Heylo me again with my obsession of poems, i just though i would post this n find out wot ppl thought, n dont go worryin bout me im not like depressed of anything its jus my style of writing :suspect:

You made me want to love you
You made me want to cry
You made me want to kill myself
You made me want to die

You made me think you cared
You made me think I'm small
You made me oh so miserable
You made me want to fall

God help me I thought you'd be there
God help me I never knew
God help me I thought you'd catch me
God help me I'm going to spew

You made me believe you'd be there
You made me believe you'd care
But after all you're just one guy
A pathetic lonely soul

And after all I've said today
I hope the message is clear
Leave me alone and never come
To my door again for fear.

For now I'm not afraid to speak
For now I'm a confident girl
For now Il take just one peek
For now happiness is what I'll seek


let me know wot u think? :D :clap:

nobody steal my poem or il hunt u down n............................................sue u! :rant:




im :loopy:

I think it would make a song lyric but it's not really a poem.

Yes it is a poem and a very good one, thanks for sharing FilthFan.


haha, I like the name btw!

Originally posted by spartacus
I think it would make a song lyric but it's not really a poem.

its not a fixed poem granted but it is a poem


thankyou lol the name means like cradle of filthfan type thing lol nowt dodgy

Im into writing poetry...here is a sample of one of my master pieces lol let me know what you think!

Precious


As I lay in my bed all alone
The lights are out and nobody’s home
I can hear the rain trickling on the glass of my window
The moon is at its fullest, making the night sky light up
As if it were a candle in dark room
And the trees cast their shadows on my wall
Coincidence of a human like figure swaying to and fro

Its nights like these that I wish he was here
I miss him like a flower missing the glorious rays from the sun
I am like that precious flower who feels sad and forlorn
When the sun is not in its presence
Whenever it sees the sunlight and feels the warmth of its rays
The precious flower makes nothing else seem more important
Because it is nothing without the sun being in its life
Knowing I have him makes life worth living

The sun is precious to the flower
Just as he is to me

great poem killer babe! :clap:

A bit of friendly advice to you. If you intend being a writer then you'd better get used to criticism.

Don't mind poetry, but sometimes poetry performances come across as a bit pretentious.

Originally posted by FilthFan
this thread is not about being negative about other peoples work please either hold your tongue or get oof the thread

FlithFan,
I am sorry but I really think you poem is bad, I too thought it was a joke! I think the concept of the poem was good but it just lacked something else.
If you only want postitive comments then maybe you should re name your thread,

'I have written a poem, I want compliments please'

Killer babe, I really liked your poem!

right, seeing as how people are being like that

I did NOT start this thread to get all good comments
I do NOT want all compliments
I have NO idea what people's problem is with the concept of constructive critiscism

any more questions?

theres this thing you see called kindness and its not the way to do it by saying people's poetry is :gag:

I thought it would be fun to have a poetry thread and see other peoples poetry NOT get myself slagged off.

Originally posted by FilthFan
right, seeing as how people are being like that

I did NOT start this thread to get all good comments
I do NOT want all compliments
I have NO idea what people's problem is with the concept of constructive critiscism

any more questions?

theres this thing you see called kindness and its not the way to do it by saying people's poetry is :gag:

I thought it would be fun to have a poetry thread and see other peoples poetry NOT get myself slagged off.

Sorry, Its nothing personal. I think that people have been constructive though. Look at the comments, I think it would make a really good song.
Don't give up though, push through it. I once went to see Muse and they were supported by an unknown band called 'Coldplay'! we all booed them off the stage but look at them know, I even have all there albums now!
You never know in a few years we could all be buying your poetry!

I started a poetry thread a while back. I have submitted various poems on www.poetry.com. Here is one:

Powerful Lyrics

Testing the pages,
I feel they are warm,
Lubricated with a transparent layer of oxygen,
I try to look on, seething.

Grab my arm!
It falls away like a broken cup handle.
It's OK I have another.

Load, reload, heavy load.

I say they are Fresh,
But they bow like an inconsiderate child.

I here him say:
"Only those who try can fail."

(c) Tim Rutter 2002

Poem or song - who cares?

You write the words of a song for me
But the words don't fit the memory
Only things you keep in your head
And the way I was
And the things you said
Keep believing
Keep believing they're true

You'd lift me up just to knock me down
And answer a smile with a puzzled smile
Keep your secrets from me
And the things I did
And you never let me see
Keep Believing
Keep believing they're true

All the times we were around
From your heart never came a sound
Or knew your feelings were for true
And the things you cried
And the way you felt blue
Keep believing
Keep believing they're true

I never lied to you about my love
Or the way you lifted me up above
All of the people that I see
And the pain in my heart
And I had to let you be
Keep believing
Keep believing they're true

Memories

Originally posted by spartacus
A bit of friendly advice to you. If you intend being a writer then you'd better get used to criticism.

i am fine with critiscism, if its remotely constructive, i knew this poem wasnt great and no where on this thread did i say it was my ambition thankyou miniminch

The Subtle Demise of My Ego

I have no tree, falling free.
It is a wondrous plank.
Where the piece?
How, the blow mowers plow so slow.
Whenceforth my lady, I have no tree.
The tree is so plain.
Keeping the plentitude gravely.
It is a wondrous plank.
The cotton growers play like a morph.
Keeping slow, the blinkered masses.
I have no tree.
The last of my pleas is to slow the masses.
Repeat until tired.

(c) 2005 TimmyR

ok it would seem i have been misunderstood

yes alot of comments have been constructive i just dont think that saying peoples poetry is :gag: is constructive

thankyou to everyone who was constructive

I am being constructive by adding my poetic musings to this thread. I thought your poem was good Filthfan. I too am a filth fan, tho probably not as big a one as you.

Hey TimmyR - that is a work of pure brilliance. Have you thought about having it published? So deep and meaningful - I am sure people will be disecting it in later years just as they did will shakespears works.

I have no tree, falling tree ... does this refer to family matters? An absense of roots in todays current society? Perhaps it is the decline of morals in our politically correct unassertive society? Hmmm - I have no tree - possibly refers to the fact you may have a family yet feel alone, set aside from the rest, and the tree falling ... I begin to see a structure to yourt words.

Dragon

Stick at it FilthFan. Not an expert on poetry but more work you do on it better it will come.

A few comments have related to song writing, maybe you try that?

Are you seeing the filth in december?

Originally posted by Dragon
Hey TimmyR - that is a work of pure brilliance. Have you thought about having it published? So deep and meaningful - I am sure people will be disecting it in later years just as they did will shakespears works.

I have no tree, falling tree ... does this refer to family matters? An absense of roots in todays current society? Perhaps it is the decline of morals in our politically correct unassertive society? Hmmm - I have no tree - possibly refers to the fact you may have a family yet feel alone, set aside from the rest, and the tree falling ... I begin to see a structure to yourt words.

Dragon

Wow thanks. Someone understands my work! Did you like my use of alliteration in the 4th line? By the way, all spelling mistakes are poetic licence. (plow = plough)

I have to admit I am stunned by the depth and the emotion you manage to squeeze into such a small poem. The literary world hopes and prays there are longer versions of this masterpiece.

