Put Up Your Favorite Poem
tmoj
Forum Posts: 57
Twisted Dreamer
1
Joined 2nd Nov 2016Forum Posts: 57
Poetry Contest Description
Put up your favorite poem. Whoever has the best wins.
Gover
Forum Posts: 3
Strange Creature
1
Joined 20th Feb 2018Forum Posts: 3
Can't you see?
Can't you see?
It's all falling apart
No more churning, no more turning
Just collapsing and falling free
My mind is racing no time to worry about my now withered heart
Because everything I have build is bursting and burning
I just want to be me
But I have to get it correct, I have to get it right, I have to hit the bullseye with my dart
I'm expected to do great things, to keep learning and earning
It's all so much I need to escape, I need to flee
Just a little more and I feel my cold dead body will be taken out on a cart
The world is going too fast, it's whirling and blurring
I can't keep up, I can't keep going, my troubles keep following me like a screaming banshee
Im told I just have to work through it, just work harder, be better, but i'm not that strong or that smart
I can't even keep focus, I lose track of my self during my discerning
Can't you see what this is doing to me?
Can't you see this is not the way it was meant to be?
Can't you see I can't do this, can't you see i need to be free?
It's all falling apart
No more churning, no more turning
Just collapsing and falling free
My mind is racing no time to worry about my now withered heart
Because everything I have build is bursting and burning
I just want to be me
But I have to get it correct, I have to get it right, I have to hit the bullseye with my dart
I'm expected to do great things, to keep learning and earning
It's all so much I need to escape, I need to flee
Just a little more and I feel my cold dead body will be taken out on a cart
The world is going too fast, it's whirling and blurring
I can't keep up, I can't keep going, my troubles keep following me like a screaming banshee
Im told I just have to work through it, just work harder, be better, but i'm not that strong or that smart
I can't even keep focus, I lose track of my self during my discerning
Can't you see what this is doing to me?
Can't you see this is not the way it was meant to be?
Can't you see I can't do this, can't you see i need to be free?
Written by Gover
Go To Page
JAZZMANOR
Forum Posts: 103
Tyrant of Words
38
Joined 4th Aug 2011 Forum Posts: 103
"Chickens Coming Home To Roost"
When brother Malcolm first voiced this sentiment
the meaning was so misconstrued
now more then fifty years later
we can reexamine his true attitude
He wasn't glorifying violence
but rather suggesting silence when action was in demand
when people simply expressing their rights
where lynched across the land
The media blew the words up into rejoicing a president's death
missing the key message to be discerned
thinking guilt was severely restricted
and today we still have much to learn
For we glorify violence
a component of entertainment in various forms
violent conflict resolution
so ingrained and now societal norms
In sports when is attention harnessed?
the competition that gets out of hand
if not on the playing field
then occurring in the stands
Video games most popular
have children destroying fictional beasts
or animated human characters
blood splattered the display anything but neat
The political experience crouched in combative phrases
pitting one party against another in a game
linguistic battles taken to the ninth degree
how quickly can we tar and defame
How about the selling of weapons for profits
one campaign chair of the likely lady next to serve
we would rather limit contraceptions at a school health clinic
as if teenagers curious about sex creates a union of perves
Ignoring the companies based in the US
who push armaments on a global scene
sometimes to ruthless autocrats and dictators
the epitome of inhuman and mean
Selectively using the term terrorist
ingoring many years of our own history's deeds
lacking courage to confront that strain within us
we won't separate the lovely flowers from the strangling weeds
But the "arch of world events" will catch up
even if our only crime was silence in the round
maybe we will choose another direction
before deep sorrow finds us feeling down
For it isn't enough just to advocate for gun restrictions
but one channel that we must pursue
we must visit our collective reactions
not scapegoat those whose numbers are actually few
You see no one religion has a lock on saving humanity
stories across the planet have violent hues
despite what may be conventional thinking
yes the truth is hard to sometimes chew
We can't be a civilized nation
telling other nations we are the purveyors of peace
while stock holders are enriched via destruction
if sincere there is behavior that must cease
the meaning was so misconstrued
now more then fifty years later
we can reexamine his true attitude
He wasn't glorifying violence
but rather suggesting silence when action was in demand
when people simply expressing their rights
where lynched across the land
The media blew the words up into rejoicing a president's death
missing the key message to be discerned
thinking guilt was severely restricted
and today we still have much to learn
For we glorify violence
a component of entertainment in various forms
violent conflict resolution
so ingrained and now societal norms
In sports when is attention harnessed?
