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 one is a sort of prequel to TAoSS (the novel that I'm posting on Inkwell) and is mostly focused on Ben. I'll be posting it in multiple parts since it's really long. If you don't read TAoSS, the poem can be read as a standalone, don't worry.

———

Okay Okay Okay

i.

Ben's spent his whole life being told to reach for the stars

because the stars are where your dreams are

and if you make it up there

you’ll be happy.

He’s stood on tiptoe,

made himself as tall as he possibly can,

and snatched at them, but

he’s scared to fall

so he doesn’t climb.

His six-year-old self

draws chalk stars on the sidewalk, but

it isn’t the same, because

when his face smashes into these

it only tastes of blood

and acidity

and pavement

and something else, something like heartbreak.

Nobody comes by to help him up, so

he does it himself, stands on shaky legs

and wipes his tears with the edge of his sleeve

and ignores the sharp tang of blood

spilling over his tongue

from the inside of his left cheek.

He’s okay.

Okay okay okay.

He tells himself that.

It means something

but he doesn’t know what it is anymore.

 

Okay okay okay.

submitted by Abigail S., age 12, Nose in a Book
(May 6, 2017 - 7:55 pm)

I loved those! It has a really prose-y feel to it, but it's really cool!

submitted by September
(May 7, 2017 - 12:57 am)

Wow Abigail!! That's just so sad and depressing.... but really good also. You captured that emotion really well, which is the point of poetry, right?! <3

submitted by Caroline
(May 10, 2017 - 9:17 pm)

Sad, but I like it.... I think that this is relatable too, and is like a child forced to grow up quickly.

submitted by Jaybells, age Classified, Lost in the Universe
(June 8, 2019 - 9:28 am)

I haven't written poetry in so long, I feel like it anyways. This is going to be come up with on this comment so it will not have been revised or edited.

~~~ 

Piano

I sit down

and place my fingers

on your soft

ivory keys

I press gently

then harder

the music growing

taking on a life

of its own

as it crescendos

the notes ringing

through the still air

I move my hands

one over the other

absorbed in the clear

ringing sound

of hammers striking

I finish

and rise

the crowd cheers and applaudes

but I simply walk offstage

the memory of music

fresh in my brain

~~~ 

submitted by Epic Fangirl
(May 6, 2017 - 10:56 pm)

Pretty! I loved the lines: as it crescendos/the notes ringing/through the still air

submitted by September
(May 7, 2017 - 1:08 am)

Yes, I feel like playing a piano for an audience usually feels like this....

submitted by Jaybells, age Classified, Lost in the Universe
(June 8, 2019 - 9:31 am)

Since I'm horrible at poetry, I'm just gonna sit here and marvel at these

submitted by #InfectedHairband
(May 7, 2017 - 6:13 pm)

You should try it! No one's going to judge you.

submitted by Bluebird
(May 8, 2017 - 3:46 pm)

unpacked

i. early mornings are

the best time to get things

done, at least, in your

opinion— not that either

of us could ever wake up

anyways.

ii. i can't remember

the combination lock

so i find the master key;

i can't help but think— 

it feels like a breach of

privacy doing this.

iii. most of the clothes

are mine anyways so

i half-understand why you

left me this, but still i'm

in the dark

iv. i fold everything neatly, 

mother has finally rubbed

off on me. you left your 

favorite scarf in there,

the one you wore everywhere,

i thought you wore it when you

left, but i guess i was just too used

to seeing you with it. i bury my 

face in your cardamom-and-rose

scent, wondering

why?  

v.  i can't believe how time flies

it must've been only yesterday

it will soon be tomorrow  

vi. i am surrounded by piles of clothes

and postcards and polaroid photographs

taken with shaky hands and in bad

lighting. i briefly consider returning your

inspected luggage back to you, but i

suppose you had a reason for pressing 

the handle into my palms before sprinting

through the crowded airport

vii. i wish i knew more, but i don't,

love, i don't understand.

~~~~~~~~~~

Inspired by pictures of vintage luggage I was using for a drawing reference. I would love some critique!!!  

submitted by September
(May 8, 2017 - 7:13 pm)

This poem makes me so happy :) I love the use of roman numerals.

submitted by Bluebird
(May 10, 2017 - 7:34 am)

Aww, thanks Blue! <3

submitted by September
(May 11, 2017 - 8:51 pm)

Did I write another nonsense love/hate poem?? Yes I did. (By the way, a saltwater and ammonia patina turns copper blue. That's kind of the basis for this poem) I'd like to hear critique as always. 

patina 

i was scrap metal-

you found me and

changed me and

shaped my existence.  

 

i wondered why you

made me cry,

until i saw myself turning into teal-

the salt water drying on my skin,

along with ammonia and

plastic mesh and

something else- time

 

not just this mixture but

a formula known as

dopamine+seratonin+adrenaline

+other ingredients like

my naive heart+its wild drumbeat+

Cupid's arrow+red in my cheeks

 

i am only blue now, though

ever since you made

the salt fall from my eyes.

maybe i liked

being luster-lacking copper.

did you think about that? 

submitted by Bluebird
(May 8, 2017 - 9:49 pm)

Wow, this is really amazing! I have no critique, and I especially loved the stanza about the formula!

submitted by September
(May 9, 2017 - 5:50 pm)

Thank you!

submitted by Bluebird
(May 10, 2017 - 5:12 pm)