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Post poetry you love! Post poetry you write! Talk about it!
I was inspired to make this thread after reading this poem:
Dinosauria, We
by Charles Bukowski
born like this
into this
as the chalk faces smile
as Mrs. Death laughs
as the elevators break
as political landscapes dissolve
as the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
as the oily fish spit out their oily prey
as the sun is masked
we are
born like this
into this
into these carefully mad wars
into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
into bars where people no longer speak to each other
into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
born into this
into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes
born into this
walking and living through this
dying because of this
muted because of this
castrated
debauched
disinherited
because of this
fooled by this
used by this
pissed on by this
made crazy and sick by this
made violent
made inhuman
by this
the heart is blackened
the fingers reach for the throat
the gun
the knife
the bomb
the fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
the fingers reach for the bottle
the pill
the powder
we are born into this sorrowful deadliness
we are born into a government 60 years in debt
that soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
and the banks will burn
money will be useless
there will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
it will be guns and roving mobs
land will be useless
food will become a diminishing return
nuclear power will be taken over by the many
explosions will continually shake the earth
radiated robot men will stalk each other
the rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground
the sun will not be seen and it will always be night
trees will die
all vegetation will die
radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
the sea will be poisoned
the lakes and rivers will vanish
rain will be the new gold
the rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
the last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
and the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
the petering out of supplies
the natural effect of decay
and there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
born out of that.
the sun still hidden there
awaiting the next chapter.
The Southern Man
A man looking dapper dressed in white
A group unaware of their plight
He sits at the table covered in cash
Money that makes men act rash
The dealer proceeded to hand out the cards
The southerner glanced, others stared hard
The cards were good for more than just one
The gamblers thought, as he tapped his gun
A man dressed in green was at the table that hand
He was redheaded and an irishman
"Hey boyo' whatchoo got der'" he drunkingly asked
"You mean my cards or my gun?" answered the southerner back
The irishman proud, of an armed man uncaring
He stared at the southern man eyes unwavering
"Im all in Mr Fancy" said the man dressed in green
Oh the southern mans eyes gleamed
"All in", and the southern man pushed his chips
The others folded, sinking like ships
The two men glared, a table of money at stake
In between two men, only one who would take
The turn hit the table followed by the river
All others were shocked, the southerner shivered
The two cards dropped down were Kings
and the irishman quickly began to sing
A bawdy old irish song he recited
To the expense of a gentleman whose defeat was decided
All others hushed as they knew he went to far
But the southern man left, hes a gentleman after all.
Am I full of contradictions? That is correct.
Now I am a plant. Yesterday, when I was between fire
and water
I was a harvest.
Now I am a rose and live coal,
Now I am the sun and the shadow
I am not a god.
Am I full of contradictions? That is correct...
_________________________________________
My city collapsed
The wall clock remained
Our neighbourhood collapsed
The wall clock remained
The street collapsed
The wall clock remained
The square collapsed
The wall clock remained
My home collapsed
The wall clock remained
The wall collapsed
On went
The clock
_________________________________________
On the day you kill me
You'll find in my pocket
Travel tickets
To peace,
To the fields and the rain,
To people's conscience.
Don't waste the tickets.
Godoggo
04-21-16, 02:47 PM
Swan, I love that Bulowski poem. I'll try to be brave and post something of mine later.
By the way, those poems aren't mine! Just some of my favourites. I thought I should make that clear. Sorry for not saying that in the original post.
I....I wrote mine
I enjoyed it. You're talented, Tongo :up:
AboveTheClouds
04-21-16, 03:26 PM
O were my love yon Lilac fair,
Wi' purple blossoms to the Spring,
And I, a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing!
How I wad mourn when it was torn
By Autumn wild, and Winter rude!
But I was sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.
O gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa';
And I myself a drap o' dew,
Into her bonie breast to fa'!
O there, beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night;
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light!
O were my love yon lilac fair - Robert Burns
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost
Lo! ’t is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.
The Conqueror Worm - Edgar Allan Poe
Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.
I have whirled with the earth at the dawning,
When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name.