the competition that gets out of hand
if not on the playing field
then occurring in the stands
Video games most popular
have children destroying fictional beasts
or animated human characters
blood splattered the display anything but neat
The political experience crouched in combative phrases
pitting one party against another in a game
linguistic battles taken to the ninth degree
how quickly can we tar and defame
How about the selling of weapons for profits
one campaign chair of the likely lady next to serve
we would rather limit contraceptions at a school health clinic
as if teenagers curious about sex creates a union of perves
Ignoring the companies based in the US
who push armaments on a global scene
sometimes to ruthless autocrats and dictators
the epitome of inhuman and mean
Selectively using the term terrorist
ingoring many years of our own history's deeds
lacking courage to confront that strain within us
we won't separate the lovely flowers from the strangling weeds
But the "arch of world events" will catch up
even if our only crime was silence in the round
maybe we will choose another direction
before deep sorrow finds us feeling down
For it isn't enough just to advocate for gun restrictions
but one channel that we must pursue
we must visit our collective reactions
not scapegoat those whose numbers are actually few
You see no one religion has a lock on saving humanity
stories across the planet have violent hues
despite what may be conventional thinking
yes the truth is hard to sometimes chew
We can't be a civilized nation
telling other nations we are the purveyors of peace
while stock holders are enriched via destruction
if sincere there is behavior that must cease
Written by JAZZMANOR
Go To Page
Heaven_sent_Kathy
Forum Posts: 177
Thought Provoker
9
Joined 1st Nov 2017 Forum Posts: 177
Drawing Deep The Well That Night
The smoke and ash from glowing embers
Left from a fire that raged hot that night
Was when she in her darkest thoughts had
Wrapped me in a deeper velvet, covering
A bed of lamb's wool, to be smothered
In a traditional, biblical love.
Where my paleness was the milk & honey
That laid among the goat herd with their teats
Full & dangling as I woke from their bleats.
And there she was, the warrior shepherdess
Waving the herd aside like a sea parting
Just as she began to kneel over me,
With musk descending, my arms reaching,
Our bodies curved as goat bells scattered.
Left from a fire that raged hot that night
Was when she in her darkest thoughts had
Wrapped me in a deeper velvet, covering
A bed of lamb's wool, to be smothered
In a traditional, biblical love.
Where my paleness was the milk & honey
That laid among the goat herd with their teats
Full & dangling as I woke from their bleats.
And there she was, the warrior shepherdess
Waving the herd aside like a sea parting
Just as she began to kneel over me,
With musk descending, my arms reaching,
Our bodies curved as goat bells scattered.
Written by Heaven_sent_Kathy
Go To Page
lepperochan
Craic-Dealer
Forum Posts: 14564
Craic-Dealer
Guardian of Shadows
67
Joined 1st Apr 2011Forum Posts: 14564
Space within - touhtiw emiT
(¡)
and time
ain't no Robin Hood
wouldn't give it space on my wrist
because it cares for nothing
(¡¡)
She offered me space
and I refused
then she forced it upon me
so I filled it with anger
and drowned her
(¡¡¡)
look at it, fool
do you think ol' Mr Higgs
gives a fiddler's fuck
where the little hand points
and time
ain't no Robin Hood
wouldn't give it space on my wrist
because it cares for nothing
(¡¡)
She offered me space
and I refused
then she forced it upon me
so I filled it with anger
and drowned her
(¡¡¡)
look at it, fool
do you think ol' Mr Higgs
gives a fiddler's fuck
where the little hand points
Written by lepperochan
(Craic-Dealer)
Go To Page
thepositivelydark
Forum Posts: 134
Fire of Insight
4
Joined 28th Aug 2013Forum Posts: 134
Nighthawks
We write.
