OUR ORIGINAL POETRY: Share It Here
Hello there everyone!
If you're reading this it means that you probably are quite fond of poetry and writing it to. This is a thread to post all and any poetry that you may have, be it happy, sad, angry or just silly. All styles are welcome (free verse, couplets, slam) and it would be great to have at least one poem up a day for all of us to enjoy together!!
Hold
Hold, the moment never seems upon us
ever we move busy in our ways
alas we have loved too briefly
kisses marred by haste,
by circumspect
Hold, and we will come to love.
Hold, the compass needle yet wavers
it cannot steady in the rushing by.
and I am groping in confusion,
no prescient hand
to guide my path ‘til now.
Hold, so I may find my way.
Hold, for I feel so lonely,
The path uncoursed, waits for my resolve,
a moment, perhaps, I will be joined by others,
and with their coming
solitude dissolves.
Hold, for they are nigh.
@2genpoet This is great! Strong message and lots of emotion put into this wonderful poem.
BREAKING BAD
Girls must be girly.
Girl must have long hair.
That's how you're supposed to be
Be different, don't you Dare.
You ought to lose weight.
You dress all wrong.
So much negativity and hate
Is what we're taught all along.
You're not pretty enough.
To fit into our mould.
So this is where it gets rough.
For you believe what you're told
They created a mess
Of epic proportions.
Far from the best,
Closer to chaos and destruction.
Destruction of soul and love
Of girls still growing..
In a world so rough
Cruel and disheartening.
Fear not Darling,
You are Enough
For all the good in life
For all the love.
Be bold be you
Be what you ought to be
Be honest and true
Let haters watch on and see
That you don't fit in a mould
Shaped by their narrow mind
For you have so much more to hold
Enough for you to outshine.
Outshine the hate
The odd and the negativity
Change that state
With love and creativity.
Be bald be strange
Be inked and pierced
____ change
Stay true stay fierce.
You are one
And one alone
Stop and don't run
Set yourself on steady stone.
Fight for your identity
And your right to be
Break the chains of conformity
And be you.. Be free.
Yours Truly
The Birdy Called Duff
. ♥.
Dear @Duff26, There's so much strength here -- a paeon to Individuality and Self-actualization!
I especially liked the strong aliiteration and rhythms achieved in "Be bald be strange / Be inked and pierced." And the frequent use of strong one-syllable words creates so much forcefulness!
And the phrase "outshine the hate" -- that will stay with me.
@Annie I appreciate the appreciation love :)
The darkest alleys
Accompany me to the darkest alleys
Shield me from the worst intentions
Take me to those ancient hidden valleys
That not even the bravest souls dare mention
Strenghten the words I speak
Brighten the thoughts in my mind
Lead me to what I most dearly seek
Shine light on what I desire to find
Believe in me and I'll return the favour
Work with me and together we'll succeed
In more ways than one you are my savior
Always present to help in times of need
Wash away my deepest insecurities
Show me the world from a new perspective
Emrace my abundant impurities
Remind me of my objective
Stay with me as I stumble through life
I beg you never to leave my side
Bless the goals for which I strife
Forever I'll be grateful, oh spirit guide
The unexpected
The bar was scented with contempt
As I stared my opponent in the eye
No one dared make an attempt
To stop this inevitable battle cry
Alcohol had numbed our senses
And made us feel gloomy inside
Making us draw up defenses
That we would normally hide
I prepare for what's coming
My friends are quietly observing
I need to be incredibly cunning
Because this situation is unnerving
Time seemed to slow
Or maybe it was just me
Yet before I could possibly know
I was hit with an apology
@Cheeney, The first line is marvelous! I love everything about it: the strong iambic rhythm, the assonance and near-rhyme of "scented" and "contempt," the idea that a bar is "scented" in the first place (a delicate expression for an indelicate locale, which is a nice twist), and the metaphoric illusion that emotions have a smell that can pervade a room. Wonderful!
@Annie Thank you so much! When I wrote the first line it was originally ''the barn was scented with contempt'' (I was gonna do another medieval poem) but I thought bar would be more fitting. If love can be in the air, contempt can be in the scent
Thanks again for your wonderful words.
Darkness...
Deep within us...
It consumes...
Melting through the goodness, it tears... gashes... shreds...
And rips the joy away from our feeble grasps
Fear...
Even deeper...
It destroys...
It shatters the walls of our carefully constructed safe havens...
And leaves us in a pit of despair
Pain...
Deeper still...
It's excruciating...
It pierces through our happiness... our laughter... our blissful ecstasy...
And won't stop until we beg for death
Hope...
The deepest...
It shines light into the darkness...
It shows how small our fear really are...
And makes the pain more bearable...
Hope keeps our hearts alive
@mandy123966
Keep the hope embraced
keep the spark alive
your heart will yet find
the love to survive
@mandy123966, this poem has so many powerful aspects. The repeated structure with the single word at the beginning of each -- and then the final stanza ties is all together so amazingly. And the message is BEAUTIFUL.
@Annie
Thank you so much!! That means a lot to me!!
noone has a clue how you feel but you
You cant unlove something even if it dose not make sense
You will never be able to unlearn things that you have learned
You will never be able to forget things people hve done
there aways forgive , but theres never forget
You cant be anybodyesle but who you are
we all bleed the same color but that dosnt mena were the smae inside
we have doubts and fears alike sure, but we all go through diffrent emotuons, and we will never be able to change our dna
@pureatheart25
There's a way to forgive but not to forget
a wonderful line
@2genpoet
Thanks I know right, I mean people just expec t you to forget what they have done to you but how can you do it when you have that memory logged inside ypour brain , I do forgive becuase im classy like that but no sir will I forget my pain I tell people all the time but they laugh in my face but hey what helps them slee[p at night I guess lol, Im going to follow you today.
