I recently wanted to challenge myself, so I decided to try my hand at poetry. Since I’ve written a few poems, I’ve really wanted to get some kind of feedback, I’m not sure if they suck or not. So I’m creating this discussion in the hopes people will share their amateur poetry and stories. Only constructive criticisms guys, not everyone is literary genius. I’ll share a poem, if you want to here another of mine, just ask.
An Explorers Ode to Earth
As I see her from afar,
I obtain an inkling of who we are,
Here I sit in this frigid waste,
As if running from her warm embrace,
Just as children must move from home,
Here we travel deep into the unknown.
Two parts Intellect one part man
May as well take the earth put it in my hands
and i’ll shake it, until all borders disband
and the lands can be shared by all who stand
we shall withstand, all snakes in the sand
feel the world shake mother natures grand plan
of unity, strengthen our global community
and spoon feed all uneducated, soon to be profits
no more block clips be poppin
cuz all crime will be stopping when the lovin is abundant i love it
got something bad to say? plug it, fuck it!
get it all out of your mind the world is divine
beautifully, there is no time just perception influencing
thoughts, in every direction
while you be stressing here let me give you a lesson
take your frown turn it around upside down and stretch it
insteadin take your thoughts to how god’s been blessing
your life, don’t pout but learn from your strife
to ignite the flame, exists within all eternally
we’re all born good we just need to relearn to be
A Fire in the Sky
Passed like a fire in the midnight sky
Diminished, it faded out
Unforgettable, leaving his cosmic dust in the air
How it passes like life,
A glimmer of beauty that captivates one,
And is gone the next
Leaves one a hopeless void
To know that every such thing is but a moment
In space, but measured in time
A hopeless wanderer,
Holds on to light in the sky,
And once passes,
Is left in the dark,
While it is now with body of the universe
A guiding light,
Will not leave one lost in the night,
It had shone, and left behind its grace
To now find one’s own way,
To new great destinations,
The blackness of infinity leading everywhere,
For one to do the same,
And leave his mark on the world
@imhotep, i don’t mean to dishearten or discourage. i have been through a few writing workshops. i am not very good, whatever. i can’t stop writing, though, and i still often want feedback. i respond to critiques better. i usually have a good grasp on what is working, and when everyone tells me that, it feels too much like a group hug. i’d rather know how to make it better, to have others tell me what isn’t working and decide if it is worth fixing.
i offer a more full critique. if you only want compliments, then stop here:
i am guilty of holding people to a high standard, but it isn’t pretentious or belittling in my heart, it is hopeful; i only want to see what something can become. i am not referring to any poem in particular, but i think some poems (of the variety i referred to in my first post) are in fact lazy personal stories. i could see many of them becoming really awesome, beautiful, and deep stories (prose can be poetic, too!), if only the author had the desire to write it and figure it all out. i think some poems are meant to be essays, and some to be short stories, some to be flash fiction, some photographs, some sketches. as the writer you should think about what is the BEST medium for your message, not the easiest.
This is a blank verse I’ve been working on, It hasn’t be fully edited yet, but I’d like to know what you fine people think. Happy reading. Thanks.
With a knock-knock and a cold wind
The period panelling moved away.
Then the paternal audit.
The other was silent, but
A matriarch’s love needs no words.
A glance blabs volumes.
“How was your journey?”
Fine. Nothing but banal.
Should it have been a grand coup?
Through land and sea and underworld.
Dauntless romping for a certain end;
To offer a prize at his door.
We sat on the suede for single malt
With talk of lavish distractions.
The fire roared off unyielding fuel
And illuminated the crystal.
“Can I smoke?” I could not.
A wishbone sat in the ashtray.
Rich polish and swirling white
In black, exploited the senses.
Scales of romantic beauty,
Descending, marching to torture,
(“Do you play?” He did not.)
In spite of the unplayed grand.
Then my compensation, floating
Down the stairs and we stood
As if to praise a grand centrepiece.
