poems that write themselves are the best:thumbsup:
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poems that write themselves are the best:thumbsup:
The Six Foot Dirt Dive
Just pretend that I am dead for about three days.
I am not suicidal; I am just not happy.
Forget me for a bit, please, World.
And I will happily forget you.
No need to mourn or send flowers.
I will have no casket.
I will have no memorial service.
I will take no six foot dirt dive
Naw, it isn’t THAT bad being me.
Yes, I have pain in my heart and in my back
But right now, I’d just rather not “be.”
In three days when I arise.
Listen for the sound of a great boulder being pushed aside.
http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/f...surrection.jpg
You know the old riddle
"Four legs in the morn
Two legs in the day
Three legs at night"??
I am an oddball twist on this.
For 12 years I ran like a deer. I even look like one.
I rivaled prized greyhounds.
"Reach far ahead with the front two
Push hard with the back two."
The dog catcher never had a chance at me
One day my right rear foot got cut
Then infected
My friend (what some would call 'owner" but our relationship was never like that.)
Took me to the vet and got pills
They didn't work. Jon tried several different pills
Several different vets
For a year the infection ravaged me
Then it was suggested to go to a doggy dermatologist.
How odd....
But as starnge as Jon and I thought this suggestion was
He took me.
They took pices of my foot. It hurt so badly
For days!
Then they called Jon
Bad news
A malignant cancer.
You see, I didn't cut my foot.
I cut a tumor ON my foot.
"Jon, we have to make sure it didn't spread."
The doctor said.
Several tests and a very long week later we learned
it didn't spread.
Close call. Now to remove the tumor
"No" the doctor said
"Remove the leg. Lymph nodes you understand."
With tears and anxiety
He took me
I awoke feeling so strange
And I couldn't scratch my right side.
Off the table I hopped.
I didn't land right. Something in back is gone!!!
Now
I miss my leg and running like a deer.
But all is forgotten
When Jon scratches that little place behind my left ear.
http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/f...s/IMG_2986.jpg
FELLOWSHIP
We built a society for folks to be free
Free to love. Free to hate.
Hate binds us all.
In all of our efforts we give quarter to the enemy-hate
Enemys can become friends.
Friends that require a common enemy.
What enemy can split a family?
Family has many weak points.
Point that can be eroded.
The erosion can be stemmed by fellowship.
Fellowship need not be a holiday tradition
Such a tradition can be practiced daily.
Daily affirmations that we are free.
Free to love one another.
That Misty poem is so touching, it brought real tears to bears' eyes! http://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k2.../0134-bear.gifhttp://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k2.../0134-bear.gifhttp://i91.photobucket.com/albums/k2.../0134-bear.gif
Thank you, sir.
I am taking online classes on poetry. The following are my attempts at wreath poetry and slant rhyme.
Wreath poetry: The poems wit rests in the fact that each of the poems lines overlaps with the next line, just as the evergreen branches in a wreath overlap one another to form a circle.
I have also attempted to combine wreath poetry with couplets and quatrains and slant rhymes.
Slant Rhymes: sometimes called Half rhyme slant, sprung, near rhyme, oblique rhyme, off rhyme or imperfect rhyme is consonance on the final consonants of the words involved. Many half rhymes are also eye rhymes. Half rhymes are widely used in Irish, Scottish, Welsh, and Icelandic verse. Some examples are ill and shell. Half rhyme has been found in English-language poetry as early as Henry Vaughan, but it was not until it was used in the works of W. B. Yeats and Gerard Manley Hopkins that half rhyme became popular among English-language poets. In the 20th century half-rhyme has been used widely by English poets. Often, as in most of Yeats's poems, it is mixed with other devices such as regular rhymes, assonance, and para-rhymes. In the following example the 'rhymes' are on/moon and bodies/ladies: When have I last looked onThe round green eyes and the long wavering bodiesOf the dark leopards of the moon?All the wild witches, those most noble ladies,(Yeats, "Lines written in Dejection")
This is wreath with true rhyme.
How Much is That Doggy in the Window?
The corgi was in pain for days.
But then a daze rescued her pain
A pane keeps her from a home and doggy ways
Ways that dogs with families enjoy. She tries in vain.
Vanity taken for granted by others with that cute puppy gaze.
Whose childlike gaze will shatter this window and end this campaign?
http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/f...orgi-Angel.jpg
This is pure wreath
A Real Keeper
I am the Keeper of the land of dead dreams.