We only meet in the dim lights, it seems,
You and I.
Nighthawks telling stories through flesh and stars and raindrops.
You sit next to me.
They wait for us to spill more secrets,
Though I know not as much about poetry.
No one knows how we're all here -
No one knows the way out -
Yet we love that one air
Filling our lungs differently.
We rarely barely touch,
You and I,
But your smokes enter me -
Black and white and unavoidable.
Your hand near mine - like mine -
Resting then flowing
With verses and rhyme,
Rain and roses,
Thorns and secret universes.
I can never cut as deep as you,
You ruthless bastard.
I guess that comes with time and talent,
And I'm just a lonely young girl you can color in with whatever you want and lay down on pages.
You always bring me there,
To your time, your place.
Was I ever able to show you the colors of mine?
I don't need you to tell me you love me,
Good sir.
I guess that comes with madness - loving me -
And I'm just a girl almost living, almost dying,
Almost naked, almost fucking,
Almost singing,
Almost writing,
Almost cliché.
We like to pretend that we're dancers in the moonlight.
The truth is we're only nighthawks under fluorescent harshness.
Stuck in poetry.
Art: Nighthawks by Edward Hopper
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGulAZnnTKA
We only meet in the dim lights, it seems,
You and I.
Nighthawks telling stories through flesh and stars and raindrops.
You sit next to me.
They wait for us to spill more secrets,
Though I know not as much about poetry.
No one knows how we're all here -
No one knows the way out -
Yet we love that one air
Filling our lungs differently.
We rarely barely touch,
You and I,
But your smokes enter me -
Black and white and unavoidable.
Your hand near mine - like mine -
Resting then flowing
With verses and rhyme,
Rain and roses,
Thorns and secret universes.
I can never cut as deep as you,
You ruthless bastard.
I guess that comes with time and talent,
And I'm just a lonely young girl you can color in with whatever you want and lay down on pages.
You always bring me there,
To your time, your place.
Was I ever able to show you the colors of mine?
I don't need you to tell me you love me,
Good sir.
I guess that comes with madness - loving me -
And I'm just a girl almost living, almost dying,
Almost naked, almost fucking,
Almost singing,
Almost writing,
Almost cliché.
We like to pretend that we're dancers in the moonlight.
The truth is we're only nighthawks under fluorescent harshness.
Stuck in poetry.
Art: Nighthawks by Edward Hopper
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGulAZnnTKA
Written by thepositivelydark
Go To Page
wallyroo92
Forum Posts: 1858
Tyrant of Words
153
Joined 11th July 2012Forum Posts: 1858
Illicit Ecstasy
You’re overwhelmed by those images in your head,
That at first they seem like some passing fascination,
But then, the thought becomes more vivid and lively,
You find yourself living with a constant obsession.
And the sweet torment of the filthy fantasy fulfills you,
For only a little while until you delve in it again,
In fleeting names of shapes and forms, of acts unknown,
That seems to feed a hunger that has no end.
It becomes the perfect scenario of man’s indulgence,
In things that are forbidden and what should never be,
But in the darkest places of the heart and mind you find,
Ways to relish in the visions of vile and illicit ecstasy.
You’re overwhelmed by those images in your head,
That at first they seem like some passing fascination,
But then, the thought becomes more vivid and lively,
You find yourself living with a constant obsession.
And the sweet torment of the filthy fantasy fulfills you,
For only a little while until you delve in it again,
In fleeting names of shapes and forms, of acts unknown,
That seems to feed a hunger that has no end.
It becomes the perfect scenario of man’s indulgence,
In things that are forbidden and what should never be,
But in the darkest places of the heart and mind you find,
Ways to relish in the visions of vile and illicit ecstasy.