Curtseys and bows and sacrifices
And all the time was frittered
And all the traditions fulfilled.
We walked coldly in the wind.
She no longer belonged to me, but
To empty ashtrays and silent pianos.
When looking straight at her
And her down at me, I knew,
I would return with another, nameless.
In this thread you can post your super secret poetry, that you think is super good or super bad, or somewhere in between, it doesn’t matter.
Show us your deepest fears, thoughts, other shit you made while you wanted to express an emotion in words.
Especially post that stuff you’re afraid of other people reading it.
Here’s some contributions of mine (made this year):
I wish I was an animal, a beast.
No thought, pure instinct.
What a burden this brain,
it got me on this train,
it took my thought where it didn’t belong.
I have to walk back,
to enjoy the view while I got to my core.
There is no fast track to where you belong.
The train has a pre-determined destination, static, fixed.
Instead, be fluid as water,
become water, so you follow the stream of life.
Sometimes you trickle,
sometimes you fall from the sky,
But always you can accept where you go.
If someone touches you, you bend and not hurt.
Go to your core and find you fluid self.
Lost, lost, all alone in the desert.
Shouting, screaming, but no-one can hear me.
Damped by insecurity
A lion in a cage, bars of judgement.
Corroding judgement, it wears my enthusiasm
Like a joker in a black box
Joking, laughing and smiling.
But, when the box becomes transparent, the joker becomes blank.
Do they want to smile, laugh and be surprised?
Surely they do!
But the question remains and takes its time to be answered, while the moment fades away.
While I now ponder, how it would have been.
Being my gentle boy, that wants to play.
But the gentle boy is afraid of hurting others.
Is it who I am, or is the boy trying to be brave?
“At least I am free”
At least I am free
Free to think
Free to think: Fuck you!
Dying, your whole life you live up to this moment,
yet no-one can enjoy it.
That’s some of my 2 cents.
I’m curious to see yours!
There’s probably more ‘poetry’ threads, but I wanted one with recent stuff.
This stuff is mostly intuitive btw.
This one’s pretty old (early 2011)
I want fucking chaos, intoxication by all drugs possible. Falling from the edge of sanity, falling for hours and hours on end into a void of nothing but chaos and insanity. Every second slipping away deeper and deeper into this void. Away from everything that was known to me. Eventually losing all of my mind and reference. No more life, just a black sheet of nothing. This sheet being filled with so much that is has become blacker than death. A void blacker than death. The nothingness of space, no sound, no nothing. An explosion of emotions resulting in an internal war, raging…
Dug this one up from the dusty corners of my hard drive.
“Spinning belligerence. Spiral downward, spelling nonsense with tongues tied and hopes held tight against your chest, unable to speak about what makes you who you are and when you are. Without blinking, taking your shirt from your chest and stepping free into the light. Unafraid. Unbent, unbroken, and unbreakable. Leave yourself behind in search of yourself. Bleed freely. There’s as much blood as hope in your veins.
Accept the precipice you stand on. Accept nothing. Swirling pools of doubt cast black tar memories over your head, and you will fight it. You will cough and choke and strike to breathe when you should breathe in soul-bubbles, absorbing life through every part of your infinite being. You are not in the bubble. The bubble belongs to you.
Tea leaves. Tiny specks that form the mother, bits and pieces. Tidbits of time travel, glimpses into the past. Déjà vu of the future, and a knowledge of now but only in now. Monoliths of blue and gold and brown and black and ash and soot and fire and water and the sun. Without you, I don’t know where to go. Butterfly kisses and eyelashes found on your pillow. Memories. A scent. Words you never spoke, but wrote and believed in enough for someone to believe in you.
We are all what we can never feel.
I’ll make you laugh at my expense, approve of me.
I’ll say things I do not believe, approve of me.
I’ll put others down for the sake of humour, approve of me.
I am a fake.
Look at the fucking tits on her, approve of me.
Let’s get fucked up beyond belief, approve of me.
Learning is a fucking drag, approve of me.