I had drifted o'er seas without ending,
Under sinister grey-clouded skies,
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons, that out of the green waters rise.
I have plunged like a deer through the arches
Of the hoary primoridal grove,
Where the oaks feel the presence that marches,
And stalks on where no spirit dares rove,
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers through dead branches above.
I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains
That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains
That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things, I care not to gaze on again.
I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace,
I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon rising up from the valleys
Shows the tapestried things on the wall;
Strange figures discordantly woven, that I cannot endure to recall.
I have peered from the casements in wonder
At the mouldering meadows around,
At the many-roofed village laid under
The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble, I listen intently for sound.
I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
I have flown on the pinions of fear,
Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages;
Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer.
I was old when the pharaohs first mounted
The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle.
Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,
Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom.
Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.
Nemesis - H.P Lovecraft
O'er the midnight moorlands crying,
Thro' the cypress forests sighing,
In the night-wind madly flying,
Hellish forms with streaming hair;
In the barren branches creaking,
By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking,
Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking,
Damn'd demons of despair.
Once, I think I half remember,
Ere the grey skies of November
Quench'd my youth's aspiring ember,
Liv'd there such a thing as bliss;
Skies that now are dark were beaming,
Bold and azure, splendid seeming
Till I learn'd it all was dreaming —
Deadly drowsiness of Dis.
But the stream of Time, swift flowing,
Brings the torment of half-knowing —
Dimly rushing, blindly going
Past the never-trodden lea;
And the voyager, repining,
Sees the wicked death-fires shining,
Hears the wicked petrel's whining
As he helpless drifts to sea.
Evil wings in ether beating;
Vultures at the spirit eating;
Things unseen forever fleeting
Black against the leering sky.
Ghastly shades of bygone gladness,
Clawing fiends of future sadness,
Mingle in a cloud of madness
Ever on the soul to lie.
Thus the living, lone and sobbing,
In the throes of anguish throbbing,
With the loathsome Furies robbing
Night and noon of peace and rest.
But beyond the groans and grating
Of abhorrent Life, is waiting
Sweet Oblivion, culminating
All the years of fruitless quest.
Despair - H.P Lovecraft
You guys wanna try a 4 line chain poem?
He was a musician, a harmonic physician
There were no boundaries to his vision
The color purple he somewhat invented
It was there but in our minds uncemented.
I've never really enjoyed poems.
I'm sure there are a few good ones out there but mostly it's sophomoric or boring.
I disagree, and am not sure why you felt the need to post in this thread.
I'll have a go, TONGO. I'm not good at rhyming poetry but.. oh well.
He was a musician, a harmonic physician
There were no boundaries to his vision
The color purple he somewhat invented
It was there but in our minds uncemented.
An everywhere man he was
He looked like pain and trust
He held time in little regard
The dullest moments he'd discard
I disagree
Yeah always entertaining to see those famous contemporary poets giving an SNL monologue.
Yeah always entertaining to see those famous contemporary poets giving an SNL monologue.
Thank you for sharing
He was a musician, a harmonic physician
There were no boundaries to his vision
The color purple he somewhat invented
It was there but in our minds uncemented.
An everywhere man he was
He looked like pain and trust
He held time in little regard
The dullest moments he'd discard
He was a Bard that other Bards sought
He invented a show that would not be forgot
He created a sound with an insightful vision
As a young boy he knew it would come to fruition
Gah, I repeated "vision" again, like a hiccup in the flow. :sick:
http://www.movieforums.com/community/attachment.php?attachmentid=24972&stc=1&d=1461279598
He was a musician, a harmonic physician
There were no boundaries to his vision
The color purple he somewhat invented
It was there but in our minds uncemented.
