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Thread: Poetry Thread

  1. #51
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    I wrote this just now:

    I am going to
    Write what I think
    By placing my words
    Into a pointless format

    But I can't think
    At least not now
    Maybe I'm just dead
    Maybe I'm just stupid

    Or maybe, just maybe,
    I am extremely bored
    And have nothing else
    To occupy my time

  2. #52
    `~~Philosoflying~~` SillySapienne's Avatar
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    These words are composed of letters and this letter is composed of words.

    I write these letters inside letters in hopes to convey and relay an intangible part of me to you.

    You, the getter of this letter, am I coming through?
    `
    'Cause you can't handle me...

    "A lie is a lie even if everyone believes it. The truth is the truth even if nobody believes it." - David Stevens

    "That that is, is. That that is not, is not. Is that it? It is."

    Veritatem dies aperit

    Ride si sapis

    Intelligentle sparkles

  3. #53

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    Quote Originally Posted by CaptainChick View Post
    Here, I will share some of my haikus:

    Utterly alone
    They're afraid of the silence
    Empty space to fill


    The paradox box
    Identical opposites
    Nothing is something


    Men are like answers
    Simple and informative
    Leave women asking


    The curse of caring
    Is both knowing and feeling
    The truth about life
    Nice .

    I'm really bad with Haikus and sonnets, and anything that requires much predefined order. I just seem to randomly write and sometimes be serious enough. Maybe like with your painting. I write way too much also. It is sort of addictive. I like writing little statements too, like:

    Poetry is the art of combining words,
    not finding words.


    Emptiness is gone
    when there is something.
    Absence longs
    to be destroyed, by your return.
    And the silence
    waits to go, when you say something.
    Your voice exists again
    when it is heard.
    Last edited by BlueScreen; 11-28-2008 at 09:42 AM. Reason: acute metrophobia
    Freude, schöner Götterfunken Tochter aus Elysium, Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum! Deine Zauber binden wieder Was die Mode streng geteilt; Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

  4. #54
    meh Salomé's Avatar
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    *for Uber*




    poetry is writing only more so...


    I
    heard
    it said
    that, with
    appropriate for
    matting
    even an army man-
    ual, can look
    like a poem.
    left


    right


    central
    to this
    ideology
    is
    the notion
    that
    Romeo is bleeding


    obvious-
    lie
    the more obscure
    1 can b
    the more
    cree 8 IV
    1 may seam

    war games
    that maim
    language
    and meaning.

    i don't know
    military strategy
    but i suppose
    there is an art
    to devastation.
    Quote Originally Posted by Ivy View Post
    Gosh, the world looks so small from up here on my high horse of menstruation.

  5. #55
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    Wow.

    That was painfully
    incomprehensible.
    And the format
    Made no sense.
    Just like always.
    Why don't you
    Quit wasting bandwidth
    And just get to
    The point?
    And please, pretty please
    Don't write a book
    You'll just waste paper
    You'll terrorize the trees.

    Just
    Just don't.

  6. #56
    meh Salomé's Avatar
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    ^Philistines are slain with pearls.
    Quote Originally Posted by Ivy View Post
    Gosh, the world looks so small from up here on my high horse of menstruation.

  7. #57

    Default Yay, thread participation FTW!

    This was an experiment with form that translates poorly from Microsoft Word... thoughts?


    Making Insignificance

    I wish to walk out
    like leaves glide;

    down,
    beyond,
    looping and reeling silently,
    spinning to soundless music,

    > skirt of air <

    feeling light as a feather,
    then rising through invisible spheres,
    twirling like an ice skater
    on
    a
    string,
    the clouds between my toes;
    a Palomar knot in my breast .
    reeling me towards
    the stars;

    so I might look back to you
    and see
    insignificance.
    Last edited by iwakar; 12-01-2008 at 09:41 AM. Reason: missing word

  8. #58
    Senior Member Eileen's Avatar
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    I found this one tonight while looking through some old files:


    Apparitions

    I.

    My brother lies in his coffin
    in our old living room,
    the one with the water-damaged wall
    and the ratty old couch
    clawed half to death by the cats.

    He lies there, so peaceful and still,
    quiet as always,
    and as happy as we could
    hope to be ourselves,
    while the room blazes
    with a strange, smokeless fire.

