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Poetry Club!
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Poetry Club!
Poetry Club!
There hasn't been one of these in a while, so I'm bringing it back! Calling all writers, all dreamers, all wordy weirdos with a penchant for poetry!
Here, we can post our writing, read poems by others, discuss rhyming versus free verse, be poetically melodramtic, and anything else you really want.
To kick things off, I'm going to post one I wrote a while ago, based off a lyric in Owl City's Take To The Sky— "Purple burst of paper birds, this picture paints a thousand words." It's a very happy song, but the poem took a different turn.
Hope you enjoy, and I'd love feedback. ^^
Purple Burst of Paper Birds
The ink stains are purple.
Not quite lavender, not quite indigo,
a sort of pale violet,
like the color of a summer midnight.
Exactly the color of a summer midnight.
It’s a peaceful shade,
relaxed and careless,
but for some reason she hates it.
She tells herself that she can’t place why,
really, that’s it’s just random.
(everyone has a weird quirk)
(she just doesn’t care for the color, that’s it)
She’s lying, she knows, and
continues to pretend.
Her hands are a little damp, she realizes
when she touches her fingertips
to the towering stack of forms
leaving streaks of purple
on the crisp white pages.
She should wash her hands.
She doesn’t know if they’ll even take them
if they’re all inky like that.
Does this place even have a bathroom?
It’s so silent, so still, so white.
She flags down a lady
with kind eyes
that are overshadowed by her
blindingly white uniform
bright crimson letters
(thick and blocky)
(it looks too foreboding)
on the back
stating the name of the hospital.
White and red.
She has seen too much of that today.
Red blood and white sheets and walls
and colorless cold skin and insipid vermillion diagrams
that are supposed to explain
the jagged line on the heart monitor.
There is so much.
So much white and red and
(she looks at her hands)
purple, which she needs to get rid of.
Yes.
That’s what she was doing.
The woman points her to a restroom
she thanks her, walks down,
pushes open the door with her hip.
She’s standing at the sink, the water running
but strangely she’s reluctant to put her hands under.
She thinks a bit then does,
watching the purple float off of her skin.
It swirls,
down
down
down
the drain, softening
among the tendrils of clear liquid,
spiraling slowly, then quicker and quicker—
and it’s gone.
She turns off the faucet.
Her phone rings.
She fumbles with it as she pulls it out of her pocket
(her hands are still wet, slippery)
She can’t find it in her to be scared,
just sick to her stomach,
as the voice, leaden with condolences,
begins its speech.
We are so very sorry…
She can feel it.
The dread fills her stomach like a stone.
… we did the best we could…
It doesn’t make it any easier to not be surprised.
… she was very brave…
The ink is gone, her hands are clean—
why does that matter?
… but she… she…
(the voice pauses)
… she couldn’t hang on. I hope you understand …
This is a dream.
It has to be.
She’s going to wake up, any minute now,
with her at her side, black locks framing her cheeks
like a halo around her sunshine smile.
No gunshots
no blood
no haze of consciousness
no yelling
no ambulance sirens
no deathly quiet.
No ink that reminds her of that first night,
two years ago
(had it really been two years?)
when the sky was just that shade of purple,
and the stars couldn’t hold a candle
to her eyes.
She’d laughed when she had said that.
They used to say that it felt like so much longer
that they’d known one another
but now it feels like it couldn’t have been that long,
she wants to scream, say, it’s not fair,
you’re not allowed to take her from me!
But she can’t.
The words get stuck
and they wouldn’t do anything, anyway,
words are pretend,
they never fix anything.
… she’s no longer in pain.
She mutters out a thank you and her phone falls
hitting the tile floor.
She hears it crack.
She doesn't care.
She leans against the wall
and sobs.
submitted by Abigail S., age 12, Nose in a Book
(March 4, 2017 - 8:52 pm)
(March 4, 2017 - 8:52 pm)
Yay! I missed this thread sooo much! Let our words paint the comments the way acrylics paint canvases! Let our creativity fly like the birds of paradise! Let… Uh… Okay, I'm out of figurative language. Be expecting some poetry from me soon!
(March 6, 2017 - 5:08 pm)
That's so beautiful and sad, Abigail! I love the line breaks, the way you use the color purple. Maybe I'll post a poem sometime.