An everywhere man he was
He looked like pain and trust
He held time in little regard
The dullest moments he'd discard
He was a Bard that other Bards sought
He invented a show that would not be forgot
He created a sound with an insightful vision
As a young boy he knew it would come to fruition
But he had a secret, you see, a flaw deep down
The thought of it made this special man frown
In a sea of talent, delights of the arts
He was insecure of what lay deep in his heart
Stupid Meme
Oh stupid meme, your game is naught
Your picture but an after thought
Your lettering gibberish, your words a stutter
To a thread youre but a clutter
There are good memes you must find
and apologize for your own kind
Theyre slick and new yet stand times test
Those memes are among the best
Not a stupid meme though, oh no'siree
Ive better thoughts when taking a pee
Stupid memes are forever, like roaches on screen
You exist so that the good ones are easier seen
He was a musician, a harmonic physician
There were no boundaries to his vision
The color purple he somewhat invented
It was there but in our minds uncemented.
An everywhere man he was
He looked like pain and trust
He held time in little regard
The dullest moments he'd discard
He was a Bard that other Bards sought
He invented a show that would not be forgot
He created a sound with an insightful vision
As a young boy he knew it would come to fruition
But he had a secret, you see, a flaw deep down
The thought of it made this special man frown
In a sea of talent, delights of the arts
He was insecure of what lay deep in his heart
His thoughts could be dark, his music could not
For angels sound mighty, his cacophony sought
On many levels did his sound travel
Into our own minds, and cleared out our babble
My new stanza is pretty lame but I'm trying to propel the poem's story forward, so hopefully this'll give it a boost.
--------
He was a musician, a harmonic physician
There were no boundaries to his vision
The color purple he somewhat invented
It was there but in our minds uncemented.
An everywhere man he was
He looked like pain and trust
He held time in little regard
The dullest moments he'd discard
He was a Bard that other Bards sought
He invented a show that would not be forgot
He created a sound with an insightful vision
As a young boy he knew it would come to fruition
But he had a secret, you see, a flaw deep down
The thought of it made this special man frown
In a sea of talent, delights of the arts
He was insecure of what lay deep in his heart
His thoughts could be dark, his music could not
For angels sound mighty, his cacophony sought
On many levels did his sound travel
Into our own minds, and cleared out our babble
His art was propelled when one day
He was sought for by a victim of his way
This person was cheerful though, nothing gory
Sit back and I'll tell you the story
Godoggo
04-22-16, 05:46 PM
Can you tell me where I can find it?
That thing?
I do not know what to call it,
I do not know what it is.
But it is that something
I am missing
Something I am driven
beyond all rationality
something that I must find.
Someone told me that I might find it through God
but he either wasn't listening
or he was never there.
I found nothing to replace my nothing
and it left me emptier still.
I tried to find it through love
Another to complete me
and make me whole
But the empty part of me
shrieked like a demon
and it left me emptier still
So can you tell me where to find it?
This completion of me
Do you even know what to call it?
Or are you searching just as hard?
Running on that hedonic treadmill
Faster and faster.
Filling ourselves with instant gratification
Love, pleasure, sex
until we are exhausted. Spent.
And we are left emptier still.
Did you write that yourself, Godoggo?
Godoggo
04-22-16, 05:53 PM
I did. :yup:
I wrote this a couple years ago. The formatting should be different, but it's okay.
For My Daughter, Born Last Year
arching back, extended arms, stretching fingers
the magic of a curiosity
arising from innocence
her eyes shine with happiness
her perfect lips smile while marveling,
as if saying, “you are good, and all is good”
but if those lips have never given form to evil,
can they possibly know of goodness?
yes! yes, they can!
for they declare:
everything is wonder, and is wonderful
everything is new, and is wonderful
everything is joy, and is wonderful
because this is the world where simplicity
is held up by billions of years of chaos,
if by chaos we mean the amazement and mystery
of somethingness
eyes uplifted, steps uncertain, hands pushing forward
the upturned chin, the unabashed smile, the unashamed laughter
this is the joy of life
the meaning of existence
hips in motion, stop, thrust, swing,
as sounds become beats and beats become
rhythms
and rhythms become songs
head bobbing, up and down, bobbing,
as if to say, “this is good, and all is good”
and who am I to refute such a claim,
if just momentarily
captivated,
unknown to myself in this very instance....
This is my daughter, and I love her very much.
I did. :yup:
It's really beautiful, Godoggo. I found it to be very relatable as well. Great job.
