Toot your own horn

Rules: Enter your poem with a full analysis of why it makes you proud to have written it. Go all in with a list of your poetic devices and all the hard work and life changing transformations involved with getting to this level of sheer genius and stuff yadda yadda.

(i stole this contest idea from someone else...but it was so damn good it had to be done again lol)

https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/277315-no-one-digs-your-poetry-but-yourself/

I think this poem
summarizes
many of us poets
here on DU
especially for the ones
who put so much effort & time,
as well as, blood & sweat
into their poetry to create
something that truly stands out
only to receive unsavory comments
from those who think they`ve
got poetry all figured out.
So this poem really wasn`t
all about me personally
even though some verses
I do value.
In closing, this poem
is my own personal Masterpiece
because it shows
that I don`t give a Fuck what anyone thinks
about my poetry,
and neither should anyone else
especially when it comes to their poetry!

A friend of mine had read a few of my previous works
and came to the conclusion that I used my way with words as a way to seduce women. I thought it was hilarious because that definitely isnt the case so I jus took that idea and ran with it thus Poetry for ass was born. its based off of unintentional attraction but I will say this ..i do know how to display a little poetic charm if the opportunity presents itself enjoy

                ONE LOVE
Walking through this worlds darkness feelings of despair
Struggling through the shadows
Searching for some air
Air that I can breath that makes my soul alive that makes me one with myself ready to conquer the shit that we face each and every day
Days are tough forget about 1 but we deal with 7. 7 days a challenge to make a difference A difference that we can see think feel touch love  
Touch slight of hand touching me touching you holding on what to do WHAT TO DO lets hold on to each other like a stoner holding on to a blunt never to let go GO to the ends of ones life to make it right Right not left left not right my life is like a car stop here go there turn their break down.  Break Down break up break dance an expression of ones ability's to dance in a systematic world where were told how to act ACT like a actor in a major motion picture Picture a world were we can express the words of bob Marley ONE LOVE.

I wasn't sure what to put here, because I really don't want to toot my own horn. We're buds though, so I'll humor you lol!

This piece fulfilled one of my bucket list items. It earned me a Daily Deviation on DeviantArt. I used a lot of alliteration and consonance, and I did work pretty hard on it. I'd say it reads better than a lot of my other stuff. It's what I would take to a slam.

Ultimately I'm contributing this because it helped me through some personal anger and resentment. The literary quality of it doesn't even matter that much truly, because this was something pivotal in my life and it probably means the most out of all of my poems.

It'd be cool to win this comp, but it really has no bearing on the personal significance of this

A Road of Metaphors

My poetry has been a disguise of phantoms and recollections,
Fantasies fused with realities and some differences I can’t tell,
They’ve been obscure secrets escaped through innuendos,
Implicitly in coded language loaded with ghostly bombshells.

And some never went off…

It’s been a road of metaphors filled with similes and analogies,
Allusions to the illusions of the near madness that I bore,
Allegories of the freed confined mind resigned to stay silent,
Yet a little bit of it bled through the wounds and on to the floor.

They’ve been the expressions of lonely glumly feelings,
Endless streams of daydreams of my subconscious thought,
Reveries of love and anger ranging from passion to languor,
To euphoric epiphanies and revelations I used to plot.

It’s the journal to my life’s story without the fame or glory,
The reflection and hindsight to the past I sometimes forget,
Comical chronicles of the years, some of laughter, some of tears
And of the paths overlooked and chosen and the people I met.

I go back and read about:
Fifteen year old me and how silly I used to be,
Twenty year old me and how naïve I was back then,
Thirty year old me and how lost and scared I was,
Present old me and how I’m still trying to reach my Zen.

And I wonder about older me and if I’ll be a little wiser,
Maybe senile, maybe shrewd, perhaps ruthless and yet calm,
Writing better then old times dropping nuclear power rhymes,
Maybe then my message will come across louder than any bomb.

________________________________________________________________

A summary of me (to say the least), as many pieces written were my way to help me cope through the bad times and the inspirations through good times. It's been a journal from the past 28 years.

FoolCard said:https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/291881-crystal-city/


This poem reminds me how beautiful the city can be at night, really late where the silence is heard  

Congratulations to Devlin. There were many awesome and intriguing entries here. Thank you to our host samael, it's an honor to receive this award.