Of course the spellings were taken as poetic licence. I did not view them as mistakes because they were done intentionally.

Encore! Encore!

Dragon

TimmyR Great poem, i know you have been constructive thankyou very much for it too! :D

Hiya FilthFan,

I think it's very brave of you to post your work on a public forum so I'll try to be constructive....

I liked the first verse a lot. Really liked it. I don't know why, but it struck a chord, and read very nicely. The second verse was good too.

But after that it all seemed to go downhill a bit towards the middle. A few of your verses didn't really strike the right tempo when read aloud, and the thyming pattern went a bit haywire too. I wasn't sure about the use of the term 'spew' either. I think that's probably the bit where some people began to not take it seriously.

The last verse was nice though. You seemed to pull it back together and it read in the same easy, flowing way as the beginning.

So.... Quite a bit to work on, but don't give up. I think you just need to re-think the middle bit. Try to keep the same pace all the way through, or break it in a really dramatic way so it looks intentional and still reads well.

And don't take too much notice of those who have been mean to you. There's a fair few on this forum who are quick to shoot others down without giving reasons.

I'd like to give a big thankyou to anyone who has been nice, thanks J-Bee thats exactly the kind of thing I meant by constructive critiscism.
So long as its constructive i dont mind.
so thankyou, and well done to all who posted their poems they are all great xx

I just wrote this especially for you guys:

A Creaky Midnight of Monotony

WHY! Do the pilons that erect in my conscience
Plague the hollows of the detectable dimness
I cannot breath in this soup of a dream
That looks like itself but is never surreen

In mightier winds I could stand quite alone
But the power of this is too much to condone
I watch as the fisheries are raised to the ground
The heritage of eons castrated with frowns.

My secrecy is patently bought by the rich
But some would drink glee from a sanctimonious pitch
This sliver of light that shines from the sky
Is colder than death but brighter than life.

(c) Tim Rutter 2005

well done timmyR :clap:

You did not write that TimmyR.

Aint that copyright theft anyone?

It has a totally different perspective to the previous one. Are you sure you wrote that for the people on here - if you did write it that is?

Dragon

I think I'm going to go against the grain here TimmyR. Your poems read like you're trying a little too hard.

Sometimes simple poetry can be just as meaningful, if not more, and the best way to get real meaning from words is to use a combination of simplistic and complex language.

When I read your last effort on here I felt as though you were trying too hard to be 'deep', and the poem seemed meaningless as a result.

But keep up the good work, you're keeping us all entertained and I'm sure you'll have more fans than critics :thumbsup:

I just wrote it now! Honest! It is a reflection on the darkness that ebbs and flows sometimes in ones life. I didn't write about the people on this thread, but for them to read. It has negative undertones so may not be to the liking of all.

Love Is Forever

Love is Forever
This much is true
He is the only thing
That keeps me from feeling blue
How do I know I love him?
How do I know I care?
Because to be apart from him
I know I cannot bear
They say it won't last
And that we're too young
But surely if they sampled our love
It would stop their vicious tongues
So do I love him you ask
Or am I just a fool?
Is there a standard type of love
Does there have to be a rule
He only has to come close to me
to make my heart beat faster
I truely hope with all my heart
Our friendship never parts

Tried again :)
let me know wot u think again please?

Originally posted by JBee
I think I'm going to go against the grain here TimmyR. Your poems read like you're trying a little too hard.

Sometimes simple poetry can be just as meaningful, if not more, and the best way to get real meaning from words is to use a combination of simplistic and complex language.

When I read your last effort on here I felt as though you were trying too hard to be 'deep', and the poem seemed meaningless as a result.

But keep up the good work, you're keeping us all entertained and I'm sure you'll have more fans than critics :thumbsup:

Their meaninglessness is in fact part of the meaningfullness.

Originally posted by FilthFan
Love Is Forever

Love is Forever
This much is true
He is the only thing
That keeps me from feeling blue
How do I know I love him?
How do I know I care?
Because to be apart from him
I know I cannot bear
They say it won't last
And that we're too young
But surely if they sampled our love
It would stop their vicious tongues
So do I love him you ask
Or am I just a fool?
Is there a standard type of love
Does there have to be a rule
He only has to come close to me
to make my heart beat faster
I truely hope with all my heart
Our friendship never parts

That's better FilthFan! :thumbsup: That was nice, and you kept the same tone through the whole piece instead of flitting from serious to jokey and then back again.

You still don't seem to have quite cracked the tempo though, and some lines seem a lot longer than others. You need to try and match some lines with others in more of a set pattern, and one of the easy ways to do this is count the number of beats per line.

For example, in this verse you have got the ryming right, but you've got a different number of beats to every line...

So do I love him you ask (7 beats)
Or am I just a fool? (6 beats)
Is there a standard type of love (8 beats)
Does there have to be a rule (7 beats)

A very simple way of doing it in a verse like this would be to have the same number of beats in your first and third lines, and then your second and fourth lines. That would make if flow better to read aloud.

Once you've got the hang of this, then you can start playing around and being a bit more creative.

Keep going though. One the whole I liked this one :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:

Originally posted by TimmyR
Their meaninglessness is in fact part of the meaningfullness.

Like I said TimmyR, you'll probably find you have more fans than critics, it just wasn't to my taste. Meaninglessness doesn't mean much to me (!!!), and I also found your use of language distracting.

But I liked some of the others you've posted.

I seem to have turned into something of a poetry critic on this thread, so I'd better shut up before someone asks me to post a poem of my own. Prose is much more my thing!:D

Originally posted by JBee
Like I said TimmyR, you'll probably find you have more fans than critics, it just wasn't to my taste. Meaninglessness doesn't mean much to me (!!!), and I also found your use of language distracting.

But I liked some of the others you've posted.

I seem to have turned into something of a poetry critic on this thread, so I'd better shut up before someone asks me to post a poem of my own. Prose is much more my thing!:D

Thanks JBee your comments are accurate particularly about me trying hard to be deep - that again is kind of the point. Exagerated deepness.

I find with poetry that reading it is fairly dull, but when its read to you its quite entertaining. FOr me, its as much about sounds as it is about meaning. My poems mean nothing, as I intend them to, they are consciously stupid.

Why not post prose too, i know i started it was a poetry thing but hey, why not?

my poetry never goes particularly right, because i dont write in a set structure mines open poetry

thankyou very very much for the comment :)

Mirror

The mirror is truthful
it shows everything which is to be seen
the mirror is evil
it shows everything there is

The mirror shows my bloodshot eyes
my tear stained face
my patchy complexion
it shows depression

the mirror shows thin girls fat
its a mental thing apparently
but what if it was the mirror
the evil mounted on my wall

the mirror shows pretty girls ugly
a mental thing for sure
but what if the mirror was evil
showing people what they are not

the mirror shows me, me
and that is the most evil of them all
i look into my own eyes
and see the hate and hurt within

the mirror is evil
conquering all
draining confidence
from all that look into it



this isnt a very good poem but i think the meaning is good - let me know

Originally posted by FilthFan
Why not post prose too, i know i started it was a poetry thing but hey, why not?

my poetry never goes particularly right, because i dont write in a set structure mines open poetry

thankyou very very much for the comment :)

You're welcome FilthFan. And at the end of the day, if you find writing poetry theraputic and it makes you happy then who cares what anyone else thinks anyway? Stick to your open style if that's what works for you.

