Regular poetry thread

Chatterbox: Pudding's Place

Regular poetry thread

Regular poetry thread (because I'm tired of not editing my poems)

This is exactly what it sounds like! A thread to post poetry. I'm excited to read all of your work!

submitted by Bluebird
(April 30, 2017 - 8:51 pm)

That's great, Lucy! *hugs* Poring your feelings out into a poem is an excellent way to eal with them, and often makes for excellent poems. I especially like the last stanza!

submitted by Booksy Owly
(July 6, 2017 - 12:06 pm)

I've been in a writing slump for years, so this is some of the first creative work I've done in a while. 


I don't have words to accurately describe who you are, what you meant to me, what you still mean, even as the years pass and the grass grows up over your grave.

You stole my words when you died and left me in this poor state, so there is a phrase: word thief.

You stole my breath away with your crazy schemes, so there is a phrase: breath thief.

You stole my heart when you breathed and talked and laughed and danced and appeared so alive, so human, no one could tell the difference.

You gave me reason to write, word thief, and you gave the words back with your own: "Here are your angels"

You gave me reason to live, breath thief, and a promise to never give it up.

But you still have my heart, and it will never, never come back, because it is buried in your grave and the grass grows tall and green over it.

I can hear it beating. 

submitted by Ruby M.
(July 5, 2017 - 5:40 pm)

That's beautiful, Ruby. The end, especially, struck me. The wording wormed its way into my heart in just those few lines. Well done.

submitted by Booksy Owly
(July 6, 2017 - 1:08 pm)

Thanks for the compliments, Booksy, and Leafpool. I might write some more this summer here.

submitted by Ruby M.
(July 7, 2017 - 1:18 pm)

Ruby, that's awesome! I love the way each verse continues on for a while.

submitted by Leafpool, age Eternal, Hidden in the forest
(July 6, 2017 - 1:48 pm)

Wow, this is amazing, Ruby! I love the repetition 

submitted by September
(July 7, 2017 - 3:47 pm)

I don't have the words for what this piece did to me. (And you say I'm a good writer?)

submitted by Violet, age 16, Cawdor
(July 8, 2017 - 2:19 pm)

Thanks for finally getting me to write, you guys! *hugs*

lost and found / traveller

i. my compass is pointing just north of reality

way south of normality

ii. i tried following the north star but it

disappeared behind a cloud

iii. you told me to turn around

iv. lost my map in the bermuda triangle 

and my crooked sense of morality

v. so different from you

vi. watch out, you said, i’m coming for you

closing in, i can feel the fog

vii. hello, no


viii. i found the only thing i wanted to lose

ix. you caught me by the throat

x. you can make me stare at the sun

but i am the child of the moon


submitted by Booksy Owly
(July 6, 2017 - 12:04 pm)

Ooh, Booksy! I really love that one, it's short but it says a lot!

submitted by Leafpool
(July 7, 2017 - 1:22 pm)

Booksy, I love this! My favorite line is: my compass is pointing just north of reality/way south of normality!

submitted by September
(July 7, 2017 - 4:02 pm)

Here's a poem I entered for Booksy's poetry contest. I decided to write it because I was inspired by Lake Michigan, which we've been visiting for three years. This year will be our fourth, and we're leaving in a week. I'm so ready! I would love critique and/or title suggestions!

I'm dreaming

Of an indigo lake

It might as well be an ocean

Because the water stretches out forever

I can't see the end. 

I'm longing

For an indigo lake

That touches the sky


I'm dreaming 

Of standing on the shore

While the playful waves kiss my toes

And bury my feet in sand.

I'm longing

For standing on that shore

The sky and the water 

Hand in hand. 

I'm dreaming 

Of running on the shore

Chasing the sun

As it sinks below the water. 

I'm longing

To watch the gulls

As they fly away,

Away to the sun. 

I'm dreaming

Of wading deep

Into the dark waters

Watching the moon come up

Touching the stars.

I'm longing

For the midnight chills

When the fog rolls in

It's no wonder 

they call this lake great

It goes so far. 

I'm dreaming 

Of an indigo lake

It might as well be an ocean

Because the water stretches out forever

I can't see the end. 


submitted by Leeli
(July 8, 2017 - 2:08 pm)

I'd love some critique on this, and also a title suggestion: 

I'm trying to decide between Armory/Armorie and Weapon Girl

eyes like security cameras

mascara blades fly when we bat our eyelashes 

watching watching following, we know threats 

when we see them maybe not at 

first glance but we know, we know. 

voice like cut steel, lipstick doubles as war paint

because looking powerful is feeling powerful 

hair pulled back into sleek ponytails, uniformity

is key because when they see, they  will know

fists like stones, nail polish leaves colorful scratches

sweatshirts and jeans have no chinks, impenetrable

armor is crucial, and stilettos make excellent combat boots. 

we don't need weapons, we are blades that we can

wield ourselves, we're silent assassins, we're here

to protect when the world can't seem to stand up for those

who need it most.  

submitted by September
(July 8, 2017 - 4:15 pm)

ooh, I like it! The concept is very interesting, and the metaphors are all awesome. I like Weapon Girl. 

submitted by Leeli
(July 8, 2017 - 7:40 pm)

Thanks, I'm leaning towards that as well! 

submitted by September
(July 9, 2017 - 1:55 pm)



You'd think,

After someone rammed
Right into you

At least someome would ask
"Are you okay?"

You'd think,

After Coach Bryan said
"Clean up the pool deck,
Pick up all the boards and buoys,"

At least someonw would ask,
"Do you need help?"

Of course you would.

But that never happens.

And there they are,
Giving me
What they call

After I tell them
What THEY did.

Making me go last
Won't make me stronger
Because past a steel fence,
Behind a stone wall,
And though a mile-thick skin,
I am weak.

So when I get to the wall,
I empty the tears in my goggles out

So after I'm done picking up
Thirteen boards and eight buoys,
I hold in my tears until I get my towel.

So they'll never see my cry.

Swimming is torture,
But getting new times
And earning points for SSC

Makes every second worth it. 


Here's another instance where I pour all my feelings out into a poem. 

submitted by Lucy B., age 13, California
(July 11, 2017 - 8:15 pm)