The Decision
There are four to choose from, one will be King
The one we choose to rule our everything
A rich man, an old man, a woman, and a safety
In case the rich man grows bored and leaves hastily
We want their agenda, we want their best
we need proper guidance, be greater than the rest
The four people fight, point, and try hard
but is their a leader amongst these cards?
The most powerful nation served up on a platter
We the people decide on what matters
Their character, their plan, their vision, and truth
Most wish to vote in the uncouth
In November we'll know who the President will be
We'll remember this election, and when we were free
The nation will know who was right and was wrong
I hope we'll choose wisely the voice of our song
Godoggo
04-23-16, 12:18 AM
It's really beautiful, Godoggo. I found it to be very relatable as well. Great job.
Thank you! Poetry and prose isn't my strongest style of writing, so I've really been trying to work on it.
Let It Unfold by Zotis
In the vase
On the kitchen counter
Was the first place you tasted hell
Nine years old enough to know
You shouldn't play with lighters
You burned your parents'
White picket dream
Along with your infant brother
Flower petals burn so gently
'Till they're burning the carpet
And the carpet's burning the wall
Now look at you baby
You're damaged goods
You and everyone else who's ever suffered such an event
Damaged in glorious blazes
And plane crashes
A necklace of scars
Is all you have to show
Let it all unfold
Let it all unfold
You're just a derailed train
And a car wreck away
From never being able to look at your face in the mirror again
Let it all unfold
Let it all unfold
Don't bury it all
In boxes in the attic
Only open me on the weekend
An attempt to revive this thread. Written by G. Atsby
Like an aquarium without any fish
Like a horror movie for the squeamish
Something about them aren’t right
But it wasn’t like that before I left
Staring into an empty tank
I see my own fake reflection
While watching the inoffensive
My thoughts become defensive
This kind of world, this world
It requires a dose of sadness
But they won’t let me, they won’t
Why won’t they let me, I wonder
Hakuna Matata my ass
Cmon, just let me pass
Hakuna Matata my ass
Cmon, just let me pass
The Poker House by Zotis
"I race the sun home in the morning,
And the moon up at night.
There's just today,
And then there's tonight.
Anything can happen,
And anything does.
Get through it."
Now you know,
How much he loves you,
Now that he raped you.
How could you know?
You were only fourteen.
Life can be so cruel.
I know it's hard to be,
When you are suffering.
It breaks my heart to see,
You shatter,
And put back together,
With so little care.
It's war,
Right from the womb,
With unguided rage,
And misguided blame.
Shield yourself under the circumstances.
Baby you know,
God never lies.
I know it's hard,
But you have sinned.
You are not perfect.
You are the one,
Under inspection.
You failed him.
You can't blame a locked door.
You can't blame your father.
Cover yourself in sackcloth.
In ashes repent.
-Quote from The Poker House (2008)
I made this for a challenge in Speed Survivor. Starts out pretty rocky but smooths out some. TONGOIs poetry bends to the juvenile :blush:
The Thing
A poem
In the antarctica plains
Two men lay huddled yet sane
A bottle of whiskey they pass to each other
They drink by the fire to not freeze or shudder
Both men have flamethrowers thet they hold
They stare and wonder of each other in the cold
MacReady wonders "Is Childs that Thing?"
Childs thoughts are his own, as is everything
https://i.ytimg.com/vi/3yaRfSHXIQc/hqdefault.jpg
"MacReady, how am I supposed to know youre you?"
MacReady looks at him, and says "Childs choose"
"You can try and engulf me with your flamethrower
or give me some blood in this cup Ill hand over''
Childs stares and say "This again. Great."
"Sorry Childs, but if youre it youll hibernate"
The cold has no effect on the alien creature
The being would sleep, and could endanger the future.
http://cinetropolis.net/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/the-thing-1982-19.jpg
MacReady started calmly, hed killed an innocent man before
Childs knew he wouldnt hesitate, he had to be sure
"Ok MacReady here we go" said Childs at last
Then Childs face propeled from its skull quite fast.