I'm not going to post my stuff though. I'm a feature writer for the national media so it gets way too much of an airing as it is!!!

And yep - Mirrors are definitely evil!

Originally posted by JBee
You're welcome FilthFan. And at the end of the day, if you find writing poetry theraputic and it makes you happy then who cares what anyone else thinks anyway? Stick to your open style if that's what works for you.

I'm not going to post my stuff though. I'm a feature writer for the national media so it gets way too much of an airing as it is!!!

Who do you write for?

Whoever I can sell to! Newspapers, magazines, health pages and suppliments - you name it!

The Sheffield Forum

Thread
Post post post post post

Thread!
Post post post post argument

Argument!
Post post post post moderation

Moderation!
Post post post post termination

Thread
Post post post post post post post post........

(c) Tim Rutter 2005

Originally posted by JBee
Whoever I can sell to! Newspapers, magazines, health pages and suppliments - you name it!

Cool, we have a professional in our midst...

timmyr i found ur poem but threads quite amusin well done i wouldnt av thought of it myself!

well done on the randomness scale!

(no offence if it wasnt meant that way :( )

thanx J-Bee i have thought about what you said though thanx for the comments

Originally posted by TimmyR
The Sheffield Forum

Thread
Post post post post post

Thread!
Post post post post argument

Argument!
Post post post post moderation

Moderation!
Post post post post termination

Thread
Post post post post post post post post........


This poem is definitely my favourite TimmyR!!!! I kinda like the meaninglessness of it this time, because all this frantic typing to unknown people on an internet forum is pretty meaningless too. Good fun though!

And I would imagine that quite a lot of us on here are professionals! And probably with much more interesting jobs than me...

No offence taken, I like randomness

Randomness

Griggle knob splintered grommit
Sloping single cream vomit
Atchel ping bigger schlip
Sportle inside gorker scrip

Malling possle knipper wang
Past the time with apple pang
Miff moff purtle tweeks
I need to go see a doctor.

(c) Tim Rutter 2005

yays for timmyr! lol kool poem points for randomness

Originally posted by TimmyR
No offence taken, I like randomness

Randomness

Griggle knob splintered grommit
Sloping single cream vomit
Atchel ping bigger schlip
Sportle inside gorker scrip

Malling possle knipper wang
Past the time with apple pang
Miff moff purtle tweeks
I need to go see a doctor.

although random, im not sure i like it as much as the post one

Okay, how about a very bad limerick...?

The peeps of Sheffield love a hot debate
And on the forum there's always summ'ut to slate
When not writing about butts
They're scratching their nuts
And argueing about extreme politics in Kuwait!

Yes. And I'm a PROFESSIONAL! Scarey isn't it?!!!!

****Hangs head in shame!*****

aww i liked it J-Bee

I love poetry and have really enjoyed what people have written.

Here is an excerpt from one of my longer poems.

Cider half gone,
moods swinging,
my cousin,
we're just beginning,

You branched off ,
Into the night,
Despite warnings,
"stay in sight",

"Do not follow",
you made it clear,
As we pushed you,
to stay near,

The night drew quiet,
Why'd you leave,
it was just you,
we understood.

Originally posted by FilthFan
and no where on this thread did i say it was my ambition thankyou miniminch Thank Christ!
I was being positive but unfortunately your poetry is so bad it just came out negative. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. If you turned up at a publishing house with that work not only would you be laughed out of the building but the security would probably beat you up in a side alley. Just look on my comments as me saving you from a good kicking.
Some of the other poems on here have some promise but nothing more than that.
Please don’t patronise Filthfan or encourage him/her to write more poetry. The poems are worse than bad and no amount of constructiveness could save then. If they were a building they would be condemned. There is no hope, please; this is a public forum, GIVE IT UP!!

Honesty is the best policy in this regard…….
:rant:

Is there a shortage of Prozac lately? :suspect:

TR....funny as ever! lol..

Originally posted by miniminch
Thank Christ!
I was being positive but unfortunately your poetry is so bad it just came out negative. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. If you turned up at a publishing house with that work not only would you be laughed out of the building but the security would probably beat you up in a side alley. Just look on my comments as me saving you from a good kicking.
Some of the other poems on here have some promise but nothing more than that.
Please don’t patronise Filthfan or encourage him/her to write more poetry. The poems are worse than bad and no amount of constructiveness could save then. If they were a building they would be condemned. There is no hope, please; this is a public forum, GIVE IT UP!!

Honesty is the best policy in this regard…….
:rant:


miniminch im confused........am i meant to be the bitchy 15 yr old school girl or are you?

plus there is nothing to say you were obliged to look at this thread and you are not obliged to reply to it so if you hate it that much why bother?

Originally posted by FilthFan
miniminch im confused........am i meant to be the bitchy 15 yr old school girl or are you?

Without meaning to be too unkind, minminch is right. Your collection of words are to poetry what translated-from-Japanese instructions on a rubbish PS2 game are to literature. If you post it on the Forum, it's fair game for criticism.

There's nothing quite as excruciating as reading bad, bad poetry. To be constructive, these word collections may be better suited to being adapted to lyrics for a boy/girlband.

LOOK this was supposed to be a bit of fun. You know like the limerick thread
I'm guessing I should have known that I would get bad posts back from people on here.
No-where did I ever say my poetry was good
No-where did I say it was my ambition
No-where did I say I didn't want/ wasn't prepared for critiscism

but i did mean something called constructive critiscism, i have noticed that alot of people on this forum are more like bitchy 15 year olds than me and I AM 15.

Hows about people give me a break? If you are going to say something against it then at least be slightly constructive!

Originally posted by FilthFan
If you are going to say something against it then at least be slightly constructive! We are its ****!:gag: In fact, I'm ashamed to say, when I got to your third line about wanting to kill yourself, part of me wished you had!!:o It stinks so bad!
Can't you find something more age appropriate to do - like shoplifting?;)

miniminch - you know that you and I have had our differences. And, I had put them behind me and forgiven and forgotten as you are just not worth upsetting myself over.
However, statements such as you wish Filthfan had killed herself, are not appropriate at all.

You told me that you only post this kind of rubbish to purposely upset people and provoke a response and therefore flare up a debate. Well, you've done it. Filthfan's poetry may not be to a great standard, but at least she posts stuff that is not intentionally cruel towards other people.

The very fact you post to upset people proves that your posts aren't worth the time it takes to read them.

I suggest, if you are so upset by her poetry
Please don’t patronise Filthfan or encourage him/her to write more poetry. The poems are worse than bad and no amount of constructiveness could save then. If they were a building they would be condemned. There is no hope, please; this is a public forum, GIVE IT UP!!

You just don't open this thread again instead of discouraging people from reading it and posting on it.

Can't you find something more age appropriate to do - like shoplifting? ;)
despite your smiley at the end, I for one, think it is admirable and we should encouraging kids to try and write poetry to whatever standard rather than going out and committing crimes.