I am a fake.
You hate that person? Yeah, me too, approve of me.
You really like this guy? Yeah, me too, approve of me.
I love it here, approve of me.
I am a fake.
I am a fake.
the turtle hatches from the sand and creeps toward the ocean,
the turtle likes to take it’s time and scuttles in slow-motion.
the seagulls swoop and take their aim but never can succeed;
for the strength of a turtle’s shell can easily match a cunning seagull’s speed!
secret because childish and i believe i have the spirit of a turtle :P
Not exactly suuuper secret…I’ve shared this with a handful of people but not many.
“Thus Spoke The Emerald Woman”
She’ll never dance with you
until you tighten up the screws you’ve loosened
time is not just of the essence
it is what dispenses lessons
feelings often dissipate
but inspiration integrates
what you’ve often found
and sometimes noticed on the ground
is that there’s no such thing as luck
but there is something to be tucked away
if you so choose to pay attention
to the thoughts that I have mentioned
countless times throughout the day
while senses soundly sleep away
unencumbered by the truth
the secrets of eternal youth
you were not picked by random chance
your part to play in this romance
is something I cannot reveal
suffice to say your mind will heal
the process isn’t passive
but the end result is massive
you must listen with your mind
and my clarity will find its way to you
Went through a poetry phase a few years ago. This is probably my favourite of the ones I recovered (I lost most of them!)
“Dreams of Past”
Oh, how my head spins.
Years of torment and pain catch up,
As past horrors revisit.
Night becomes day,
Day becomes night.
Fatigue and weariness disrupt my time,
Too tired to wake,
Too afraid to sleep.
In sleep, I have no rest.
Lucid dreams circle my head,
Of deeply buried memories.
Memories of things that happened,
Memories of things happening still.
Little known are these memories,
That are persistent in haunting me,
So I no longer feel sane.
She is the Queen
and I the King
The way she moves
So far beyond my ability
Attaining her is the desire
Of Bishops, Knights, Pawns alike
Yet her gaze is fixed upon me
And so i watch her
I watcher her in awe
and i am helpless to stop her
Step by step,
Move by move,
Piece by piece,
Until she is right in front of me
I look into her eyes..
..and i fall for her
A late autumn rain had shaded my room in gray.
And I, rousing from a futile bout with the urge to hibernate, happened to look out my window.
A curious figure I espied, well-blended amid the soggy woods.
A figure obscure, until a flick of its snowy tail belied its identity.
Impressive more by his presence in my yard than his size—he was quite young.
(One might say no older than I, in his own terms!)
He knew these were not his woods.
The air aglow with heady fumes of human settlement
Softly beaten down by the cold rain.
Cautious steps out of the wood, followed with pause, as if detecting some disturbance.
(Could those ears be so keen as to hear my thoughts?)
This rain chilled me even indoors.
How could this trekker’s legs be so steady today?
Does the autumnal lethargy that had sentenced me to my bed
Not befall him as well?
Does this deadening gray not burden even his weathered back?
Some hardiness forged in nature, some knowledge of primal secrets,
Guarded by pointed rack, compel him through freezing meadow.
Oh, that he could teach me…
But those guarded eyes would never permit me near.
Words I used to understand because I had the breath of enthusiasm for which to inflate them fully and to light them extraordinarily but now fall flat with the emotion worn out of them trodden underfoot and left to decay until the breath of autumn or spring roots rot the ashen structure of their being until they are memories placeholders for some other life that will never be…
any of you guys know German? I wrote this a few years ago:
“Das Lachen war schon lange vorbei.
Sie saß entkräftigt und schwieg.
Sie wusste sie würde nie mehr frei,
Und lag im Dreck mit Fliegen.
Alle Errin’rungen waren weg,
Vom Leben ohne Schmerzen,
Ohne Angst vor den Stimmen im Weg,
Ohne Leiden im Herzen.
Sie lag auf‘m Boden, eines Tages,
Sie lag da im Dreck und weinte,
Als eine (neue) Stimme kam,
Und sich an ihre Tür wandte.
