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)

This needs to top! Don't you die on me, poetry thread. To the top! 

submitted by Leaftop!, age Top-teen, The TOP of the forest
(July 16, 2017 - 12:44 pm)

I haz really deep poem

Sure, I guess,
Ignorance is bliss

But why
Am I

The one that's set aside?

I try to make
Myself not look fake

But it's hard
When you've been marred

And you feel so scarred

I'm too nice
To hearts that are like ice

It all feels
Too real

Maybe it's time to seal the deal

I'm a mess,
I'll confess

I'm not keen,
I believe

A notice is a need

You say,
If I may,

That you'll miss me
If I leave

But that's not what I see

So what will the truth be? 

submitted by Lucy B., age 13, California
(July 19, 2017 - 10:41 pm)

Finally I've written something! Hah, it seems like when I write about poet's block I don't have it anymore.

Untitled

my mind is a dry ditch without any water

to fill it and i'm so lonely so lonely

so lonely

where do i find the words to write if i didn't

have any to begin with?

poets' block is like a drought, water is

words but there isn't water or words here

i'm falling, falling

drowning in the water that isn't there

how can you drown in a nonexistent lake, that's the question

i'm dying i'm dying

to some people poet's block is deadly poison and it kills them

i'm so thirsty

i need water i need words i need something unexplainable, something like inspiration but not quite

but no one seems to want to help i'm so lonely

 

submitted by Leafpool, age Eternal, Hidden in the forest
(July 20, 2017 - 9:55 am)

Bravo, LeafPool!!

submitted by Lucy B., age 13, California
(July 20, 2017 - 10:58 am)

Thank you! BTW, it's a lowercase p.

submitted by Leafpool
(July 21, 2017 - 11:54 am)

This is really relatable, and Leafpool, this poem is amazing! I love how you broke up the lines and the metaphors. This is so beautiful!

submitted by Bluebird
(July 22, 2017 - 3:14 pm)

Thank you! :)

submitted by Leafpool
(July 23, 2017 - 3:25 pm)

People say that when

you put your ear to a shell

you can hear the sea.

In my opinion, those people don't know what the sea

sounds like, at least not where I'm from.

Where I come from, and where 

i see the sea it sounds like

a collection of memories from

going almost every year since

I was old enough to walk,

the crash of the waves pounding

pounding

pounding on the shore

wearing the rocks down

to dust, the dust that they become

being swept away by the same pounding waves,

then pushed back up, an

endless cycle.

And the crys of the birds

and rustle of the trees on the shore,

I count those as part of the soundn of

the ocean.

So no, when you put a shell

to your ear, you cannot hear the ocean.

At least not how I know it.

submitted by Epic Fangirl
(July 24, 2017 - 7:33 pm)

This is a great poem, Epic Fangirl! I live really close to the ocean and I think this captures it perfectly!

submitted by Leafpool
(July 25, 2017 - 12:17 pm)

I remember
Years ago,

When I used to
Wake up early
Every morning of every week,

Rolling out of bed
On the days we were late,
Barely taking the time
To brush my long dark hair

To go to camps in the summer

And after this summer,
I'll remember

Waking up early
Not to go to day camps,
But to follow my mother

To the peace and quiet
Of the library.
I could comb and style
My short brown hair