Miniminch, you are only ever happy if you are taking someone else's happiness away, I strongly urge you to go out and get a life, you may not like Filthfan's poetry but I hate reading your posts whenever and wherever they pop up...
;)

can I join in the bad poetry?

Dreams

Like a book with pages turning
Like a dark December night,
My dreams are all conflicting
In the dim and distant night.

Like a spiral ever turning
Like a night that never ends,
My heart beats oh so softly
Sun and moon make distant friends.

Like a cloud forever floating
Like a star which ever shines,
My life is always changing
Night and day between the lines.

Like a mountain sleeping softly
Like an early crescent moon,
My eyes arise and twinkle
Last nights dreams fade too soon.

Robbie t ©2001

Little did she know that I was in love
My thoughts my happiness soaring above
And then only emptiness
More tears to cry
Let me lay down and quietly die

Dragon

Originally posted by Lotti
miniminch - you know that you and I have had our differences. And, I had put them behind me and forgiven and forgotten as you are just not worth upsetting myself over.
However, statements such as you wish Filthfan had killed herself, are not appropriate at all.

You told me that you only post this kind of rubbish to purposely upset people and provoke a response and therefore flare up a debate. Well, you've done it. Filthfan's poetry may not be to a great standard, but at least she posts stuff that is not intentionally cruel towards other people.

The very fact you post to upset people proves that your posts aren't worth the time it takes to read them.

I suggest, if you are so upset by her poetry


You just don't open this thread again instead of discouraging people from reading it and posting on it.


despite your smiley at the end, I for one, think it is admirable and we should encouraging kids to try and write poetry to whatever standard rather than going out and committing crimes.

Miniminch, you are only ever happy if you are taking someone else's happiness away, I strongly urge you to go out and get a life, you may not like Filthfan's poetry but I hate reading your posts whenever and wherever they pop up...
;) Why cry when you could be laughing?:|

Poetry

Random words and pretension
That’s all we need to have
Daft metaphors and confusion
To make it seem less bad

I’ll say I understand every word
Just because I'm scared
That education denied me
The right to know what’s there

Poetry doesn’t have to be hard
Don’t try to be so smart
Take a pen, some paper
And write it from the heart


copyright moi...bout 5mins ago lol

Keep at it if you enjoy it Filthfan. Some stuff you write will be good, some not so good. If you enjoy it then don't let people with nothing better to do than read threads that dont interest them put you off.
Well done for trying :clap:

I also enjoy writing poetry, here is a little taster;

I am a housewife throughout the week
My work is never done
I wash the pots and cook and clean
And wake up with the sun
My husband he goes of to work
And earns a decent wage
What do I get for my strife
Only wrinkles as I age
Forty hours a week he works
Time and half for overtime
Twenty-four hours a day I work
With no pay is such a crime
Twenty paid holidays a year
To rest and rejuvinate
I rest while I'm sleeping
Thats if the kids don't wake
My work is so monotonous
The same every day of my life
But behind every successful man
There is a doting housewife

I am far from a good poet but have already had 2 published, one in a cook book & this in a book for amateurs. So keep up the good work. if you would like to view more of my attempts at poetry clink on the link. (http://www.geocities.com/dynamicdebz)

Aaah well....at fifteen you're allowed to be introspective with a touch of angst thrown in for good measure. We're all guilty of forgetting the abysmal side of being a teenager and poetry is as good a medium as any for the depressing side of life

Don't take the criticism to heart, use it to make you look harder at what you've written. Imagine your poetry as already published or written by someone else....would you be happy with it?

A good writers trick is to read great literature before you start writing, it spurs you on to do better
Also when you write something you can be too close to it. Put it away somewhere for a week or so, when you look at it again you have a fresh perspective on it

So c'mon FilthFan...take the compliments and the criticism in equal measure and use it to give your writing some balance
>:) :(<

Great stuff everyone!

Thanks Splodge I'm sure Filthfan will appreciate it and reply when she comes online.

As for miniminch, well... I despair! lol

I'm not going to post my poetry I'm afraid it's almost as bad as my limerics! lol

I did one that really came from the heart when I was in hospital and therefore I'd never show it to others as it may not be perfect poetry but I don't want to alter it or get any sort of criticism constructive or not about it, because of what it means!

Keep posting though peeps!

Thanx peeps! :D lets all keep postin yeh?

Originally posted by FilthFan
Thanx peeps! :D lets all keep postin yeh?

YaaaaaaaY! :clap:

Spike Milligan RIP

Today I saw a little worm
A wrigglin on his belly

I watched him for a little while
than squashed him with my wellie!

:clap:

Night Shift

Lips of rouge and eyes so bright,
Wandering the street this lonely night.
Rain smudges her pitch mascara,
Just looking for some business.

Street illuminated by a crescent moon,
Cars rush by in the hazy gloom.
Shooting water over black stilhettos,
Just looking for some business.

Alone she cries a sole is lost,
One last fix but what's the cost?
Lays down her weary head,
Just looking for some business.

Drowning in darkness life slipping away,
Never again to see the light of day.
On her epitaph it will read;
Just looking for some business.

I'll be keeping an eye out for people plaigariosing my genius and making millions:suspect: :suspect:

You'll need cataract surgery before that happens! :cool: :hihi:

Reading this thread made me want to dig for some of my old poems. A tiddler I had completely forgotten:

the big garden

a small man
my grandfather
on the hard seat
of the monstrous mower

brightening
a long swathe of grass
almost to where I sit
remembering him

Hugh

Originally posted by FilthFan
Heylo me again with my obsession of poems, i just though i would post this n find out wot ppl thought, n dont go worryin bout me im not like depressed of anything its jus my style of writing :suspect:

You made me want to love you
You made me want to cry
You made me want to kill myself
You made me want to die

You made me think you cared
You made me think I'm small
You made me oh so miserable
You made me want to fall

God help me I thought you'd be there
God help me I never knew
God help me I thought you'd catch me
God help me I'm going to spew

You made me believe you'd be there
You made me believe you'd care
But after all you're just one guy
A pathetic lonely soul

And after all I've said today
I hope the message is clear
Leave me alone and never come
To my door again for fear.

For now I'm not afraid to speak
For now I'm a confident girl
For now Il take just one peek
For now happiness is what I'll seek


let me know wot u think? :D :clap:

Well FilthFan, I will try and be constructive. It's awful!

Let me explain why.....

1. It is repetitious. By the third stanza, it has become tedious and boring. This style works better as the lyrics of a song.
2. It is banal. The poem paints a picture of someone weak, who wants to "cry", "kill myself", "die", and who has been made "oh so miserable". The transition to "confident girl" in the last stanza just doesn't ring true. There is no explanation about how or why this sudden metamorphosis occurred. The reader is left bewildered in the absence of any explanation for this transformation.
3. Despite the seemingly seriousness of the poem, it verges on the comical, i.e., "God help me I'm going to spew". Ouch!
4. The scansion is wrong. As has been pointed out by another poster, the 'beat' is all over the place.
5. The rhyming pattern is inconsistent.
a) The rhyming couplet should be on lines 1 and 3 of each stanza (and not, as you chose, lines 2 & 4 - which themselves would have been better served by either rhyming or having a half-rhyme). This would make the poem flow better.
b) However, the pattern you adopted is then broken when in the fourth stanza the rhyming couplet switches to lines 1 & 2! Worse, it then switches back in the fifth stanza to lines 3 & 4. This makes the poem disjointed. But worse still, in the final stanza, you adopt a three line rhyming technique on lines 1, 3 & 4 ("speak", "peek" "seek" ), and "girl" (line 2) thus sticks out like a sore thumb.