Ihr Prinz war es nicht,
Der die Tür aufmachte.
Er brachte sie zum Stuhl,
Der sie zum Weinen brachte.
Zwischen Schmerzen und Vergnügen,
Konnte sie nicht mehr entscheiden.
Sie war benommen und verwirrt,
Konnte an nichts mehr denken.
Und dann war es schön,
Sie hatte alles vergessen,
Als blaue Schmetterlinge,
Ihre Seele nahmen.
(Zum später benutzen.)”
O roots, O these dirty roots
That have shaped and impressed me
Until I sprouted, adolescent.
I will try, try to forget thee.
O light, o unburdening warmth
How I love the company of Worms.
Will I grow? Will I ever grow?
And how can I now transform?
O what, o what need we to do?
Do you wish to live in a shoe?
Our skin has grown hard, and matured,
Darkened by the world’s piercing probe.
One of curiousity and of envy
That reaches deep into one’s soul.
Nice thread. Keep it rolling secretive writers.
Lately I feel like I’m barely existing,
but I barely know what it means to exist
very slowly I move through this
but this will be over before I know it
or so they tell me
And so I believe them
very slowly I carry this burden
this burden you presented me with
The constant burden of unrequited love
the burden of a sunflower
very slowly inching towards the sun
that it could never embrace.
The burden of Ulysses
waiting ten long years for your love
very slowly the ocean takes me towards you
my sea sick soul is weary but never through
very slowly must make do.
The full moon rises in the east
Mindful of this holy day
Specter amongst sages of a timeless age
Who do not preach knowing
But rather an awareness
Sweet essence of forgotten love
Not really lost but unrealized
Washes over me
Cold chill on deserted beaches
And the onshore wind of the
frothing ocean seeks to mock this existence
at once hurried to join its frigid depths
I waded out and bobbed in its tides
resolute now, for a brief moment, to watch
and to listen and to know and to be
only for this time and only for this place
the heavens crack open and spill their eternity
This thread has got me hunting all my old shit. This one is just that, I think I was 16 when I wrote this. It was for my final year in secondary school.
A Wayward Wanderer Recalls
“Sit down now children, close the door
And leave your minds, moor your souls,
I give you numbers. (Break and bend
Your hearts to my piping tune).”
A disturbance from behind,
(They will talk of some frivolous distress
And they shall digress some trivial digression),
It is always there,
Perhaps for treatment, mild,
Born out of some envy
Of the wayward skies.
It is there now,
In a hundred darkened rooms.
A transparent blackness,
Some visibly invisible thing.
And now, a lamplight,
The hands of Athena?
Hands, unconstituted by rocks nor dirt,
The matter from which they came,
But the hands of Kalypso,
By her darkened heart did not wish to set you free.
But suffer on, linger furthermore,
A heavy head and heavy heart,
Weighed by your journey’s harrowing roads.
“Speak more! Think more! Be more!”
Miracle or sin?
This is a poem from two different perspectives :) enjoy!
You’re shut out of any possibility for salvation
Scratching at the narrowest gates- that lay await in Heaven
I’m leading you- to believe into what I believe in
Have faith. Now. That wasn’t a suggestion
leave your arrhythmia in His hands- he is so fair and tender
got the world all figured out? But what about the message
the book I left at the coffee’ shop downtown; it is about his love
maybe you’ll take it up and read it
when you’re low enough to find the miracles within
you’re telling me how I should spend my days- the confines of confession
what lay before my after life is dark- the soil weighted coffin
I’m following me- so mind your worries’ you get rid of them
back off. Now. by form of thoughts to words ‘give into my rejection
Leave your faithful exactitude at the door’ go outside and seek the truth, it’s beauty
I know you feel lonely but your religion is big enough without me
Yeah when I was low enough I slid it in the trash- dropped in a laugh
So that maybe you’d stop and let me continue un-preaching,
don’t consider me a sinner