To stay at the library and draw

~~~

I would have written it for the poetry challenge, but dear me, I forgot to type my name in! 

submitted by Lucy B., age 13, California
(July 29, 2017 - 10:20 am)

@Everyone- I kind of titled this thread badly, sorry, the only reason it is called Regular Poetry Thread is because I had made a poetry thread about two weeks before this one where we posted unedited poems as an exercise. So, just ignore the regular, sorry! I honestly thought it would die pretty quickly, so thank you all for posting your awesome poems :) 

submitted by @Everyone (Bluebird)
(August 1, 2017 - 4:37 pm)

I wrote this poem because I was inspired by the talk of creation on the poetry contest thread. I hope this doesn't offend anyone! I will ask the Admins to take it down, if it does. I was just really inspired and wanted to try my hand at my own beliefs...even if I don't know what they are! It is written in free verse...but I'm not really sure if I've got free verse down, so I'd love some tips if anyone has some to give! Anyway - here it is! 

 

The Creative Thought

Some people say

That a great
creator

Made us.

Some people say

That we rose

From the dust.

They say that

God

Made all,

Or that dust

Shaped our bodies.

But who made

These words?

Who sparked

The inspiration?

Who made us
believe

These theories?

Our teachers?

Ourselves?

Who made the

Courage

That helped us

Fight

For our beliefs?

Who made the

Beliefs

That we now

Believe?

Where do

Thoughts come
from?

From God?

From dust?

From ourselves?

Is it possible

That we made

Ourselves?

Oh,

Please...

Say no!

I want to hear

The word

That man created,

Mixed with the

Beliefs

You have chosen

To

Follow.

I want to hear

Your thoughts

On the subject.

I'm open to
possibilities.

But why?

Because I chose

To be?

Or because

God

And

Dust

Chose me to be?

I don't know.

Like I said...

I'm open

To possibilities.

submitted by Silverwaxwing
(August 3, 2017 - 8:28 pm)

This is an interesting poem, Silver! It really makes you think! Staying on the creation topic, here's the poem I entered for the poetry contest:

____________ 

They say that

Billions of years ago

We were

Particles floating around

In blackness

When a chemical reaction

Exchanged the darkness

For light. 

How could

A thousand tiny particles

Randomly combust

Exchanging darkness 

For light?

And how can an entire

Universe

Come into existence

In a trillionth 

Of a second?

This is no accident. 

They say

That billions of years

From now

Our world will

Explode 

And once again

We will be 

Particles 

Floating around in blackness. 

But how can

An entire planet 

Be obliterated 

Into

A thousand tiny particles

In a single moment?

They say that

All life is derived from

Single-celled organisms

Floating around

In black water

That crawled ashore 

And became 

Something

Greater. 

They say that 

We are just

‘Evolved’

From monkeys

Cousins

Of chimps. 

How can

A thousand tiny organisms

Magically 

Change

Into 

Such

Complex creatures

As we?

Notice that

The missing link is

Still missing. 

What if we 

Aren't just

Glorified apes. 

What if we

Have a purpose?

What if we were made

By something greater,

By Someone greater. 

What if we weren't born just to die?

What if we weren't placed here just to live?

I'll tell you a secret. 

It's true. 

We are no accident. 

If you look a little deeper, darling, you'll see the light. 

If you really try, you won't have to push the truth away

Anymore. 

submitted by Leeli
(August 5, 2017 - 10:13 am)

Thanks! I enjoyed reading yours as well! I'm really not sure what I believe, as I stated in my poem, so I really enjoy hearing other peoples' beliefs.

submitted by Silverwaxwing, @Leeli
(August 8, 2017 - 4:01 pm)

Let's bump this thread up to the top! Everyone's poetry is amazing!

I've had a little bit of a poetry slump recently, so I finally decided to look through a poem prompt book my mom gave me for my birthday. One of the prompts was to take a line from a book and write a poem including it, the result of which is below. The last line is borrowed from Olga Grushin's incredible novel, Forty Rooms.

I'd also love title suggestions.

——— 

But for handfuls of sand,

the box is empty,

gaping jaws of a toothless pihrana.

My frustrated hands fumble and the top snaps closed;

there is a lock, left still, unfastened.

Freckled with the salty droplets of Poseidon's spittle,

pockmarked surfaces—

my fingers trace. The sharp seams are

yesterday's swiftly fading imaginings,

the whispered fantasies of firelit eyes,

the adrenaline and the dark and

whimsy-dusted foolishness, a byproduct of

my half-forgotten fear.

In the daylight,

lacqurered sides have lost their menacing gleam.

The sinister treasure is once again only a wooden box. 

submitted by Abigail S., age 13, Nose in a Book
(August 8, 2017 - 12:38 pm)