What I think you wanted to communicate in this poem is a sense of betrayal and a crushed spirit - but that ultimately hope triumphs over despair. This is a gem of an idea, and worth pursuing.

The poem needs reworking, and technically, you need to iron out the rhyming problem, tedious repetition and the scansion. But first - stay with what your heart and mind wants to speak. Jot down what you are thinking, what you want to communicate. Get your thoughts down on paper first, and then rework the poem with the technical stuff.

Now, you ought not to give up - so don't get disheartened by criticism! Writing is creative, artistic and therapeutic, and a love of poetry in one so young is to be admired, and encouraged. I note you are only 15. If you read the juvenalia of a poet like Wilfred Owen, you will see that from his first struggles he developed into a one of England's finest poets. So do keep writing FilthFan!

Best wishes

Red

Originally posted by HughW
Reading this thread made me want to dig for some of my old poems. A tiddler I had completely forgotten:

the big garden

a small man
my grandfather
on the hard seat
of the monstrous mower

brightening
a long swathe of grass
almost to where I sit
remembering him

Hugh

Wow that's pretty good! Best so far by a mile :thumbsup:

yup well done hugh :clap:

Originally posted by Greenback
Wow that's pretty good! Best so far by a mile :thumbsup:


Yes I liked Hugh's poem. I think it may have been the first "Proper" poem. My friends late father was a published poet. You could read those over and over and still find new meaning - very clever metaphors - not that I really know what i'm talking about. Richard Caddel. You may be able to find him on t'interweb.

Spike milligan is a genius of another kind.

Here's my first poem of the day

Breakfast

Today I ate my first plate,
Of toast with jam and a slice of spam,
But now I feel that my first meal,
Has made my tum become quite numb.

Untitled

My story isn't long
It's written very clear
I'll tell you if you want
But you may not wish to hear
My impliment of writing is
Neither ink nor pen
I wrote it with a knife
Then I wrote it out again
I wrote it on my arms and legs
I wrote it on my skin
I told of all my fear and pain
I told of everything

By Jade's friend

Thanks Greenback, TimmyR and FilthFan for your comments :smile:

TimmyR yes, I have heard of Richard Caddel, though I don't read as much poetry as I used to. I found some information about him, and lots of poems in his memory by other people on this site (http://jacketmagazine.com/22/caddel.html)

Hugh

Originally posted by FilthFan
Untitled

My story isn't long
It's written very clear
I'll tell you if you want
But you may not wish to hear
My impliment of writing is
Neither ink nor pen
I wrote it with a knife
Then I wrote it out again
I wrote it on my arms and legs
I wrote it on my skin
I told of all my fear and pain
I told of everything

By Jade's friend

FilthFan,

I think Jade's friend should take this bit from this poem...

I wrote it with a knife
Then I wrote it out again
I wrote it on my arms and legs
I wrote it on my skin

..and start the poem there. A searing image, without the predictable and heavy rhymes...'again' and 'skin' weren't meant to rhyme but they are a half rhyme and have a more subtle effect. Now she should go on, trying to look for fresh language, not telling us what happened or how she feels, but showing us.

Hugh

Originally posted by TimmyR
Yes I liked Hugh's poem. I think it may have been the first "Proper" poem. My friends late father was a published poet. You could read those over and over and still find new meaning - very clever metaphors - not that I really know what i'm talking about. Richard Caddel. You may be able to find him on t'interweb.

Spike milligan is a genius of another kind.

Here's my first poem of the day

Breakfast

Today I ate my first plate,
Of toast with jam and a slice of spam,
But now I feel that my first meal,
Has made my tum become quite numb.

proper poem? explain.

Yeah that confused me a little bit too

I think this is what Timmy meant by first 'proper' poem.

You could read those over and over and still find new meaning - very clever metaphors

Not that I agree entirely ;) I think there have been a few good ones and not many that you can't call proper poetry.

To me, if it follows most of the rules of poetry and comes from the heart - it's poetry. And a lot of these have done just that. Therefore, just because they don't have a number of hidden metaphors it doesn't make them improper.
However, I do like to scratch the surface and work out what was actually meant with poems with metaphors but that doesn't make straight forward poetry without metaphors any less worthwhile.

If you get my meaning?

I love Mary Oliver. A plain talking American poet, example:

Mary Oliver - Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.


--------------------------------------------------------

(what do you think?)

Heres my effort.....

I’ve heard so many songs and stories, tales of how true love should be,
it all seemed so much over-rated, until, that is, your love found me.

I thought I’d been in love before, but now I know that can’t be true,
for when I leave you in my wake, I feel so incomplete without you.

Whilst we’re apart I miss your smile, your naked warmth, your gentle touch,
the need to hold you close to me, tears my heart, you just don’t know how much.

I’m leaving soon and when I do, the weeks will seem like many years,
I promise you I shall return, so please my darling don’t shed your tears.

I really hate to leave you now, I wish I didn’t have to go,
So trust me when I tell you this, I love you, like you’ll never know.


It holds a lot of meaning for me, just thought id share it....

The Rabbit Catcher

It was a place of force -
The wind gagging my mouth with my own blown hair,
Tearing off my voice, and the sea
Blinding me with its lights, the lives of the dead
Unreeling in it, spreading like oil.

I tasted the malignity of the gorse,
Its black spikes,
The extreme unction of its yellow candle-flowers.
They had an efficiency, a great beauty,
And were extravagant, like torture.

There was only one place to go to.
Simmering, perfumed,
The paths narrowed into the hollow.
And the snares almost effaced themselves -
Zeros, shutting on nothing,

Set close, like birth pangs.
The absence of shrieks
Made a hole in the hot day, a vacancy.
The glassy light was a clear wall,
The thickets quiet.

I felt a still busyness, an intent.
I felt hands round a tea mug, dull blunt,
Ringing the white china.
How they awaited him, those little deaths!
They waited like sweathearts. They excited him.

And we, too, had a relationship -
Tight wires between us,
Pegs too deep to unroot, and a mind like a ring
Sliding shut on some quick thing,
The constriction killing me also.

;)

Poetry! Who likes Poetry?

I think i read somewhere that people mostly like to write it rather than read it.

Guess what I do? Guess what I didn't do? Guess who did do!

Originally posted by questral
...Guess what I do? Guess what I didn't do? Guess who did do!

Read, write, Sylvia Plath :hihi:

I didn't recognize it, though I studied Sylvia Plath for O Level many moons ago, and bits are stuck in my head:

Flintlike, her feet struck
Such a racket of echoes from the steely street,
Tacking in moon-blued crooks
From the black stone-built town
That she heard the quick air
Ignite its tinder and shake
A firework of echoes from wall to wall
Of the dark, dwarfed cottages...