Childs face skin attempted to envelop MacReady
Like an anteaters tongue shooting forth quite freely
MacReady was weary, but ready for the attack
He simply pulled the trigger to fight back
http://movie-hound.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/The-Thing.jpg
The flames spit forth enveloping Childs
The being was struck, its form went wild
As MacReady engulfed the creature in flame
Its organic mass did to MacReady the same
Its flaming flesh desperate to kill him
To become the man then sleep a millenium
MacReady knew this was his last day
As he aimed the flamethrower at the other one that lay
The explosion erupted flame everywhere
Then MacReady pack exploded so thered be no err
As he screamed his last living breath
It did to, and finally met death.
Rein, reign, rain
English is a pain
Blame it on the linguists
Especially old man Chomsky
Bow, bow, bow
English will grow
In your head and nerves
It swiftly occupies fragile minds
To, two, too
English is poo
What else could describe
Such annoyance, such pain?
OY! I LOST! My Thing Poem wasnt greatness, but it lost to this drawing by Tat...
http://i.imgur.com/PPtG3So.png
I shall never write poetry again!!
Mr Minio
05-07-16, 08:02 PM
I saw a saw
I like me some beet and wheat,
Sh*t on my sheet
Neat excrete!
Oh wait, it's not peat, it's gleet
I tasted it! Bittersweet!
I won't eat, I prefer meat
Please meet and greet
this horny athlete
he's kinda offbeat and also petite
His name is Pete
I can hear him bleat, he must be effete
But be discreet, about his gamete
Liked it? REPEAT!
EVERYDAY I'M EATING SKULLS
CANNIBALISM GOALS
- MC Swan
I thought cannibalism was the act of eating human flesh.
I thought cannibalism was the act of eating human flesh.
It is, but I like the idea that their GOALS are eating the bones, too. They never reach it though because they get full on flesh!
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4CJ7h3mX4Q
https://scontent.ftpa1-2.fna.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/11259975_10153676829204421_1567978220869748268_n.jpg?oh=a1e53eb80020f0c763b7f1b2ddd3c497&oe=58715927
MovieGal
09-22-22, 09:23 PM
I just wrote this.
Days grow short as the sun begins to descend and evenings are colder than the days before.
As I walk, I feel the coolness on my face. I hear the rustle of leaves at my feet.
The smell of smoke from the chimneys and people are bundled for warmth.
I know soon that the sun will be gone and bitter cold will be here.
But for now, I can't forget my favorite season is here.
Autumn.
"The Journey" (an original poem by Allaby)
Did you stop to count the cost,
before everything was lost?
And was it a beautiful, scary ride,
With the ones you loved by your side?
Did you wake from your dreams?
Was reality as strange as it seems?
Have we won it all,
Or did we watch it fall?
Grasping for something to hold,
Seeking warmth in the coldest cold.
What does it all mean?
What have you seen?
Take a deep breath,
Live life now until death.
"A Psalm of Lament" (an original poem by Allaby)
You ask how I feel,
This pain is so real.
I don't know why I feel this way,
Can I make it through another dark day?
I wish I could make myself smile,
I know it has been a long while.
My heart feels so broken,
My fears and pain go unspoken.
Will you hold me tight?
Will you tell me it will be alright?
Can I find the light?
Can I survive this night?
I reach out and weep for help, as I fall,
I will cling to hope no matter how small.
Please don't flee,
Just try and love me.
Mr Minio
06-12-23, 03:05 PM
"Get out of here, Minio!"
You think you’re so smart,
You think you’re a work of art.
You think you’re better than everyone else,
You think you’re the king of the shelf.
You think you’re witty and charming,
You think you’re disarming and alarming.
You think you’re the best thing ever,
You think you’re so clever.
But let me tell you the truth,
You’re nothing but a goof.
You’re not smart, you’re just a bore,
You’re not a work of art, you’re just a sore.
You’re not better than anyone else, you’re just a pest,
You’re not the king of the shelf, you’re just a mess.
You’re not witty and charming, you’re just annoying and grating,
You’re not disarming and alarming, you’re just irritating and aggravating.
