poetry rarely does us justice
The feelings unwritten, not put there in words,
nor spoken, but there between us and around us
and leaking through the cracks in our titanium alloy
kevlar lined lives.
Spoken with true feeling
three words can change a life
for better or worse,
through good times and in strife.
But those words when written or spoken
gratuitously only serve to unnerve and disturb
those who know what it means,
and what to do when in doing so means heartbreak
and torture, and all those mistakes that lead to something,
something better maybe? Or maybe I'm just
a hopeless romantic with dreams of
candles and silk and strawberries and cream,
not screams and grunts of primal lust,
just...love,
in its entirety
knocking us into sobriety,
and serving to save what little sanity survives
whilst at the same time destroying,
when it is over,
everything that we hold dear.

any opinions here?
its just something I wrote this morning unable to sleep.


(edit: added some punctuation )

i like it. The beginning is especially captivating.

It doesn't rhyme, it would be better if it did.

it does rhyme in places

its not a poem in the traditional sense, certainly.

the poetry style inspired by people like ani difranco and saul williams

Beautiful, and all the more so because of its fluency.

Thanks for sharing it with us.

Raine

Originally posted by nick2
It doesn't rhyme, it would be better if it did.


Poetry doesn't have to rhyme:- it "can", but it doesn't "have to".

Poetry's about rhythm, and the flow of words, as much as rhyme.

(edit to add , yeah, it's good.)
PT

I thought Nick2 had his tongue stuck firmly in his cheek there personally - maybe I was wrong :suspect:

I really like this one Mr Malibu, and it would sound great performed outloud. I can also see the Saul Williams influence in there, which is far from a bad thing. Lovely.

I applaud you writing Carl and I wouldn't want to discourage you at all but it doesn't really do a deal for me I'm afraid. I did like the line 'in its entirety, knocking us into sobriety' though.

I thought it was lovely. I've just had an argument, and I thought I was going to bed with a sour heart, quivering with anger. But you've calmed me down at the last minute and reminded me of the people who are real in my life.

Thank you. :thumbsup:

Wow! Thats beautiful. The recipient is very much loved, obviously. :)

leaking through the cracks in our titanium alloy
kevlar lined lives.


dreams of
candles and silk and strawberries and cream,
not screams and grunts of primal lust,
just...love,
in its entirety
knocking us into sobriety,


I quoted the above lines because they especially stood out to me, but the whole thing is fantastic :thumbsup:

wow...just got told this thread had been dragged up by a friend. Thanks very much for the comments.

Here is my most recent one:

Wingless
A wingless angel found me in a dream,
And asked me for reasons
And what I could see.

Fallen from the heavens and unclean,
She pleaded that I held her,
And she wept on me.

Her tears burnt my skin and screamed.
And though I knew she was dying
She told me not to grieve.

I woke next to my girl of seventeen,
Her sleeping face awash with tears,
Caught within a fever.

My lips touched her cheek, tasted saline
That stung my mouth with love,
And I slept again, relieved.

...Cringe, cringe, cringe, CRINGE!

Oh sh*t someone please help me use my rope :gag:

*shrug* I'm sorry that you're not lovestruck :P

Which one of the two would you say that you crafted more, thought about more?

I tend to find that I'm more personally satisfied when the actual process of writing is fluid and more or less involuntary, with minimal crafting afterwards.

'I love you' is an extremely strong poem, and when 'Wingless' compared to that sort of quality it comes across as weak.

I do like the message of Wingless, makes me think about the purity of love shining through the impurity of its flaws.

hmm actually wingless was a lot more thought over. but I'm quite weak when it comes to poems with particular forms.

Wow a man with feelings, more than BH will ever be!

And poems don't have to rhyme, that's the one and only rule of poetry.

Really nice, Carl!

hmm actually wingless was a lot more thought over. but I'm quite weak when it comes to poems with particular forms.

I thought so. With me it's the poems that I think about a lot while I'm writing the first time that turn out to be weaker, generally speaking. The ones that just flow out are always more striking. I'm not knocking 'Wingless' though.

If something specific would be helpful, I think you could do something with the line 'Her face awash with tears'. 'Awash' and 'tears' have too much in common so they come across a bit formulaic. Try finding a metaphor that would colour what you're describing.