Hardcastle Crags by Sylvia Plath

from memory so line endings probably wrong :-)

Hugh

Box (by HughW)

After he died
she prised open the box
with a table knife.

All she found
were his stripes

and a picture of man
with his proud family around him

and on the wall

the emperor
on his Chrysanthemum throne

---

Hugh

Originally posted by robbie
proper poem? explain.

Sorry didn't mean to offend anyone by this. I'm in no way any authority on what a proper poem is. I suppose I meant that the poem drew you in and made you think a little. Maybe I'll just be quiet! :)

Originally posted by HughW
Box (by HughW)

After he died
she prised open the box
with a table knife.

All she found
were his stripes

and a picture of man
with his proud family around him

and on the wall

the emperor
on his Chrysanthemum throne

---

Hugh

I like this, but do not understand the Chrysanthemum throne bit. Could I be so bold as to ask for an explanation?

The chrysanthemum is the symbol of the Emperors of Japan. The chrysanthemum throne refers (I think) to an actual throne but is also a term representing the Japanese monarchy.

Hugh

yes, i love it. poetry is my favourite.

I have read this thread and I'm afraid I can't tell who is taking the P... and who is serious, so I obviously can't judge.

I know the idea taught in schools is that a poem need not rhyme, but surely it is then an essay.

hazel

A poem doesn't become an essay just because it doesn't rhyme there are structured poems or open poems, alot of the poems on this thread are open poetry, then it need not have a particular structure

I love this poem I think it is because it reminds me of my dad reading it to me when I was very young.

It has to be read with a certain rythym for it to sound really haunting.

The Highwayman
By Alfred Noyes
Part One
I
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
Riding-riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

II
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

III
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

IV
And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-

V
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

VI
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

Part Two
I
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
Marching-marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

II
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.

III
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

IV
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

V
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

VI
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!

VII
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night
!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.

VIII
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

IX
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

* * * * * *

X
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
Riding-riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

XI
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

I don't object to rhyme, I just think that (1) it is very difficult to write an original poem in the straight jacket of rhyme and (2) it is only one of a range of ways of making poetic language memorable.

(not that the following is necessarily memorable !)
----

Five Kinds of Cat-flap (by Hugh Waterhouse)

I saw a pet shop
with a sign in the window -
“5 kinds of cat-flap”

and I imagined
that this was the hub
of all feline ingenuity

where Thomas Tabby Edison
toiled to improve the nine lives
of all catkind.

Today, after years,
I pass again
and the shop sells...doors

and I look to see if the next customer
pushes through the shop door
with her head.

(This shop is/was on Abbeydale Road, almost opposite the carpet shop that used to have a large (textile) camel outside on the pavement)

Hugh

Originally posted by Deavon
I love Mary Oliver. A plain talking American poet



Ah, American poets Deavon. Have you read any of the poetry by Edna St. Vincent Millay?

Sonnet XLIII

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

I once saw the final two lines of this beautiful poem embroided into an Aids memorial quilt by the mother of a young man - and it reduced me to tears.

Ooh I love the Highwayman! And the Lady of Shallot too!

Studied John Donne for A-Level, some of that was great. I love Sylvia Plath too, whoever said it. I can't write poetry I don't think, it always sounds too pretentious. TimmyR I have a sneaking suspicion about some of the poems you posted....they sound awfully like this one:

So dank behind the air

Sinful and electric against the fire
I condemn quaking whorls beside the water
Word! The Queen is born
Sinful and dry below the clouds
We destroy red witches on the bull****
Intense! The devil is hard
So dank behind the air
I breed humming signs below the light
Be wary! The King will go
penniless fighting back
seeing the light
a broken promise
In whose eyes
the god
miss his chance
while the snow fell

or this one:

Sinister and bright near the fire

So glowing near the sky
You create colorful tentacles before the dream
Alass, Alack! The inspiration has come
So cold before the sea
You excrete lustful snares under the dream
Repent! The day was good
Sinister and bright near the fire
We squeeze happy toads under the slime
Be wary! The stink is good
penniless curious
in the night
a sense of danger
With what hopes
the witness
look for love
while the snow fell

Or countless others I 'came up with' :suspect:

Ooh fantastic poem that my band sings as a 3/4 rhythm song:

Drink to Me Only by Ben Johnson, the tune we sing was written later, and we worked out the harmonies ourselves, but anyway:

Drink to me only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine.
Or leave a kiss within the cup
And I'll not ask for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sip,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much hon'ring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be;
But thou thereon did'st only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me,
Since when it grows and smells, I swear
Not of itself, but thee.

Love poetry -write it too. But here are a couple of nonsense rhymes- Not mine.
Opening a tin of plums
Father severed both his thumbs
Mother said amidst the screevches
"I distinctly askes for peaches"

When cousin Cuthbert came to stay
He would not join us in our play
Just stood around and looked aloof
Until I pushed him from the roof
I did not stay to hhear the crunch
I would have been SO late for lunch

Can anyone quote for me please a poem I learned from school
these are the few lines I remember

There's a breathless hush in the Close tonight

Play up, play up and play the game.

I think it's the first W W it goes---

And the gattlings jammed and the Cornels dead
And the ----- are blinded by dust and smoke.


hazel

Vitai Lampada

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the School is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

Sir Henry Newbolt ( 1862-1938 )

-
Hugh

Thank you Hugh, very apt for the time too.

It's very moving, all the young men who gave their lives for Honour, Country or what ?

I first learnt it about 55 yrs ago

hazel

Originally posted by redrobbo
Ah, American poets Deavon. Have you read any of the poetry by Edna St. Vincent Millay?

I have now!:)

Googled and spent most of last night reading her stuff. Really good. Something about the straightforward approach to the language with many American poets.

Talking about straight talking, what about our very own Philip Larkin?

With the Freshers about to begin their big adventure this September in Sheffield, here's one for all the young 'steers':

Philip Larkin - Wires

The widest prairies have electric fences,
For though old cattle know they must not stray
Young steers are always scenting purer water
Not here but anywhere. Beyond the wires

Leads them to blunder up against the wires
Whose muscle-shredding violence gives no quarter.
Young steers become old cattle from that day,
Electric limits to their widest senses.

Originally posted by noseyrosie
Ooh I love the Highwayman! And the Lady of Shallot too!

Studied John Donne for A-Level, some of that was great. I love Sylvia Plath too, whoever said it. I can't write poetry I don't think, it always sounds too pretentious. TimmyR I have a sneaking suspicion about some of the poems you posted....they sound awfully like this one:

So dank behind the air

Sinful and electric against the fire
I condemn quaking whorls beside the water
Word! The Queen is born
Sinful and dry below the clouds
We destroy red witches on the bull****
Intense! The devil is hard
So dank behind the air
I breed humming signs below the light
Be wary! The King will go
penniless fighting back
seeing the light
a broken promise
In whose eyes
the god
miss his chance
while the snow fell

or this one:

Sinister and bright near the fire

So glowing near the sky
You create colorful tentacles before the dream
Alass, Alack! The inspiration has come
So cold before the sea
You excrete lustful snares under the dream
Repent! The day was good
Sinister and bright near the fire
We squeeze happy toads under the slime
Be wary! The stink is good
penniless curious
in the night
a sense of danger
With what hopes
the witness
look for love
while the snow fell

Or countless others I 'came up with' :suspect:


What are you implying?????

