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)

Numbers.

one.

Above all things I do not want a tidy life,

a life of smallness,

an existence littered with dirty dishes

and morning newspapers and

folded laundry.

 

two. 

It is a fate almost worse than death,

I think, 

to be a non-descript dishrag

in some insipid color,

hanging off the oven door in

someone's immaculate kitchen—

arm candy, an blank-faced accessory

to blustering incompetency.

 

three. 

People tend to consider me an optimist,

but truthfully my dispostion is more of a simple lack of pessimsim,

(I'll allow the word 'realistic') 

which in today's world is as good as naive.

 

four. 

I have no sympathy

for laying crépe.

Failure is failure,

success is success,

and there is no need

to pretend that one is the other.

 

five.

In the human body there are usually: 

206 bones 

32 teeth

37 trillion cells 

2 lungs 

100 billion neruons 

and

1 heart.

I can't help but wonder

if there's more to us 

than these sums.

It's strange to think that every thought,

every experience,

every emotion,

I have ever had or ever will

is so reliant

on this hunk of meat,

so determined but so easily— shattered. 

 

six. 

Every inch of our uniqueness

hangs off of the same skeleton. 

 

seven. 

I am not clay, made to be molded, I am

a marble block,

a Michelanglo not yet

freed. 

submitted by Abigail S., age 13, Nose in a Book
(August 8, 2017 - 1:16 pm)

Wow! I love both of those, Abi! Right now I can't think of any possible titles for your first one, but I'm thinking! And I really love the last verse of Numbers.

submitted by Leafpool, age Eternal, Hidden in the forest
(August 8, 2017 - 8:06 pm)

Thank you so much, Leafpool! The last stanza of Numbers was actually taken from a poem I wrote earlier this year which I wasn't at all satisfied with (it was called Optimism). Those lines were the only ones I liked. :P

submitted by Abigail S., age 13, Nose in a Book
(August 8, 2017 - 8:52 pm)

Whoa, Abi, these are awesome! You are an amazing poet!

submitted by Bluebird
(August 8, 2017 - 9:18 pm)

(This is a picture because I am too lazy to type out the entire thing, and it will be messed up if I copy and paste) (Hopefully this will work)

 

 

Character.png
submitted by Bluebird
(August 8, 2017 - 10:37 pm)

I wrote one while I was on vacation, less than 24 hours ago.

Inches

I sit
On the edge
Of a
Triangle-shaped
Rock,
My legs hanging
Over the edge.

I look down
Past its
Grey-speckled surface
To look into the
Water,
Six inches away. 

There's a boat
In the distance
On the horizon
Just below the sun
I look down,
Into the water,
Five inches away.

I slide to the side
Of my cold,
Hard perch,
And watch
The water rush
Into a nook,
Four inches away.

I squint at the sun,
Blazing a
Bright orange-red.
I hear the waves rush in
And I know I should move,
But I don't;
The water's three inches away!

I glance to my right
At the rock
I stood on
Barely five minutes ago
But it's gone,
The tide has swallowed it up,
Only two inches away.

I gaze out into the ocean
And think
How lucky I am
To be here
When everyone else is not
The water's an inch away.

I try to look back
At the sun,
But it's barely even there.
Then something hits my foot,
But when I look,
There's nothing there,
Only the water
That was six inches away. 

submitted by Lucy B., age 13, California
(August 8, 2017 - 11:36 pm)

I wrote this last night--it's partly based on how I was feeling at the time and partly based on Shatter Me by Lindsey Stirling. I think it's the longest poem I've ever wrote.

BTW, I know I use it too but does anyone know who started doing the no-capitals thing?

Anyway....

Break With Tradition 

i. all her life she's been told

"if you stop singing you'll die so

don't you dare break with tradition"

ii. so all her life she's sang that one song, in metaphor she's like a music box that has

no choice but to keep playing over and over  

iii. it's so hard to be yourself when everyone around you is trying to blend in with the crowd

iv. and then she starts to wonder why, why she can't

sing her own song? i suppose before, she was just too

afraid of what others would think of her.

but now it's a question that keeps

repeating itself again and again in her head. why. why. why?

v. and all of a sudden, she makes up her mind and

she stops singing. no--more like she starts singing

something else, something new and different and

all her own. and it hurts. the pain is

excruciating, tears are streaming down her

face as she sings

but the pain is a welcome change from the

endless monotony of her old life--even though

it feels like she's being torn apart, she keeps singing. keeps

singing and tries not to cry out from the pain--

instead she puts it all into her song and the music

becomes more powerful, more enhanced.

vi. people are staring now, but she doesn't care. the

music pours from her lips and though she's nearly

blind from the pain, she feels so much joy because she's

finally doing what she should have done years ago--she's broken tradition and found herself.

vii. and then everything

stops and she stumbles, drops to her knees

but then she picks herself up again and breaths in deep, and suddenly

she realizes that she's free, the pain

is gone. she feels so much lighter now,

there is no pain and she is finally herself,

just her herself and

no one else. 

submitted by Leafpool, age Eternal, Hidden in the forest
(August 11, 2017 - 10:40 am)

@Leafpool, I'm not sure who started it. I was inspired to start writing poetry from The Slam, and at least 90% of the poems there are in no-capitals, so maybe it's always been around. 