    The flames, bright petals of heat,
    consume the old couch,
    bring down the crumbly ramparts,
    make embers of the floor.

    I rush in, grasping.
    Everything Id loved and resented
    all the comforts and discomforts
    transformed to ash
    as I reached for his body, wailing
    for home.

    II.

    This is how it happens:
    One day, her gaze will change
    and youll know by the feverish, fearful scribbling
    that she has left you
    without packing her bags.

    It will catch you off-guard,
    because her threats always included
    that pea-green suitcase
    thrown across the bed.


    III.

    Near-loss bears down as if it is heavy
    precisely because it is not.

    Actual loss shifts our paths,
    changes our directions permanently,
    while the hypothetical sustains infinite possibilities
    of what might not have been.
    We mistake infinite intangibilities
    for a bulk to endure.

    IV.

    Sometimes she gazes
    at a word that she knows she should recognize:
    sleep, lamp, Michael.
    The letters lay out familiar syllables
    that for split-seconds
    seem foreign, strange, even absurd.
    INFJ

    "I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. You can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality." -Martin Luther King, Jr.

  9. #59

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    I was reading the tangent thread and I thought it is funny how Ne expresses in our writing too. Sometimes a thought just comes out in one weird but sort of complete torrent.


    Im meant to sleep,
    but I have hit a wall.
    Im frustrated, Im confused
    by whats in the world.
    And the last thing I will do
    is fall into it all,
    and flow into the sea,
    and fit into the mould.
    And I can not believe,
    but I know theres something better
    waiting there for me
    on the other side of this,
    where I will finally see,
    and I will finally know,
    and I will finally have
    something worth enough to miss.
    Freude, schöner Götterfunken Tochter aus Elysium, Wir betreten feuertrunken, Himmlische, dein Heiligtum! Deine Zauber binden wieder Was die Mode streng geteilt; Alle Menschen werden Brüder, Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

  10. #60
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    (For Bluemonday -I finally get around to posting that free-verse African one I promised about an aeon ago - yay! It's not really prose, honestly... I expect I've messed up the line breaks by having to do it from memory... oh, well)

    Eating a Mango

    I asked how a mango could be eaten
    without cutting it up with a knife

    After all, that's how the locals did it:
    Knives were precious things and not always at hand.

    One man showed me, picking from the pile
    which lay on the trestle table in front of us,
    Biting easily through the outer skin with his strong white teeth,
    And peeling it off with his lips,
    gnawing at the sweet orange flesh which lay beneath.

    Looks easy, I thought
    taking one myself.

    Not quite as simple as it appears though
    and the one I picked was over-ripe
    skin marked with a rash of dirty brown spots
    indenting the rich crimson and green.

    I preserved to the end, even so
    white boy with mango juice all over his face,
    and bright fibres stuck between his teeth.

    If the locals found this spectacle amusing
    they were much too polite to laugh.

    Not so one of my companions, who explained
    unasked to all and sundry that
    my role in their group was that of the joker, the fool,
    Like a pet monkey's
    my antics always provided them with great amusement
    and they eagerly awaited my next faux pas
    to give them something to laugh at.

    Naturally I was perturbed by my sudden change in status
    but perhaps I see her point:

    after all
    count the cost to one who does such things
    here, in public,
    with all these black people to see us!

    all those gently smiling faces that might so easily
    assume expressions of mocking ridicule,
    of jealous hatred,

    surrounding us, watching our every move

    Who would protect us here, so far from home,

    all alone?

    And what was their hospitality if not
    (for their betters)
    Respect?

    A girl my own age felt sorry for me
    and beckoned me to the nearest water
    which she carefully poured out from a bowl
    to bowl of my sticky hands
    until I had cleansed myself.

    I returned to find that my failings
    were being expounded no more.
    For my chief detractor
    (Doctor's daughter)
    was dozing in the stifling afternoon air.
    Several months' wages hereabouts was cradled in her arms
    cherish thy baby
    tiny black cable snaking upwards
    branching into two
    one for each ear
    closes them off.

    She recieved no covetous stares
    Nor yet respectful sidelong glances, Memsahib:

    And I may decide to eat another mango soon
    the hard way.

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