That I have plagiorised? Or that perhaps I used a "poem generator" as some people on the internet have created. I have genuinely made these poems up using my brain.

Whether they are crap or not is irrelevant. The truth is they mean absolutely nothing, but then who says we should be tied by the shackles of meaning?

HIROSHIMA

Across the ocean broad and warm
Where liberty to us unknown
Has cast its everlasting spell
The cataclysmic seed was sown

For we, in ignorance of threat
Subdued by claims of victory
Our minds belonging not to us
Were blind to plans across that sea

Not for us, that languid morn’
The pessimism to foretell
Their seed would grow upon our land
That seed of Satan, born of Hell

Blind to all but cries of pain
Deaf to begging voices shrill
The seed did sprout above our homes
And dreams of hope that seed did kill

For there, within our mortal frames,
With every painful breath we cast
We seldom will forget that day
The day we burned, and breathed our last

Now here, today, those who survived
Whose memories torment the mind
Will bow towards our Rising Sun
And pray, “No more, for peace, mankind.”



SHEFFIELD (from a previous poetry thread)

On seven hills she proudly stands
On tired legs she puts demands
Her wooded vales and idle streams
Hold secret tales of childhood dreams

Neath tree and rock where nature hides
And many a miller's soul abides
A tiny piece of heaven greets
The refugee from busy streets

But yet do we the chosen few
Appreciate this wonderous view?
We answer yes, but yet feel bitter
That some scumbag has dumped his litter

But that's enough of the serious stuff
Don't want to be known as a scholarly chuff
So I'll look at life from the lighter view
And add another verse or two.

Has anyone noticed that when it rains
The water never goes down the drains
When about these puddles you do complain
"Sorry pal, its cus o' t' rain".

Reporting once a faulty light
Out in the street, ON, day and night
The girl on the phone asked "Where's it at?"
Told her,.... but she weren't content with that.

"You need to tell me, what's its number?"
"Can't see it from here." still groggy from slumber
"We need it you see, so we know where it's at."
"It's the one that's LIT UP you gormless bat!"


The sun is high the air is sweet
I'm in the garden, bum on seat
Some birds are singing in the trees
While on the flowers are flies and bees.

My pond is cool and full of life
A sure escape from daily strife
I sit and watch my flowers grow
What's this? a neighbour's stereo?

So this is it, just like LAST year
As soon as Summer days are here
Out they come, the bloody deaf
Sod everyone, don't give an 'F'.

And so to strains of tuneless crap
My day is ruined, can't even nap
So in I go for peace and calm
With windows open cos its warm.

God, what's that smell? I think I know
As particles through the window flow
That's it, Christ, now my pressure's higher
Some chuff's just lit a bloody fire!

So windows closed, as hot as hell
I try to get rid of the smell
Roll on winter when these bores
Seldom wander out of doors.

So for my fresh air I must go
Into the country, but "Oh no!"
You'll never guess what I can see
Those ignorant sods have followed me!


CRUSHED NUTS?

Here he comes the ice cream man
Pretty chimes, and little van
Waiting, waiting. Will he stop?
99 with nuts on top.

Moving closer all the time
Louder, louder is his chime
Soon be here, I just can't wait
Standing by the garden gate.

He isn't slowing, drives straight past
So I follow, very fast
Waving, shouting, running after
Street is full of cruel laughter.

Round the corner, up the hill
Panting, waving, running still
Ice cream man ignores my cries
Tears are forming in my eyes.

Very soon I see he's stopping
Children queue like grown-ups shopping
Take your time till I get there
Cross the road with greatest care.

Breathing now with lungs a-heaving
In and out of folks I'm weaving
Finally I'm in the queue
"Boy in front, I'm after you."

Shaking legs and knocking knees
"Can I have a 99 please?"
"Sorry lad you can't have nowt.
He were't last, I've just run out."

So ice cream free and knackered out
I kick and scream, and swear and shout
The people stare, the air is blue
I have my rights,.....I'm 52.

I cast my mind back years ago
When I was only 10 or so
And life seemed oh so simple then
A full toy box, a garden den.

I had no worries, life was good
No future plans for adulthood
Getting lost my only fear..........
And the occasional clip around the ear!

I'd wait for Santa in the gloom
And wish he'd soon come to my room
But by-and-by I'd fall asleep
Then wake, "Look prezzies in a heap."

The paper off, my room a mess
What's from whom? I'll have to guess
"Mum, dad, wake its christmas day!"
"Yes, thats nice son, now go away."

Yeah, okay, they're crap.

:help:

Originally posted by Deavon


Something about the straightforward approach to the language with many American poets.



Not all American poets have a straightforward approach to language though Deavon. My current signature is a short verse by the American poet e e cummings.

If you are not familiar with the crazy punctuation and use of
language of e e cummings, he can be very difficult reading. One of my favourite poems by e e cummings is this -

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

A truly beautiful poem. If it was a little difficult to follow, try reading it out aloud.

Red

Originally posted by redrobbo
A truly beautiful poem. If it was a little difficult to follow, try reading it out aloud.

Red

That is difficult!:confused:

Looks like I'm going to have to approach the great 'google in the sky' for further reading.

Thanks for giving me lots of homework to do Red. Guess it keeps me out of trouble! :)



On a different note; My Grandma wrote a verse on one of my books long ago which reads:

"Eternity

He who clings on to a joy
Does the wing-ed life destroy
Yet he who waves, as it flies
lives in eternity's sunrise"

I cannot find it on google etc. Can anyone place this poem?

(I live in hope that it was a Grandma original) ???

I'd like to express appreciation to redrobbo for the posting of that E E Cummings poem, I shall have a further look at his stuff.

Thought I'd make an attempt as a newcomer to revive an old thread so here goes....

Quiet Today

Quiet today, that's strange.
They're usually brimming
With no end of verbosities.
Two lads, 12 or 13, on their way
Home on the tram, travel-pass in hand.

The pass says they're good lads,
For bad lads don't have them,
And it always causes a huff.
Usually one calls the conductor gay,
And they end up being thrown off.

Not literally, for that's no longer allowed,
Once proud to cane, we are now restrained.
But these two lads, 12 or 13, like mice.
I usually like to listen, about games consoles,
About Mr Badger, (apparently he looks like one),
About things that pre-pubescent boys discuss
In the early 21st century.

Perhaps something happened, they've fallen out,
Or something shocking occurred,
Too delicate for commuter-ears, like mine.
I wonder what sex education looks like these days.

Nude families playing volleyball in Greece,
That shocked me once. Perhaps they're itching
For their stop, when they'll discuss it in depth.

I'm like a nosey old lady, passing comment,
Though only to myself, I don't have a pensioner,
Les Dawson-like, sat next to me, approving me,
Yes, oh I know, isn't it awful, the things people do,
And so on. Down the tram sit Doris and Mary,
I don't know them, but I know their names,
As they often meet other OAPs, who greet them,
Hello Doris, eyup Mary, how's your Earnest?