A little beacon of hope
In these oh so long fields of dark gray
defying nature, a single lone flower bloomed
Bright yellow petals caught my tired eye
I wonder, is its final time also nigh?
In this field of death and despair
the flower bravely continued existing
What is this beautiful miracle of life
and how much longer can it truly survive?
In a time where the world is slowly ending
here grows a little beacon of hope
If my precious family were alive to witness this
would they trust their eyes and bask in tranquil bliss?
In my quest for something worth living
what I found was perfect in its imperfections
Shall I leave this world peacefully and move onto the next
or will I keep on living a life so incredibly complex?
@Cheeney
awesome poem
@pureatheart25 Thank you so much!
Fear in uncertainty
Not a way of living.
Death is not a cause
But rather a reason -
For change. An opportunity.
Always there..
When uneeded.
When you need it.
-Ano ni Muse-
(personal contact information deleted by forum mentor Annie)
@AnoNiMuse
How do i edit this post?
@AnoNiMuse, to edit your post, you can click on my name in this post and send me a message and tell me what changes you want.
(Anyone who wants to make a change in his/her post, feel free to contact me. It helps if you provide me with the date of your post, so I can find it!)
@Annie
March 3
I just need a backspace on the line... Always there.. Coz the word there is on the next line.. It should be Always there..
I am a pen. Yes, your pen that you managed to forget about over the years among the many others you picked up free at a hotel or borrowed from a neighbor. And I sit here inhabiting this dark, crammed drawer along with all the other stuff that has occasional use to you. I, a pen, your pen, sit in this dark, crammed drawer awaiting for the day that is the reasoning behind my existence: a sketch on a napkin when your bored, quick phone number or even the occasional grocery list. And as I sit in this dark, crammed drawer, I have faith that this day, the day of my destiny, the vain of my existence will come about but hasn't at least not in a while. As I sit in this dark, crammed drawer, I lose faith that I will ever be given my born right: the right to feel the grasp of someone's hand against my base and the smooth, slick surface of a piece of paper. This may not sound too exciting, but I am a pen, your pen, and this is all I desire in my life and all I can ask for, since I am a pen, your pen. Finally like a bear coming out of an endless hibernation after an endless winter, I see the dawn of a new beginning. Out of the the crack of this dark, crammed drawer that I inhabit, I see you, your wonderful hand calling me back to life, the very thing that I yearned to see. Maybe it was out of lost hope, maybe as a last resort but somehow, still counts well at least to me being a pen, your pen. You quickly grab me out of frustration but give out a sign as you pull off my cap revealing my tip, the very tip that was never given the opportunity to see the dark, crammed drawer that we have inhabited for as long as time could say. You place me on that smooth, slick paper, and I feel a feeling that feels so familiar yet so strange. Just as you're about to write reason to my existence, you notice that I spew nothing, not a single drop of ink, for over the time that could not be kept in that dark, crammed drawer, my creative well ran dry. And you have to constantly scratch my head on that smooth, slick paper until I have the will to live again. And just as the moment began, it was over, and I a pen, your pen, was shoved right back into that dark, crammed drawer. Little did I know this was the beginning to a worser faith than the last. I lay there as a pen, your pen, and the cycle begins again. I have hope or what's left of it that you as my owner, the carry outer of my born right, will remember me in this dark, crammed drawer and summon me back to life. Unfortunately I never see the day of this come at least, not as I a pen, your pen, as you once remembered me. I wake up and fall asleep in this same dark, crammed drawer everyday, every hour of every week and have nothing to look forward to, for I now know that you were never truly going to come back, and I lose all hope. This torture of feeling unwanted, unloved and unneeded never got easier. And eventually, I completely lose all my will to live as a pen, your pen. And when the day I had longed for but lost all hope for is finally upon us, you, as my owner to my born right, are too late. You'd be surprised about how this dark,crammed drawer can do to me as your pen. It sucks you dry of your purpose and makes a pen, your pen feel as if it is as useless as you coming and summing me back to life from this dark, crammed drawer among the other junk that has absolutely no use to you at least, I now know that now as a pen that was once yours.
@Insertnamehere333, a tour de force of the imagination, a pen that senses and has feelings. A remarkable piece! (I wonder if my laptop feels this way . . .)
Why is she staring with a blank face?
Is her façade slowly fading away?
Why doesn't she laugh the same way again?
Maybe her miseries finally syncopated with her frail frame?
Why was she happy in the bus ride off her place and giggling at the lame jokes they made?
And gloomy in the bus ride home the very same day?
Why is she staring with a blank face?
Is her façade slowly fading away?
Why isn't she eating anything? I know her appetite isn't the one to effortlessly dwindle this way?
Maybe the food isn't appealing, her interest in living is slowly waning to a dull grey.
Why does she have scars on her wrists? Is she a coward that refuses to battle?
It maybe her wounds, her warrior scars to show, what she has been going through, fighting this chaos.
Why is she staring with a blank face?
Is her façade slowly fading away?
And why is she blinking the tears away?
Is it because she is having a rough day?
@proactiveDime3437, this poem evokes such sadness. My heart went out to that child.
@Annie I'm glad that I could convey what emotions I wanted to. :)
Well, it isn't about anyone in particular. Just some tweaked personal experiences. I feel writing poetry directed towards a second person more liberating when I'm too insecure to just do it with the "I".
@proactiveDime3437, for me, once the artist (you) created that child, she is real. She has an existence in our minds.
And I agree about the liberating choices that a poet has (and other writers as well), including that the author can choose the speaker and the point of view. Writing is marvelous that way, isn't it? 
