OUR ORIGINAL POETRY: Share It Here

SILLY LITTLE JOKER:

Silly little joker spending his days fooling around.

That's all it is right? Fooling around.

Silly little joker screaming up and down.

Inside it feels like he's screaming with no sound.

Silly little joker waves without a dent.

To him it feels like it's paralysed movement.

Silly little joker stands tall on his own.

But did you ever think it's because he feels all alone?

Silly little joker is at war with distant relations.

How could one face such draconian creations?

Silly little joker is juxtaposed from society.

Since when did it feel like the foreign custom was actually humanity ?

Such negativity.Wiped of all ability.Losing his sanity. Love being an abnormality!

He's just a silly little joker.

Fast forward

You didn?t love me the way you should.

I didn?t do anything to make it good.

You made me not care at all,

I stopped feeling so down.

You were like fire, I was like gasoline,

Making us both forget how it should feel.

I knew we were meant to break,

But surprisingly it didn?t make my heart ache.

You made me feel alive,

Made me light up inside.

You were my getaway,

You could just say the word and I?d let you lead the way.

Isn?t it funny that that?s all it takes,

To make my free will break.

But that didn?t worry me at all,

Because I knew we were meant to fall.

And even though it left us shattered,

It didn?t really matter,

Because for the first time, we had a power of a wildfire.

Writing to Emily

Em Dickinson -- that lucky girl
Could stay inside her room.
She wore nothing but black and white
To balance -- I assume --
The chaos of the world outside
With attic cleanliness --
Though what with all the poems she wrote,
There must have been some mess.
Em Dickinson -- that lucky girl --
I wish that I were she.
We have an attic too, you know --
And I write poetry --
And if our attic had a lock --
And if I could receive
My ink and food from stairs of wood --
I, too, would never leave.
Em Dickinson -- that lucky girl --
In walls she was set free --
She never saw the world, but saw
Things some would never see.
Her dashes -- inhalations -- where
Her -- passion -- caught -- its -- breath --
She wrote of moors -- of eyes -- of flies ---
But most of all -- of death.
Em Dickinson -- you lucky girl --
If you were not so dead
I'd tell you I would follow you
And keep writing in bed --
I'd rather be inside a room
Seen just by family --
Than sit here in this plastic chair
Writing to Emily.

Iwrite with not sins but tragedies
Not everyone can feel
They may not happen to most
And not everyone can deal
I've dealt with rape at a young age
Not to me but of a sibling
Since I was too young to be considered
It can be to me a blessing
Cruelty doesn't end here
I fear
But goes on and on for ages
With her I fear time doesn't end
But with that the time still gauges
As self concerned i have continued
With that I marked my own path
But even still
I cannot feel
And build inside my own wrath
Hating family for denying
What has already happened
I can't deny
Not defy
That which was families action
But still we've both grown
And maybe further apart
But none of us can deny
The malice in a grandfathers heart
And even with knowing
We both kept in growing
And distancing us both from the all
But even with that
Neither could hide
That both of us still
Built a wall

Plastic Ballerina by cre

Plastic ballerina
In your pink and plastic dress
I brought the world to you
and I confess
Never once did I consider
That perhaps in your plastic way
You preferred the closed-up night
To my bright and plastic day
Plastic ballerina
I watched you spinning round
In your pink and plastic tutu
To a tinkling tinny sound
I played that it was music
And assumed you liked it too
Although never once in all those years
Did I think to stop and ask you
Plastic ballerina
The days grew into years
And you collected dust
While I collected fears
You chipped away in pieces
And the notes dropped from your song
Save one that kept repeating
As you gamely tripped along
Plastic ballerina
In your pink and plastic box
I'll give you back the night now
And forever close the lock
Goodnight ballerina
This shall be our final glance
In your pink and plastic coffin
You'll be free to never dance.

This one's not mine but cre's -- one of my favorites.

In fact i am just ------ angry, at me, at the world, at everyone.
It's hard to denie that i really am done.
People talk a lot ,they probably never will understand this feeling.
Yes it's hard, no it isn't easy healing.

I want it, i need it, all the energy is going to fighting the knife.
You don't know how much i hate my life.
But i can't leave, not aloud to give up eventough i want it so bad.
I'm not far from turning totally mad.

This place is really cruel and only 1 truly seems to care, you see.
And that person isn't even ----ing me.
If you're suicidal your selfish and if you act happy they don't expect it.
I get so sick of this caprisious bull----.

The long ride isn't over, i still want to keep laying in my bed.
I will be okay but i'm not there yet.
Really want to believe in me but i'm so scared to just have faith.
have to fight now before it's too late.

expletive deleted by forum mentor Annie

In memory of Maya Plisetskaya

The firebird-
Gold, fire and
Tempting light.
Her hands-wings
Reaching for the sun.
Cosmic fifth position
Relev
Feathers-
Golden vapor.
She fades away.

Dust and flare.
Shines, yet is no more.
I see her;
In my dreams,
In the sunlight,
In fire.
The ethereal bird
Flies above
Possibilities,
Above being.
At last, she is
Eternity.

I've been looking for a poetry outlet. And most can be very personal. I'd rather list somewhere I don't feel judged doing them. Here's another I wrote

She spoke so light
With levity
Without steadiness
Or constancy
Incoherent
Mute
Mum
Quite
Silent
Even dumb
And in those words she could not hear
The lies in heart she kept so dear
The part of her so filled with fear
That hold she grips so close, so near
It's lost in silence
And long forgotten
It grows with distance
But like a garden
It's hers to hold
Her burden to carry
In moments so bold
It's hers to bury
"Forgive and forget"
We've all been told
But who's to regret
When fingers grow cold.

Here's one I've been working on for a little bit. Hope you like.

Piccadilly Dream

Last night riding Piccadilly Line -

circus lions, trapeze artists, and bipolar clowns

cartwheeled between each cart. Clown paints

a smile over frown, and still juggled his organs

in stomach without dropping one.

Accountants and defense lawyers

picketing on platforms as each tunnel;

petitioning peace in Underground, and

I was in front car reading the picket signs on 5:00 pm train

with family members saying things

they normally never say, like

we should burn our savings to start our bum life

and

love we share does not rely on pents in pockets.

Ideas flowed out mouths like investments deposited in trust funds.

I sat next to my Uncle,

fourth row from the front,

where he told me he loved me

and meant it.

And I learned how to cry again -

how to dig my thoughts out from brain folds.

We sat on seats to watch clown bounce around in latex spandex,

while he internalized anger like digesting Angus Prime.

Brooklyn and Kimberly were married in back seats

by the pope himself. Aisle sprinkled with dandelion peddles

and the dance party woke up neighbor carts.

We danced away politics and economy

and conducted body heat as fuel for electricity.

Obama said thanks over evening meal, and

the Queen gave me the crown of jewels.

And I still keep it on until the morning light.

Perception
by: Monarda

"The world should be organized.
Everything should be categorized.
Nothing is out of
place,
and everything isclear."

That's what I thought it waslike.
It'sdifferent, though, andI can't understand why.

"The world is somessy,
and colorful
and spontaneous,
and unclear,
and judgmental.
and harsh,
and strange."

That's what I think now.
I don't know if it's true, though.
I'll find out sooner or later, okay?