Not to preach, I just always prefer if people can give me constructive advice where possible.

Ouch, helen u scorched a hole in the void that is my soft side!

Ooh somebody knows my name...

I know a bit more than that...*STALKER ALERT*

Lol, joke :P

Ooh I'm getting a bit scared now....

*checks doors are locked....:hihi:*

Iv just been wrestling with the 'STALKER ALERT' part lol, edited it about 3 times, once sorta had one u see, back in 2ndry school

:suspect: :suspect:

Hope shes not around...

DAWN IV GOT A MARS BAR!

[no noises -aha! i am safe!]

Do I know you, BH?

Delete some messages u chatterbox!

Emptied, you stalker :hihi:

Ok, continuing the theme of all things lovey-dovey how about this little nugget?

While You Slept

A shadow puppet spider prepares
With some difficulty, drunk almost,
To pounce upon the slumbering creature,
This one not crawly, nor an inkless doodle;
(Symptom of insomnia). This creature, a girl,
All beautiful in her foetal comfort, rests.
The silhouetted arachnid pauses, then morphs,
Clumsily into a rabbit. She doesn't like spiders.



By me.

:gag:

Yet again i am slapped and made to cringe by this yukness.

I prefer Pam Ayres.

:gag:

Yet again i am slapped and made to cringe by this yukness.

1) I think this is supposed to be constructive criticism.

2) not all verse is liked by everyone.

I much prefer free-verse, and flows of consciousness-type pieces, than some poetry I have come across in the past by (mostly amateur) poets who are so anal about geting the "iambic pentameter" (or whatever rhythm they are writing in) they lose the essence of what they are trying to say.

I get irritated by the really forced

"tee tah- tee- tah, tee- tah tee-tah,
te tah, tee tah, tee-tah" (etc... )

stuff

my creative writing tutor used to get irritated by some students' thinking, that in order to be poetry, it had to

i) rhyme

and ii) had to be in the "olde-worlde" style phrasing, where the order of words were twisted like "blah-blah-blah- said he" instead of "blah-blah-blah- he said"

she said "it doesn't have to rhyme, so long as it has 'heart' and it 'flows' "

PT

Alright you loveless lot, a change of tone then, some protest poetry to meet your protests against the soppy stuff... though I don't think this will suit the gentle palette of Pam Ayres lovers. And will be interesting to see what Plain ****er makes of it (thanks for that refreshing post by the way and why has it censored that word?).

Respect For The Dead

History is ignored like the teacher
Who has broken down by Easter
And takes sick-leave indefinitely.
The stand-in sits down, rests his feet on the desk,
Lets us play music in lessons
So we never learn from our mistakes.
Huxley said this, and others I'm sure,
And what's more is that we care little
For today's mistakes either,
They don't seem to grieve us
While we knock back another
As our leaders deceive us.
We wonder why they don't believe us
When we tell them to STOP.

History nervously pops out to the shops,
Thinking f**k them, it's their loss,
I'm not a lamb for their alter of apathy,
This society of self doesn't mean s**t to me.
I've got aeons of me that eclipses you bitches.
So screw you if you're not going to listen to me.

The pragmatists are working for the other side
So we're left to feel trapped inside time
Until parallel lines meet like lit fuses.
The most oppressed will always choose us
And fanatics will be our accusers
Because we wear what poor kids sew,
We drink what flows from their sand
So we can melt icecaps on demand.
We are the cha-ching reapers,
The grim thrill seekers,
The ASDA does it cheapers,
Pimping sweat shop sneakers,
Letting logos deceive us,
Because logo is the new Logos.

Our greatest crime is never mind
Our sins one, two, three
Are I, the self, me me me,
Our eulogy will be 'oh well,
what difference will it make?'

Billions now, we are billions now,
All floating in the mist of anonimity,
Grasping at acid clouds, fading into crowds,
Stockpiled like WMD, it is we, we
We are not bystanders, we are on standby
Until our button is pushed
And another hundred thousand
Are crushed with orders afforded
By our income tax and acceptance of hearsay as fact.

