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@ Nina and SC:
I am resigning from the Poetry Club. A, my poetry stinks. B, I don't have the patience to make it not stink. C, I have a limited time online anyway, so my CB time is cut to the minimum.
So if SC wants to take my spot, she can.
Sorry, Nina, no offence to you–I have a slight hang-up with poetry in general; I just wanted to join at first for fun.
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Everinne: OK, thanks for telling me Everinne! I enjoyed having you in my Poetry Club.
SC: If you would like to take Everinne's spot, you can if you want!
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I really love the poems this week, so I will now completely mess up the lovely arrangement of poetry with this thing.
Message
If you were to come to the seaside today, you would see
A quiet town going about its life as an impersonal thing.
There would be a small quiet black chapel where a tired person could lay down her head and rest.
If you were to come, you would see
The ocean spreading out and in and out and in, over and over like a heartbeat
And the sea birds fly above like they own the world.
You would see the beach sprawling like a neverending life
And perhaps you would see me.
I'm not where you left me and I don't think I'm what you left.
Something's left me and I don't know if it's you or not or both.
I've changed my name and my look and my heart.
If you were to come to the seaside today, you would see
My little glass bottle with my message for the ocean.
The ocean's heartbeat pumps in and out, in and out
Giving and taking, giving and taking.
They took you, so maybe my little glass bottle and my regret message can bring you back.
If you were to come to the seaside today, you would see
A girl you once might have known when we were young suddenly leap up and become happy again.
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Wow. This is impressive.
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Pretend I wrote this last week. And Maggie, don't compliment Ruby too much. It makes him have a swelled head. Plus, it's only a mothy fanfic and fanfics are boring and unoriginal. Which is why I'm writing the response poem!
Response
My travels carried me on and on across the dark, dark seas.
I saw lights and shadows and songs of the dead and lost.
Along the way, I met an old painter
Who dipped a brush into a bucket of paint filled with sorrows and happiness and painted pictures.
"Paint me a picture of the past," I told him
And he filled his brush with the griefs of a country long ago.
The painting he made was full of sorrow.
A girl had killed many people
And sinned many times.
The blood of her victims dripped down through time
And the tears of the ones left behind dripped down through time
And she paid by having her only loved one lost.
I told the painter this story was too sad.
"Paint me a picture of the present," I told him
And he filled his brush with the story of a town by the sea.
The painting he made was full of regret.
An old, old woman lived in a temple by the sea.
She cared for orphans who loved her and didn't understand her secret sadness.
When her time came to die, all she asked was for a response to a message she sent a long, long time ago.
She wanted to free herself from the chains of blood and tears.
She wanted to know that she was remembered well.
How did she not notice that her simple kindess helped them?
How did she not love the ones who loved her?
I told the painter this story was also too sad.
"Paint me a picture of the future," I told him
And he filled his brush with mists of a distant time
When the chains of blood and tears broke and a boy could be reborn,
When a girl could finish waiting for her response,
When they could be happy again and wait together for the end.
I thanked the painter for his paintings and continued on my journeys,
Waiting for my chains to break,
Waiting for our sins to dissolve and for us to be one again.
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Here's my poem! I really couldn't think of a nice title, but if you would like to read it through and suggest a title, you can.
Gray clouds blanket the sky
Like a dark sheet covering the blue.
Lightning strikes flash through
Like strings of fire.
Rain pours down from above
Like a crying God.
Thunder rumbles
Like a hungry giant.
Wind blows powerfully with a sound
Like a howling wolf.
This is the storm
Ready to rage.
NEW THEME: The theme for this week is to write a poem about an animal. You can choose an animal and write about what it looks like, what its personality is like, their habitat, or what a day might look like for them.
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@Nina
I love the poem! I thought of a title for it: Zeus's Anger. You know, since Zeus is the god of thunder and stuff. Just a suggestion!
Here's my animal poem:
Pink toes
Bright nose
Eyes shut
Round pose.
Tail long
Not strong
Ears fuzzy
Silent song.
Dozing
Snoozing
Snoring
Losing
The experience of winter.
It's the little dormouse
Hibernating again.
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Nina,
If/when you have an opening, may i please join?
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Mag Fan,
Of course you can join when there is an opening! There was another person who asked, SC, if she could join but all the spots were taken. Then Everinne stopped doing the Poetry Club, so right now there is an open spot. We'll see what SC says, and if I don't hear from her for a few days, then you may have the spot! 🙂
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SC has claimed the spot. Sorry, Mag Fan, but I will create another one for next month!
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That's OK, I'm glad SC is in this. I'll be one of the first people to sign up next month though!
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There are so many thoughts buzzing around my head that I know I could turn into a poem but I don't know how to organize them
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Whisper of leaves,
Hint of gold,
Paws of sunrise,
Hidden, not old,
Stalking, quiet,
Indian Feet,
Creeping, sneaking,
As the daylight fleets.
Waiting, quiet
POUNCE!!-
I spring,
The prey has no time
To even fight.
What animal am I?
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Abigail, I love this poem! Is the animal you are describing a big cat, like a lion?
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It is a lion, in fact!
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@Nina: I'll take the spot.
Spines
–
Mama she
kneads her fingers against his back
pinches the bones
says
this, this right here
taps each knob till it shudders like a bell
this is the important stuff
this is where your soul is boy
Mama she
tucks him in close to her river stained face
don't you forget yourself
don't you sell this to anything
He whispers himself into
this inky fur skin he likes the
soft pads for palms and soles the
quiet graceful limbs the
curling backbone the
eyes- Mama?
Silver arrowheads and broken backs do orphans make.
always keep your backbone boy
He panics into wings
lightning fey eyes and tree dark feathers
but too many fragile ribs
too many shallow vertebrae
until he reaches a place where
waves lap at moonlit bleached cliffs
he trades wingspan for fangs and claws
for silver fur and no pack
He wants to lose it to leave it behind
leave his backbone there on the dark sand
die and be lapped up by the sea
Instead he lopes in towards glen
no matter how you whirl and twirl boy
don't you ever forget
don't you ever forget to keep your spine
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@ Nina: Does the animal have to be real? I dunno if I'd do it on a fictional one or not, but I was just curious.
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Yes, the animal can be real or it can be fictitious.
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the small one,
the weakened one
lagging behind the pack.it’s not long
before
the lions pounce.the others,
the strong ones,
they do nothing.
they promised forever,
but now–
nothing.soon the runt
is forgotten,
the hole filled by
a brighter,
better,
other.this is about…I don't know, really. Wild animals, I guess.
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Top!
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NEW THEME: The last theme for the poetry club is to write a poem about anytime in history. You can choose your favorite era of history and write a poem about it.
My animal poem and my historical poem will be posted later! Please be sure to sign up for my new poetry club! 🙂