The tram is a generational gap filler,
No one realises that they share seats with
Their past and future selves; three journeys, not one.
If only they listened, they would know,
The noise and chatter is a lifetime at every interval.
Perhaps that is why they are quiet today.

I hope that is why they are quiet today.

Crowth, I like the image of 'brimming with no end of verbosities'. Who is the author?

This is a newly-discovered favourite by Carol Ann Duffy:

Miles Away

I want you and you are not here. I pause
in this garden, breathing the colour thought is
before language into still air. Even your name
is a pale ghost and, though I exhale it again
and again, it will not stay with me. Tonight
I make you up, imagine you, your movements clearer
than the words I have you say you said before.

Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me
with a look, standing here whilst cool late light
dissolves into the earth. I have got your mouth wrong,
but still it smiles. I hold you closer, miles away,
inventing love, until the calls of nightjars
interrupt and turn what was to come, was certain,
into memory. The stars are filming us for no one.

Crowth, I like the image of 'brimming with no end of verbosities'. Who is the author?

That would be me.

The Duffy poem is beautiful. What collection is it from do you know?

crowth,

Excellent poem :thumbsup: I particularly like the stanza beginning "I'm like a nosey old lady..." I thought the 'How's your Earnest" could almost be rhyming slang. "Earnest Hubble - Old Trouble" :hihi:

I am not sure about "The tram is a generational gap filler" - seems to explain too much, when the rest of the stanza says it, as well as being a little hard to digest the meaning.

I think there are other places where you could trim or cut a little. But my instinct is always to write something then cut it in half.

Hugh :D

Heylo me again with my obsession of poems, i just though i would post this n find out wot ppl thought, n dont go worryin bout me im not like depressed of anything its jus my style of writing :suspect:

You made me want to love you
You made me want to cry
You made me want to kill myself
You made me want to die

You made me think you cared
You made me think I'm small
You made me oh so miserable
You made me want to fall

God help me I thought you'd be there
God help me I never knew
God help me I thought you'd catch me
God help me I'm going to spew

You made me believe you'd be there
You made me believe you'd care
But after all you're just one guy
A pathetic lonely soul

And after all I've said today
I hope the message is clear
Leave me alone and never come
To my door again for fear.

For now I'm not afraid to speak
For now I'm a confident girl
For now Il take just one peek
For now happiness is what I'll seek


let me know wot u think? :D :clap:

Nice, i've already started with the music, i've got a kinda catchy vibe going to it also.

That would be me.

The Duffy poem is beautiful. What collection is it from do you know?
I'm impressed :) .

'Miles Away' is from 'Selling Manhattan', though the text of that particular poem was published online by the Scottish Arts Council too, I believe.

I am not sure about "The tram is a generational gap filler" - seems to explain too much, when the rest of the stanza says it, as well as being a little hard to digest the meaning.

I think there are other places where you could trim or cut a little. But my instinct is always to write something then cut it in half.

Hugh :D

That's really helpful Hugh, I do seem to have spelled everything out don't I, thanks for the feedback, and I'm glad you liked it :D

'Miles Away' is from 'Selling Manhattan', though the text of that particular poem was published online by the Scottish Arts Council too, I believe.

Thanks for that, I really did like Miles Away so I'll check out Selling Manhattan next time I'm in a decent bookshop.

I've been trying to find this poem for a couple of days :) I couln't remember much about it except that I liked it, it had horses gazing in it, and how annoyed I was by a reviewer who treated it with disdain...

Why Brownlee left (by Paul Muldoon)

Why Brownlee left, and where he went,
Is a mystery even now.
For if a man should have been content
It was him; two acres of barley,
One of potatoes, four bullocks,
A milker, a slated farmhouse.
He was last seen going out to plough
On a March morning, bright and early.

By noon Brownlee was famous;
They had found all abandoned, with
The last rig unbroken, his pair of black
Horses, like man and wife,
Shifting their weight from foot to
Foot, and gazing into the future.

---

Hugh

Deavon - your grandma's poem is based on William Blake's poem "Eternity":

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sun rise.

Strong stuff!

okay before i start adding a few poems to this thread... i apologise now if there are too many...

how time flies

each day long before we reluctantly open our eyes,
a new dawn has awoken across the dreary night skies.
seconds... minutes... hours pass before even we stir,
time will always fly... she knows nothing of our slumber.

with each moment that passes she soars on the breeze,
over the towering mountains... across the endless seas.
never growing weary she knows no beginning or end,
the past... the gatekeeper of memories is her only friend.

her fate... her destiny.. she has but one path to follow,
bidding farewell to times gone by... welcoming tomorrow.
the warm summer days fade into colds winter´s nights,
the sun-swept skies disappear in the shadows of the moonlight.

she sees our dreams, our hopes, our fears, our sorrow,
she smiles when we are happy... yet weeps when we are hallow.
stealing moments from us before they even have arrived,
we live in awe of her power... how she... how time flies...

"peter adams - 04-05-06"

lost and found

am lost... captivated by the beauty of your words,
floating above the clouds that fill the skies.
soaring up further with every passing phrase,
fleeing from the moment i must say goodbye.

i have found... something which i had not before,
effortlessly you are able to make me laugh.
its funny... words never used to do that to me,
they were often nothing more than just a paragraph.

i am lost... in a moment where time stands still,
the sands of time stall in their hourglass.
i feel remarkably at ease when i talk to you,
prior expectations have long since been surpassed.

i have found... life guards her mystery well,
constantly springing surprises at every turn.
i expect nothing less from her anymore,
i simply live for the moment... wanting to learn.

i am lost... not knowing what will happen next,
yet... i have found... a path i wish to follow.
will i find my dreams this time... who knows,
the quest continues for my memories of tomorrow.

"peter adams - 03-05-06"

i want

i want to love,
i want to care.
i want to kiss,
i want to share.
i want to dream,
i want to believe,
i want to give,
i want to receive.
i want to teach,
i want to learn.
i want to miss,
i want to yearn.
i want to cherish,
i want to hold.
i want to live forever,
i want to grow old.
i want to stroll,
i want to walk.
i want to chat,
i want to talk.
i want to soar,
i want to fly.
i want to smile,
i want to cry.

all of these and more,
i want to feel inside.
to know that i have lived,
to know i have been... alive.

"peter adams - 01-05-06"

the path i wish to follow

after a time of wallowing in a state of despair,
not knowing which way to turn or how to get there.
finally the moment arrived out of the blue,
i didn´t need open the door i could already see through.

an overwhelming urge i have never previously known,
no longer will my dreams of tomorrow be postponed.
i know what my purpose in life is... it is here,
the storm vanished and all suddenly became clear.

the traveller will return to his homeland for one last farewell,
destiny... the mystical sorceress has cast her last spell.
when i return you should feel no sense of loss or sorrow,
take comfort... i´ve found the path i wish to follow.

"peter adams - 27-04-06"

and for anyone who is interested loads more can be found on my website...

keep up the good work ickle charm :)