Billions now, we are billions now
So how is our voice weaker, our belief cheaper?
Our numbers serve to strengthen their resolve
As they commit the citizenry to political insolvency.
How can it be that our representatives
So resent us that they cement us to their evil
Thus putting targets on our asses
So we have to pay taxes for homeland security
And acquiesce to the loss of our liberty.
It doesn't seem right to me.

Come back History; we need you.
We need to know what colours not to
Choose as we paint the present by numbers
You have already shown us DON'T ADD UP.

We pushed you over the cutting edge.

Now you're dying.

So we repeat you.

Such is our respect for the dead.

1) I think this is supposed to be constructive criticism.
...................

PT

No it isnt.

No it isnt.

ok, but you made your point in post #14 on here...

PT

So then dont comment and quote about me in the knowlege id reply. Simple. End of.

if you don't want a reply, don't post a comment..... simple, end of....

crowth mate that was fantastic.

ok...some more....

"Shadows (of an abusive spouse)"

The trees wrap their shadows round us,
I think I've stuck around too long.
You let this pleasant world surround us
As if we did no wrong.
Though our love consumed all that we were,
And our heads and hearts entwined -
The gravity that stuck us together
Twisted us and sent us blind.

It hurt, you know.
You never asked
anything less than too much.
And the clock always struck with the back of your hand,
And you always knew what and when to demand,
All the times you told me that i was so bland,
When I adored you and cherished you and thought you were grand,
You threw it all at me until i couldnt stand
The needles that you fixed under my skin.
And I couldnt wait anymore
And I fell to the floor,
And closed that ever so elusive door,
And locked the shadows in.

Alright you loveless lot, a change of tone then, some protest poetry to meet your protests against the soppy stuff... though I don't think this will suit the gentle palette of Pam Ayres lovers. And will be interesting to see what Plain ****er makes of it (thanks for that refreshing post by the way and why has it censored that word?).

that was an interesting read. it held me. good imagery.

a little dark, but good, another flow-of-consciousness piece.

the one you've just posted was a good read, too, carl. I liked the flow, the rhythms.

Ok, here's a chance to see another one of mine! (I posted one in January last year, about the anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz)

This was written almost exactly eight years ago as part of a course I took at the University. it's free verse, although, admittedly, heavy of subject!) I used things like assonance and rhythm to build this piece.

It's called "Mum And Dad"

Dad
big
tattoed
violent
drunk

Mum,
small
thin
cold
abused

Dad
shouts
Barks
Orders
we
jump

We
join
Mum
in
wariness

A Mother
and
two
Daughters
Sharing
A horrible
Secret

(c) the plain ****er May 11 1998

PT

That was good Malibu, really good, you started with the shadows and you ended with the shadows, very poignant.

And PT that struck a chord with me in subject matter and ergo I know that it conveys the sentiments very accurately, and powerfully.

I'll post something else sometime, when I've had time to refine some more of my recent stuff.

I'm really enjoying this thread :)

The late, great poet of the 'Wincobank avant-garde', Albert Bickerdyke wrote some wonderful poetry. His 'When a Man Grows Old' is a particularly moving account of sexual dysfunction amongst the elderly. In the spirit of the thread I feel bound to share it with fellow posters. Because this is a family forum, I shall have to edit some of Bickerdyke's rich, ribald coloquialism. Perhaps this may detract a little from the effectiveness of his evocative lines. Nevertheless, even in censored form, one may hear the authentic, anguished cry of a sexually-frustrated Sheffield pensioner..

'When a man grows old,
And his b***s grow cold,
And the end of his k*** turns blue,
When he can't raise a s**** with the aid of his hand,
I think he's f*****, don't you?'

ive really enjoyed reading this thread. 'Wingless', I thought was a beautiful poem. I also liked 'While you slept'...

I don't properly understand Timo's poem though, can't work out what a k*** is!

the first one is fantastic i am no expert but it captured me.
it sounded as if came from the heart.:love:

the second one not so much. it seems like you THOUGHT about that one a little too much.

no offence

i was going to post a poem or two on here then i realised how many i actually had...

they are all in my blogs on my website so feel free to visit it if you are so inclined...

keep up the good work guys!

hmm actually wingless was a lot more thought over. but I'm quite weak when it comes to poems with particular forms.
I actualy think that wingless is lovely it touched my heart :)