And ohmygoodness, your poem is beautiful!! There's so much feeling in it. This put me in awe, Leafpool.

submitted by Bluebird
(August 11, 2017 - 9:39 pm)

Wow. That's lovely, Leafpool! I especially like the kind of metaphorical, dreamlike quality of your writing.

submitted by Abigail S., age 13, Nose in a Book
(August 12, 2017 - 1:25 pm)

Thank you, both of you! 

submitted by Leafpool, age Eternal, Hidden in the forest
(August 13, 2017 - 12:08 pm)

Here's a poem I wrote, and I'm pretty proud of it. I'm debating calling it Life. What are your thoughts on it? (Sorry, the formatting will probably turn out a little messed up, but it's okay.

 

The Secret To Happiness


I.      First, we must learn the ways we are

Different.

Dark

Light

Love one

Love other

See one

See other

Shine

Dim

Stars

Moon

Sun.

Each a glowing being

Burning out

It’s own path

But underneath layers of skin

Flesh

Muscle

Is bone, the same bone

No matter the difference.


II.      Now we see

Inside every molecule

A burst of light

Shadows cannot extinguish

The single

Burning

Flame

That holds it’s own, deep inside

A fiery passion

A spark

Ignited by certainty

Wisdom

Contemplation

Beauty

Kept lit, perhaps,

Forever,

Or put out softly by a few whispered words

A small bright light remains forever

Love is gone,

Affection stays.

III.    When time is right

We smile,

Breathe

Rays of light

Pour

Mingle

We fit,

Perfectly,

Together.

Small pieces

Of a dream,

A hazy future memory

Float and fasten

Tight to another,

Another fragment of imagination.

Slowly

S l o w l y

Something begins

To form.

IV.     The first breath,

After months of heavy

H...E...A...V...Y...

And hours

Pushing and screaming,

Bursting forth in

A waterfall

Of love

Then tears

And suddenly all is still.

First breath,

Magic,

Still and quiet.

Then ripped apart

As though by a dagger,

Silence shattered,

A scream erupts

Tiny

Huge

Larger than life

But life

Is so small,

So tiny

Fully formed.

Looking up,

At last,

With a blink

A tear

And then

A smile.

V.      Each day

Growing bigger,

Stretching, stretching,

Expanding

At an amazing

Velocity.

Each day

Something new

A bright light

A single word

And peal of

Perfect

Laughter.

Each night

Tired,

Exhausted,

Remembering,

Dreaming of nights before,

But

Sighing

Cooing

Rocking

Singing

Loving,

Glad

It’s now and not before.

VI.     Smiling faces

Are what we choose to recall,

Through the growth

Bringing with it

Burning passions,

Desires,

Sticky secrets,

Cold, cold thoughts,

Friends blown away

Like tiny wisps of smoke.

Though,

In the end,

The only true friends

Are the ones still with us

When we come full circle,

Back to the time

When our flame ignites

And a new generation

From inside, surging forth,

Chooses to exist.


VII.    The end draws near.

Every day,

Another

Full

Memory

Appears,

Brimming with excitement -

Remember the years?

Remember the friends,

The thoughts,

The dark,

The light,

The love,

The passion,

The tears,

The laughter,

The smiles,

The rays of light

And the people,

Who every moment

Out of million of milliseconds

Possibly spent elsewhere,

Were beside you,

Looking down,

Caring.

This is how,

With a full mind,

A full body

And a full heart,

We will depart this world,

Having seen all

Heard all

Had all

All we ever needed

To fulfill our duties

Reach our dreams

Before

We take

Our final

breath.

submitted by SopranoTwo
(August 14, 2017 - 8:08 pm)

OH MY WYRD THAT WAS AMAZING!!!! I have a book reccomendation for you. It's called Origin and it's by Jessica Khoury and it is amazing. Look it up. I feel like you would like it.

submitted by Epic Fangirl
(August 15, 2017 - 1:54 am)

Awesome, I'll totally look it up. Thank you! 

submitted by SopranoTwo
(August 15, 2017 - 5:18 pm)

Beautiful.  I wish I could write like that.  Bravo, SopranoTwo!

submitted by Lucy B., age 13, California
(August 15, 2017 - 3:19 am)

Awww, thanks! I'm sure your writing is amazing. <3

submitted by SopranoTwo
(August 15, 2017 - 5:19 pm)