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)

Oh, hurrah, poetry! I have several that I'd like to post, but I'll do them in separate comments for fear of one getting too long.



I am from nowhere and somewhere, 

from clicking chopsticks,

the sharp scent of onions,

the smooth twang of voices

forming words, round and soft,

that fit into my mouth

like the mints

that Di 12 keeps in her purse.

I listen, but don't understand, and

speak, halty and slow,

with the wrong accent,

and wonder what I am saying. 

I am also from candles,

two, a pair of identical twins

in a race to see which

can melt faster,

from honey-colored bread

that is hot in my hands when I pull off a chunk.

It's sweet, like the dark juice

which sloshes in

fluted glasses.

I sing in a tongue

with even edges

and square corners

that tastes

just a little tangy

a bit like the dought warmth

of the Challah

that they used to pass out

at snacktime

at Sunday School.

I feel important

because, now, I know

what I am saying, though not

nessecarily what it means.

I am from leather photo albums

and watermelon-staind grins

from steaming bolws of pho

and oily crisp-fried latkes

from colorful coconut candies and red envelopes,

from parched brittle bread and greens dipped in salt.

I am from places I have been,

and ones I might never see—

I am from nowhere

and from somewhere. 

submitted by Abigail S., age 12, Nose in a Book
(May 3, 2017 - 8:26 pm)

Wow, this is amazing, Abi!!

submitted by September
(May 3, 2017 - 10:12 pm)

This is incredible, Abi. I have no words. 

submitted by Bluebird
(May 5, 2017 - 8:50 pm)

I concur, this is amazing!

submitted by Jaybells, age Classified, Lost in the Universe
(June 8, 2019 - 9:22 am)


you told me that

i was too sensitive, comparing me

to a porcelain marionette,

held up by invisible strings,

a laquered smile painted

onto my face, everything hidden

behind a facade of false

happiness, you told me that

if someone were to drop me,

i'd shatter into hundreds of pieces

that could never be picked up

again. but you were oh so

wrong, because i am not quite

so fragile, darling. i am folded up secrets

and sharp edges,

i can be dropped many,

many times, and although bruised,

i stand up again, still good. i am

cut from steel, not from a stencil,

and i am real, not painted. 

i stand on my own, love. 

i have cut the stings.


I'd love some critique and/or title suggestions!  

submitted by September
(May 5, 2017 - 9:14 pm)

Maybe Delicate?  I don't know. September, all of your poems are wonderful. The only critique I have would be the line, /again. but you were oh so/- maybe take out the but? I think it might keep the flow or whatever going better (I do not know technical terms when it comes to poetry XD) My favorite line is this- comparing me/ to a porcelain marionette/ held up by invisible strings/ a laquered smile painted on my face.../ that's amazing. 

submitted by Bluebird
(May 6, 2017 - 1:23 pm)

Ok, thanks so much!!!

submitted by September
(May 7, 2017 - 12:58 am)

Beautiful, September! Teach me how to do poetry as well as you! I especially like the last few lines.

submitted by Booksy Owly
(May 9, 2017 - 10:27 pm)

Wow, I love this one! I really think that this is a great poem, and relatable too!

submitted by Jaybells, age Classified, Lost in the Universe
(June 8, 2019 - 9:24 am)

This is a poem inspired by a fun fact I saw- True ultramarine blue paint used to be as valuable as gold! I really stink at ending poems, do you have any suggestions/tips? I'd like to hear any title suggestions or critique if you have any.   


you're trapped in a rembrandt, oh 

it's hard to see your freckles in the low light

this love is true ultramarine

at least, in mind's eye

i asked for violet but

all i got was blue, slate chalk dust,

the muted response

to something my

pennies and nickels can't buy. oh

splatter the paint, pollock,

i want to see the underlying yellow in your eyes

it's hard when the cool-white

flourescent flickers on off on off

on off

leave the shadows behind, oh

don't worry about worth

and become big bold graffiti on

a broken-down boxcar.

let go of the sepia photgraphs, love,

and join me in technicolor. 


submitted by Bluebird
(May 6, 2017 - 2:14 pm)

Amazing, Blue!!! I loved this so much! The ending of the poem was beautiful; the last two lines along with the beginning seven lines were my favorite. The only bit of critique I have would be to chand the lines: and become big bold graffiti on/a broken-down boxcar into something maybe related to photography to tie it in to the ending better? Maybe something about Polaroids and not being able to go back after you've taken a photo? I get where you were trying to go with the graffiti, but I feel like it broke the flow. . . Anyhow, I absolutely loved the poem; I've probably re-read it ten times!!!

submitted by September
(May 7, 2017 - 1:05 am)

Oooh, yeah, polaroids are a good idea! Thanks you!

submitted by Bluebird
(May 7, 2017 - 10:50 am)

I really like this, Bluebird! The ending is nice, in my opinion, it provides a very striking mental image that reflects the tone of the rest of the piece nicely.

submitted by Abigail S., age 12, Nose in a Book
(May 7, 2017 - 11:50 am)

Thank you!

submitted by Bluebird
(May 7, 2017 - 5:34 pm)

You know, I really love your ability to take inspiration from almost anything and turn it into a beautiful poem. 

submitted by Booksy Owly
(May 9, 2017 - 10:30 pm)