"A poem records emotions and moods that lie beyond normal language, that can only be patched together and hinted at metaphorically." ~Diane Ackerman
(March 6, 2017 - 6:00 pm)
Here's a love poem I wrote earlier called "the dance."
"The dance"
He smiles,
she blushes,
neither willing to make the first move.
The music stops,
a love song plays.
He looks at her,
and she at him.
They turn away.
Time passes slowly.
He glances at her,
he musters up his courage, as she turns to leave.
He grabs her arm, and pulls her into him.
Eyes lock.
She smiles,
he blushes.
Together, they dance the night away.
(March 8, 2017 - 6:34 pm)
That's so sweet! I'm such a sucker for awkward romances :)
(March 9, 2017 - 7:11 pm)
Here's another poem I wrote:
Empty~
You watched him leave, driving slowly away.
All memories made, left behind.
All days spent, lost, forever.
He was gone,
no turning back.
Nothing to do,
nothing to say,
and nothing to fill that hole in your heart,
which was
quite
empty.
(March 8, 2017 - 6:37 pm)
Great thread! I've been writing a poem every day this year (if you can call all of them poems. "A string is a thing, that is all I have to say" was definitely my lowest point...)
Here's a pair of haikus I did:
Into dragon's breath
Over my eyes, my spiked jaw
Defiance you are
Who can understand
The breathing you bring them to?
The joy of finished
(March 9, 2017 - 7:10 pm)
... and another:
Every thought you think
Becomes me,
In the infinite fractals of my records.
The happiest hours of your summer scribblings,
Page after page of a future bestseller.
If you knew how to read you would never be lonely.
Every tear you shed
Becomes me,
In the turbulence of your disappointment you didn't notice
I was crying.
If you remembered you could let me do it for you.
Every book you read
Becomes me,
Leaves upon leaves of a tree who gave everything.
And I bled for the tree,
And for you,
And for discontentment.
If you came to me your tongue would smile.
Every inspiration you unsheath
Becomes me
And in joy I share my own blooming ideas.
You look up,
And smile.
"I forgot how lovely you are."
You come to me,
And write the last page.
That memory I will keep deep inside myself,
One more ripple in my ever-growing perception.
(March 9, 2017 - 7:24 pm)
That's beautiful, Shoshanna! Here's a light verse poem I wrote. (Light verse means humorous, for those of you who don't know.) It's written from the POV of a dog.
No
I wait all day
To run and play
For you to throw your ball to me
But instead you say
No.
I sit and beg
I nudge your leg
I want a piece of chicken
But instead you shake your head
No.
I whimper and whine
To go outside
I need to hike on that tree
But instead you chide
No.
I chew up your shoe
I'm mad at you
All you care about is yourself
And then in your bed I poo.
You walk in
And what a mess I'm in
A bad dog I've been
And you
Say
No.
(March 10, 2017 - 10:50 am)
Heehee. Your poem is funny.
(March 12, 2017 - 11:23 am)
Thanks! I think so too.
(March 14, 2017 - 9:13 am)
@Sho
I love that! It's beautiful.
Here's two that I wrote last night:
Music
Whispers passed
In a shady forest
Pop stars
On a sparkling stage
Teenage girls
With earbuds and phones
Little kids
Singing off-tune
Nervous twelve-year-olds
Playing the piano
Me
Singing for my friends
Reminds us
Of beauty
Music is color
Like paint
Spilled on
A blank page.
~~
To me,
You are
More than a friend
So much more.
Shared sentences
Giggling
An eighteen-year-old
Playing dolls
With a nine-year-old
Hours spent
Listening to music
And
Doing crafts
Emails and letters
When you're
In college
Bike rides for
Hours
In the summer
Thank you,
Sister
(March 19, 2017 - 12:23 pm)
Aw, I love those, Leafpool!
(March 24, 2017 - 2:31 pm)
Top! Poke! Top!
(March 19, 2017 - 12:24 pm)
(March 21, 2017 - 9:00 pm)
I'm pretty good at haikus, mainly because they're short. But I think I'll try a rhyming poem.
I found it
The wonderful rainbow
I found the candle that's lit
A color in the gray
I found the way to smile
The way of loving
I found that I can walk a mile
With happiness in my heart
I found a person I love
A dream I can share
I found a beautiful dove
And I'll always know that I can find it
That wasn't that good since I composed it while I was writing it though.
(March 25, 2017 - 5:07 pm)