Hepcat61
geoff cat
Forum Posts: 1028
geoff cat
Dangerous Mind
33
Joined 27th Nov 2015Forum Posts: 1028
OLD TOM AND THE TIGER (Redux)
(a nursery sonnet)
Her keepers called her cage her “habitat,”
And she was queen of her two block domain.
Kept court in summer shade, his regent cat,
Old Tom was "jester" of his tiger’s reign.
Old Tom, would watch her grandly regal stalk,
As she would pace to gain the humans’ stare.
Old Tom would stride and match her walk for walk,
As she would smile to watch his strutting there.
But cold in winter’s bleak, she’d barely stir.
These frigid rains that made her feel so sick,
So lost, then came a rustle in her fur.
It was Old Tom with nip and tug and lick.
Old Tom would stay and play with her awhile,
He always seemed to prod his tiger’s smile.
Her keepers called her cage her “habitat,”
And she was queen of her two block domain.
Kept court in summer shade, his regent cat,
Old Tom was "jester" of his tiger’s reign.
Old Tom, would watch her grandly regal stalk,
As she would pace to gain the humans’ stare.
Old Tom would stride and match her walk for walk,
As she would smile to watch his strutting there.
But cold in winter’s bleak, she’d barely stir.
These frigid rains that made her feel so sick,
So lost, then came a rustle in her fur.
It was Old Tom with nip and tug and lick.
Old Tom would stay and play with her awhile,
He always seemed to prod his tiger’s smile.
Written by Hepcat61
(geoff cat)
Go To Page
calamitygin
Jennifer Michael McCurry
Forum Posts: 2047
Jennifer Michael McCurry
Tyrant of Words
28
Joined 22nd June 2015Forum Posts: 2047
A silly ol' cum kind Hillbilly squaw loves her camel tooo much rhyme...or Mrs.Malaprop's words go terribly wrong!!
The squaw that stroked the camel's sack had finally dun herself in.
She looked into the eyes of the beast,
and became powerful frightened of his wicked grin!
Oh Holy Moly how that one stroke too far had engorged his needed hump....
She saw her touch had unleashed a devlish urge and swallowed hard with a lump..
Swollen from lust..
And in need of a thrust...
He pawed his hooves at the ground..
Never in her short sqaw life had she heard anything snortin such a hellacious sound!
Then she saw the enormous size
of the thing she had rized..
And the camal hocked a big ol spit..
The sweet lil thang Cherokee hollered, and her mocassins took her off lickety split..
He came chargin right behind her, bound and determined, nostrils round n aflared..
Man! You should have seen that purty lil squaw runnin, by gawd she was ascared!!!
For my Kitty Kat and favorite grinnin bloke..blocat..love you for your efforts at makin me giggle. Eternal luvs and hugz!
She looked into the eyes of the beast,
and became powerful frightened of his wicked grin!
Oh Holy Moly how that one stroke too far had engorged his needed hump....
She saw her touch had unleashed a devlish urge and swallowed hard with a lump..
Swollen from lust..
And in need of a thrust...
He pawed his hooves at the ground..
Never in her short sqaw life had she heard anything snortin such a hellacious sound!
Then she saw the enormous size
of the thing she had rized..
And the camal hocked a big ol spit..
The sweet lil thang Cherokee hollered, and her mocassins took her off lickety split..
He came chargin right behind her, bound and determined, nostrils round n aflared..
Man! You should have seen that purty lil squaw runnin, by gawd she was ascared!!!
For my Kitty Kat and favorite grinnin bloke..blocat..love you for your efforts at makin me giggle. Eternal luvs and hugz!
Written by calamitygin
(Jennifer Michael McCurry)
Go To Page
AtoMikbomb
Forum Posts: 141
Fire of Insight
13
Joined 1st Aug 2017Forum Posts: 141
Aaron
Will you garden
in the still
screens
lilting your wilted
wanderings upon
greenery ears?
Those hedgerows...
they knew (they know...)
your sentiments
penny candy etiquette -
your high-fructose fueled
to & fros
Will you meadow
in fairy-ringed
plateaus?
