what hope have I,
To live or to die,
If you cannot recall that time,
When you span that epic rhyme.
Remember, the snow and the cold?
I was but just ten years old,
When you appeared before us all,
And unleashed to us that mighty call,
For one to come, from amidst the crowd,
I remember that call, oh, so loud.
And who did you call? None other,
Than my older brother.
From the crowd came he,
And stood before thee,
Only for you to whisk him away,
Not to be seen for many a day.
I often wonder what you wanted with him,
Whether it was life, or limb.
He was only sixteen,
But brave he had been.
You remember him, I trust?
For one like you, should not forget, even the tiniest fleck of dust,
Let alone myself, or my brother,
Whom you stole away from our dear mother.
So before I ask my own question, I will ask hers;
Why, she asks, is it upon us, that this punishment occurs?
What was it he had that you desired,
What was it he had, that you, required?
What’s that you say?
It was my brother’s dismay,
That was what lured you to him,
Not just a whim?
To me he never seemed the slightest bit sad,
I’d have to say you are quite mad,
To have determined that he was depressed,
That his fears and concerns were all repressed.
Surely he would have spoken,
For if his heart were broken,
He’d have told me, his brother, his friend,
And together his problems we’d have been able to mend.
You’re sure? It’s true?
Then what am I to do?
If I’d known that secrets were kept,
I would have wept.
But what became of my dear brother?
Did his life you choose to smother?
What? He lives? He walks?
You must fetch him at once! We’ve missed so many talks!
But alas, I realise,
You can grant only one wish, and in mine eyes,
My two wishes are reflected,
But one must be rejected.
Such heartache I face! I cannot choose!
For either way, something dear I lose.
What torture have you forced upon me?
To make me choose, between family,
And the knowledge that I hunt.
I am just a measly runt,
Incapable of any great physical feat.
Is this why I find you here, where you said we’d meet?
Oh, I see now; it is all very clear:
It is now that I must look past my fear.
And what is it that I fear most? Oh, I think you know,
For I felt it on that fateful day of frost, and snow,
Yes, a feeling, is what I fear,
'Tis what I love; what I hold dear,
Or would, had I, someone to hold,
With which I, and her, could grow old.
A woman!? Nay, not just. More than a woman; not just a girl,
That special one, her eyes, each a pearl,
Whom I’ve yet to meet,
Whom I’ve yet to greet,
Hair like sunshine, a smile like heaven,
Skin like silk, and a mind, worth seven.
That such a being exists, I sincerely do hope,
Like salvation from above, a divine rescue rope.
Oh, call me sad, for that is what I am; yes I,
Yes I, sad, I am. And I wonder, why?
You dare insult my wish? “Typical,” you say?
That I seek love, love puriest, today?
I see not by your side a companion or such,
So who are you to insult my wishes so much?
Love, you transcend, you different thing,
You know not what I seek, yet you offer, this ring.
This ring, I say, that hangs from your fingers,
A darkness I feel, within it lingers.
Do not try to trick me, like others past,
Who, in greed, have taken it, that action their last.
What fool would oblige, with knowledge of you?
You, yes you, you demon-be-damned, yes you.
I know much of you, and the dealings you deal,
Which more often than not, hurt than heal.
Lies, you spin, and deceit you spread,
Evil you serve, with butter and bread.
So why, you ask, dare I even come down here?
To these darkest of depths, with nothing to fear.
You know, already. Yet you treat me the same,
Like I, like so many, am just the most trivial, and lame.
I would have thought, you’d act different for me,
I, who know, know of you, and yet here I be.
I know of your tricks, yet here I stand,
With one of two things, I need to demand,
I’m faced with a choice, and you aren’t sure which,
I’m likely to pick, the answer, just continues to switch.
My brother, or a lover? One difficult decision,
One I might add, requires precise precision.
You’d toy with me? With me, of all?
Is it true, you say? My brother, did already fall?
By your hand, I hope not,
Lest I’d send you, to rust, and rot.
A threat? Yes indeed!
I am not here, on matters of greed.
You took him from me! And now you say he is gone forever?
I believe you? No, no never!
He cannot be gone, he cannot be dead,
He cannot have been lain to rest, emptied, his head.
A tear, you see? Yes, it is true!
A tear I do shed, for my brother, I do.
My choice then, is made,
My brother is gone, but his memory, shan’t fade.
I will build for him, one great tombstone,
That will honour him, to the very bone.
Lost was he by the hands of fate,
And I, it seems, have come too late,
When I escape from here, my wish fulfilled,
When I escape from here, my demons all killed,
I will honour my brother, and lay a curse upon you,
Should you not do, what I ask you to do.
That is my threat, a curse, it be,
Upon your head, for all, to see,
From heaven to hell, your name is known,
But when I am done, the seeds will be sown,
The seeds, of your demise,
The seeds, of thousands, of eyes,
They’ll stare! They’ll stare and they’ll watch,
You for eternity, from every last blotch,
Of mischief you’ve spread, of evil you’ve grown,
Of nightmares you own.
You will never be free, of their judgemental gaze,
And never again will you be able to hide, amongst this dark haze.
I see it growing around me, you know.
You know I pose trouble now, myself and my glow.
Yes, 'tis no ordinary lamp I brought,
Have a look, you ought,
Oh yes, you should,
For with me I have, the light of all good.
Now I see you falter, are you afraid?
You should be, you fiend, of the threats I have made.
Listen now, hear me clear,
Lend me your pointed, twisted ear.
If my brother is gone, then I wish you much ill,
But I still need you, for my wish to fulfil.
You would grant me one wish, be it my heart’s desire,
Or my brother’s return; this causes me much ire.
'Tis a difficult choice! Let me time to decide,
Within myself, I have to confide.
Around me I hear the shambling dead,
The ghosts of the past, whisper in my head.
Time I have not, for my mark is fading,
Soon, my life for death, I will be trading.
Oh strange, oh fickle fiend,
My choice is…
I can not rhyme well
Therefore I prefer haikus
I suck at those too
My wife pointed out that the second and third line rhyme. I hate irony.
Apple’s are red
Some flowers are blue
And a merry christmas for all of you
Red eyes open in a world of decay,
A world without the light of day.
“It is a place for the unwanted,” they say.
The Damned, Denied, Rejected, and Outcasted,
The ones that have so far lasted,
It is a curse on them that has been casted.
The mysterious prophecies start to come true,
The omens all around they did not heed to,
And now it is the White Rabbit who whispers in their minds, telling them what they shall now do.
I, shallow Earth, in dead lagoon
Birds sing above, to which, I swoon.
The surface; up! I creep! I crawl!
But filth consumes, and I, its thrall.
Still “Hope!”, they cry, in abandon, fly
To sky, damn sky, whom I beseech
But these doves lie; their heaven’s high
Too high, damn high; I cannot reach.
Buried am I? “In hidden swamp!”
The birds sing, feathers puff, all pomp.
Their help is not! I feel they mock
Struggle and loss, this demon flock.
Always I pray, to feel sun’s ray
In light, my light, it is my need,
Still “Hope!” they say, and rise away
In fright, my fright, until I’m freed.