BECAUSE we're doing

Chatterbox: Inkwell

BECAUSE we're doing

BECAUSE we're doing a poetry unit in English this tri and verse is cool like that.

This shall be the poetry thread! Short poems, long poems, traditional and organic and all other kinds in between. Go.

ICARUS

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Sitting under the maple tree

That beast

That protects

That which it loves

Not who, that’s certain

Not me.

It could never love me

I am the one who climbs the boughs

Tearing words

From the leaves

Folding branches

Stripping bark

Until none is left to hold it

To this Earth

It flies

I fly

On the mighty wings I have crafted
of these words

Stitched together by careful
fingers

Lovingly

Painstakingly

Polished to a shine

I fly high

I soar

The verse upholds me, and I—

I know freedom now.

Or I did.

For I have flown too high

For I have flown too far

The ocean churns

Beneath me

The sun beats down above me

I smell the smoke

Before I feel the burn

Aflame

My wings shrivel up

They fall from my aching arms

And I fall

Back into the boughs of that maple
tree

Maybe it does love me

It has no rhyme, no reason

It has saved me.

___

Yava: nzfm.

--L

 

submitted by L
(March 19, 2013 - 3:57 pm)

back to the Inkwell


they
say to be brave


to
be strong and proud and confident and a good person


shine
like the star you are a self confident star


but
people are not just one star


whole
universes inside them the stars shining brightly and


all
the nothingness and blackness in between


understanding
the stars is easy for astrophysicists


and
strong people


but
not so for me in the blackness


voices
asking questions and questions


and
questions I don't know how to answer


What
do you want to be?


What
kind of person are you?


What
do you believe in?


and
even the mundane and simple


What's
your favorite color?


'cause
if know they know the answer I know the answers


to
me and all the questions they ask and I would understand


make
sense


categorize


quantify
all these stars and black holes inside


and
I'm afraid of the dark


and
the patchwork monsters lurking their fangs dripping cold red poison


and
scales slithering and I don't have  the
sword of Godric Gryffindor


to
put through the mouth of the basilisk


because
the snake is part of me and I am the patchwork monster.


I
understand this much:


I
do not know me and


I'd
like to keep it that way
if you were to say you understood me


I
would call you liar or little sister


because
how could you possibly understand


the
stars inside of me


when
I look at the darkness and stars and light sucking black holes


and
space in between the stars that's so much bigger than they are


with
no oxygen to breathe


I
don't even know me myself.


submitted by Edge
(March 21, 2013 - 6:18 pm)

Topatay!

I hear whispers all around
I hear the chirps of squirrels
The chatter of birds
The magnificent cacophony
Where does it all go?

I hear music in the silence
I hear the song of everyday
The whispers of trees
The laughter of the stillness
Why can no one else hear it?

There comes a time in everyone's conscious
When everyday mumbling becomes obnoxious
When the brilliance of the stage becomes obscured
Then there is a song to be heard

I see the glitter in the darkness
I know the life in deadened lands
The true color of a mirror
The voice of the mockingbird
Shall be my companions forevermore

__

I literally posted this on FP yesterday and already it has like twelve reviews. BHR, this is what I was trying to post on Camp NaNo but failed.

submitted by L
(March 24, 2013 - 6:40 pm)

tpop

submitted by top
(March 21, 2013 - 6:22 pm)

OUaTW needs to get out of my brain. Or else.

(Or, Morris finds the Hatter in Storybrooke after the Dark Curse is broken.) 

*

She always thought that, if she ever saw Morris again,

(she couldn’t) 

but if she did, she would take all of her pain

(the grief the being alone the nothing the hurting)

and give it to him.

(he would scream for her while she burned him)

Because

(he threw her away)

that was what traitors deserved.

 

But now he is here in her tea house, and all she can do is cling to him

(his shoulder drenched with her tears)

and whisper hold me hold me please.

(and everything is right again)

submitted by TNÖ, age 19, Deep Space
(March 24, 2013 - 9:02 pm)

The mesquitos and the bug spray,

Marshmallows 'round the fire,

My word count goal today

is deficient.  This is very dire.

 

Plot dragons have dragged me

in to their inky cave.

To help me find the key

to proper usage of "fairy slave".

 

I sprayed myself with blackest ink,

My editor's is red.

The green is only used by finks

My pen is nearly dead.

 

And so becomes a novel without a plan-no

It was a normal day here at Camp Nano. 

submitted by Gollum
(March 25, 2013 - 9:00 am)

Fresh white paper

In front of me.

I draw and plan what I shall put on it.

And now I'm spinning.

I turn my pen over

Use my soft rubber stylist to write.

It takes a while, to peck type

Every

Single

Letter

But it's worth it. 

submitted by Theo W, age 12, Duluth!
(March 25, 2013 - 2:44 pm)

Hector the Spork (because Gary the Unideer belongs to a person on FP)

Here I sit, in the dark drawer.

There they sit.

The forks

And the spoons

Mocking me.

“What kind of a utensil are you?”

“Can’t hold soup—”

“Can’t hold onto anything—”

“Just plastic.”

“Useless.”

They never say it directly to me,
but

I hear it all the same.

I’ll tell you what kind of utensil
I am.

I’m a survivor.

I am the fittest.

Cutlery.

HA!

So specialized, they can never be
used

For anything but their

Original purpose.

If something should go awry

(and it oft does)

I should triumph

For I am the fittest.

I am unique!

If I were an animal, I would be

Gary the Unideer!

But Gary isn’t me

And I am not Gary

So I shall have to choose another
name.

I know.

Not quite a spoon

Not quite a fork…

Foon?

That sounds ridiculous.

Spork?

That’s it!

I’m Hector the Spork!

Beat that, mainstream cutlery.

submitted by L
(March 26, 2013 - 3:47 pm)

The Unreliable Animal Whisperer


I’d like to talk to the dodos


Except they are dead


I’d like to talk with dragons


Although I’d be out of my head



I’d like to talk with skunks


Actually, I’d rather not


I’d like to talk with lions


Though in their jaws I’d not like to be caught



I’d like to talk with fish


Even though the conversation would bore


You know, I’m starting to think--


Maybe it’s not worth talking to animals anymore



submitted by Theo W., age 12, Dark,Dreadful Places
(March 26, 2013 - 5:20 pm)

That's really funny. I like that.

submitted by L
(April 3, 2013 - 9:51 am)

Thanks!

submitted by Theo W.
(June 4, 2013 - 4:19 pm)

In 5th grade we had to write a poem about the unfair taxes put on the colonists by King George. Then, we had to present it to the class. My poem ended up being about 3 pages long! This is just the first stanza of my long poem.
We are all being taxed unfairly,
All of us ache to be free,
King George is our ruler,
We wish that we were all sir,
Free from that tax on tea.

submitted by Teresa, age 14, Michigan
(April 5, 2013 - 5:28 pm)

A friend of mine recently demanded birthday Wonderland haikus, which seems as good a reason as any to revive this thread. So.

 

The steam whistles call

mome souls to celebration.

A new ghost glitters.

*

A sudden cut ends

the long arc, ravenous as

the twist of his smile.

*

Back to life defined

by deadlines—the prognosis

has more color now. 

submitted by TNÖ, age 19, Deep Space
(June 3, 2013 - 7:42 pm)

*pokepoke*

submitted by TNÖ, age 19, Deep Space
(June 4, 2013 - 11:54 am)