Skirting slick stanzas
through shadows
of plunging-handed
willows
Will the rune
of lunes
untold
fold tuned feathers
restful and warm
'round newfound
charcoal keyholes?
Peppering the scroll
your pen has scored;
boring into
my soul...
my soul
Written by AtoMikbomb
Go To Page
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Krosgood
Violence
Forum Posts: 166
Violence
Thought Provoker
12
Joined 21st Mar 2014Forum Posts: 166
Sonnet of the War Child
Transmutation, nucleus redesigned
Experimental reconfiguring
DNA strands set to be realigned
Nuclear waste excelled disfiguring
Radioactive sludge like solution
Scientifically overhauls the flesh
Manipulating it's evolution
Creates the children the gutters caress
Toxicity levels begin to grow
Red swollen eyes burning from the crying
Staring at the clouds which are black as crow
Gathering now together and dying
Post nuclear war, child of the past
Plays in the fallout of death ridden gas
Experimental reconfiguring
DNA strands set to be realigned
Nuclear waste excelled disfiguring
Radioactive sludge like solution
Scientifically overhauls the flesh
Manipulating it's evolution
Creates the children the gutters caress
Toxicity levels begin to grow
Red swollen eyes burning from the crying
Staring at the clouds which are black as crow
Gathering now together and dying
Post nuclear war, child of the past
Plays in the fallout of death ridden gas
Written by Krosgood
(Violence)
Go To Page
Jade-Pandora
jade tiger
Forum Posts: 5134
jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
154
Joined 9th Nov 2015 Forum Posts: 5134
Craneo de un Caballo
Soon it was clear that the moon
was a horse's skull,
and the air, a dark apple.
The gearshift shudder of
a heavy-laden truck fades,
all the while, the
sustained drone of bees;
past their prime and sluggish,
yet their wings cannot be stilled.
A dull glint behind the eyes
of a yoked pair of oxen,
standing at a crossroad
between myself and the fields
that bake in the August
of a Spanish sun,
waiting for the
hammer and anvil to sing,
for the echoing refrain
of rifle shots beyond
a stand of distant trees
shimmering from spent cartridges
in the waning afternoon
of your exquisitely curved spine.
The title literally means "Skull of a Horse"
Ever since I read about the Spanish poet, Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936), some of his poetry, his biography, and of his violent death - I've always felt the loss, and the injustice of how he was abducted and executed by Nationalists of Franco's army during the Spanish civil war of the 30's.
Credit for the first stanza in italics is from Lorca's poem, "Ruin" which can be viewed in its entirety here in both Spanish & English :
https://emilyjaneisaac.wordpress.com/2014/01/20/english-federico-garcia-lorca-poem-ruinaruin-analysis/
was a horse's skull,
and the air, a dark apple.
The gearshift shudder of
a heavy-laden truck fades,
all the while, the
sustained drone of bees;
past their prime and sluggish,
yet their wings cannot be stilled.
A dull glint behind the eyes
of a yoked pair of oxen,
standing at a crossroad
between myself and the fields
that bake in the August
of a Spanish sun,
waiting for the
hammer and anvil to sing,
for the echoing refrain
of rifle shots beyond
a stand of distant trees
shimmering from spent cartridges
in the waning afternoon
of your exquisitely curved spine.
The title literally means "Skull of a Horse"
Ever since I read about the Spanish poet, Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936), some of his poetry, his biography, and of his violent death - I've always felt the loss, and the injustice of how he was abducted and executed by Nationalists of Franco's army during the Spanish civil war of the 30's.
Credit for the first stanza in italics is from Lorca's poem, "Ruin" which can be viewed in its entirety here in both Spanish & English :
https://emilyjaneisaac.wordpress.com/2014/01/20/english-federico-garcia-lorca-poem-ruinaruin-analysis/
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Fallen_Angel_194
Angel.
Forum Posts: 318
Angel.
Thought Provoker
5
Joined 24th May 2014 Forum Posts: 318
Related submission no longer exists.