You’re not the best thing ever, you’re just a blunder,
You’re not clever, you’re just a wonder.
A wonder how you can be so deluded,
A wonder how you can be so eluded.
A wonder how you can be so vain,
A wonder how you can be so insane.
A wonder how you can be so clueless,
A wonder how you can be so useless.
A wonder how you can be so lame,
A wonder how you can be so shameless.
So please do us all a favor,
And stop being such a bragger.
Stop being such a jerk,
And stop being such a quirk.
Stop being such a nuisance,
And stop being such an influence.
Stop being such a pain,
And stop being such a stain.
Just go away and leave us alone,
Just go away and find your own zone.
Just go away and don’t come back,
Just go away and hit the sack.
Just go away and disappear,
Just go away and don’t come near.
We don’t need your snide remarks,
We don’t need your snide sparks.
We don’t need your snide jokes,
We don’t need your snide pokes.
We don’t need your snide attitude,
We don’t need your snide platitude.
We don’t need your snide poems,
We don’t need your snide gnomes.
We don’t need you at all.
EsmagaSapos
06-13-23, 11:06 AM
I don't read much poetry, or anything for that matter.
Wrote it some years ago, here's by order in which it was written...
the eco
on a heavy morning,
the birds sang
conjunctionally,
a faint sunlight
dodged the mass
highlighting
an old oak tree
an impending rain
was booed,
or maybe
cheered,
or preached,
the first drops,
the last wing beats,
and,
in the old oak tree
a bird sang,
alone
he called,
he waited,
he knew.
cork oak
there, seated
like i
and my mother
once were
seated in that cork oak
we told stories,
we laugh,
we escaped
seated in that cork oak
generations
imagined
their realms
i love that
cork oak.
he is my
first,
and most faithful
friend
how many friends
has he had?
how many will
he have?
what secrets
does he hold?
it's roots
rest in infinity
alongside
with our
purest
being.
flow
winter morning;
vived blue sky
hidden with a spread
of white,
and some gray
a small, gentle
waterfall
intermingles
a riverstream
guided by
old, dramatic,
crooked
trees
that bend
touching the water;
a green field
at the other bank
corners it all
a small,
light
bird
lands on top
of one of the trees
at a small breeze
the bird departs
across the green field
one strong wingbeat –
breeze softly carries
another wingbeat –
go with the flow
of one of the trees
at a small breeze
the bird departs
across the green field
one strong wingbeat –
breeze softly carries
another wingbeat –
go with the flow.
a rainy night in the summer solstice
last night
it was softly raining
during the summer solstice,
creating a strange
heavy atmosphere.
i took a shower,
looking trough the small
bathroom window-
watching the mountain,
the fog in the high trees,
it looked like
the forest was breathing.
the birds were all hurried up
to get to their nests,
their refuge
from the night.
i went to bed early,
closed the curtains
and watched
the evading light
on the celling,
and on the floor.
i waited, watched the light
slowly ceasing to pitch-black.
i imagined that outside
was a danger zone,
was the realm of the monsters,
and all the creatures of the night.
my bedroom was my safe zone,
hidden under the soft blankets,
like the birds in their nest.
Mr Minio
02-22-24, 10:54 AM
Pussy Trash
There once was a cat with a grin,
Who loved to play with a pin.
It would leap, it would twirl,
Give the pin a good whirl,
Till it got dizzy and fell in the bin!
Rejected
are you bleeding out on the floor
while friends walk out the door
you feel like you lost it all
and can't rise from the fall
when death is the only hope
you are at the end of a rope
pain is the only friend
darkness is the only end
feeling alone and broken
silence is all that is spoken
Still Die (an original poem by Allaby)
Did you still die for me,
after I stole what was free?
Can you wash away this dirt,
considering the angel I hurt?
Send me a merciful flood,
I'm drowning in her blood.
Is there love for the worst,
did you forgive me first?
Can she heal from the pain I have done
did you still die for forgiveness to be won?
Can the broken offender still win?
Can the worst be forgiven of sin?
I hear a voice say after what you put her through,
I still died and rose again in forgiveness for you.
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