Death by neglect, despair and death by disinterest
Interest in the new bike gave way with age
Adulthood brought other dreams:: and nightmares
Nightmares of poverty: dream; financial success.
And financial success would go to your head?
No thoughts for the poor? No mercy for the weak?
Weakness you label a disgusting, fatal flaw.
And if your flaw is, in fact, poverty
To be impoverished is to cry for alms?
Alms that do not teach a man to fish.
Fishing feeds for a lifetime. Education?
Education is refuse at the pearly or fiery gates?
I, The Gatekeeper, await with your new bike.
http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/f...atekeeper1.jpg
This is a quatrain followed by a couplet; all set with slant rhymes.
Fraught
Do you recall just when was the last time
A time that we flowed through shadows?
Shadows that whispered "you are mine."
Mine to abuse. Mine to look through windows.
I remember that last journey.
A journey fraught with destiny.
http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/f...tos/shadow.jpg
No Tears, No Cries
Snow falls with the night. The city prepares.
Fluffy flakes impact the street with no sound.
Flakes diffuse the streetlight; a wondrous glow.
The impacts of the flakes bring tears to no eye.
A soft crunch as a heavy tire crushes the snow.
No flakes cry out in pain and question their maker.
No human group seeks recourse for abused snow.
Yet it continues to grace us with its cool presence.
A beauty some southerners, sadly will never know.
http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/f...snowstreet.jpg
Insomnia
http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/f...omnia-eye1.jpg
"The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak."
HA!
The flesh cannot stop and the spirit is descending faster daily.
"Daily"...what day is it? is it day or night.
God bless the soul that put "AM / PM" on clocks.
I'll just wander the house more. I'll look out of the window. I will see my own reflection as it is night. I will see eyes that see inside of me. Nothing new to see. Just a tired body and a mind that obsesses on the dust bunny in the corner. How long did it take for the bunny to form? I should throw it away...but then what will I ponder next? Perhaps the etymology of the word "face." Do catfish get hairballs?
Maybe I'll read the Bible. That's a good one! God would kill an Nun and give me a wart if I did that! Funny thing that a virus can create a wart. a bump on the skin that grows as long as the person does. I wonder if religion is a virus...the "God Virus."
I wonder what is going on in the basement.
What was that sound?!? Oh yeah, the water softener is recycling. I'll go check anyway. Hmmm....I'll just have a seat on the steps. Look at that ugly spider. I'll check the internet and see what kind she is... a "Marbled orb Weaver." How long will it taker her to weave her sticky trap of a web? ...four hours.
This step I am sitting on is hurting my ass. I think I'll have a snack. That should be good for my weight. Pffft...pounds, ounces, kilograms...who decided to measure Earth's gravity? He must have been one bored S.O.B.
Like me.
This is my first attempt at a Valentine poem in pure slant rhyme. I find slant rhyme difficult. Does it seem forced?
The Lush
I’m not exactly what I thought I was
You, and your support, showed me I was more
I waxed, but you were the force of my wan
In the cold, you became my warm, soft maud
I had to, through you, once again learn to love
Then I was a souse; drunk on your sweet lush
We began a rocky path as one soul.
With joys a fortune teller could never spouse
Joys great; in which grief painfully was sewn
From our love a superb young man would sprout
Years have gone by; I have leaned on your heart
With such a sturdy, prop; I shall not fall
This world could never do my body or soul harm
Bearing me for years; your repose: my fault.
I think it's sweet - and doesn't seem forced at all. But then, I'm not a poet, nor am I knowledgeable or a good judge of these sort of things.
But you know what you like.
Thank you.
Interesting poem, to me the slant rhyming felt natural but the meter felt a little stiff, very old fashioned iambic which lends it a certain solidity, I like it regardless:thumbsup: It's very difficult to be sincere without coming off sounding over melodramatic but that poem pulls off the task nicely
Thank you. I find slant rhyme very awkward.
Michael Jackson’s other glove
Feeling lonely; a little out of place
Like a gumball in a gravel pit
With no one around to chew it.
Home alone; a vast, empty space
Such silly thoughts run through my mind
When, exactly, does PUSH come to SHOVE?
Where the Hell Michael Jackson’s other glove?
How long would it take to eat a lemon rind?
Yes, I am bored to no end
In a minute; How frequently…
can I lick my left knee?
Quite clear: I need a lady friend
there are some fantastic works in here jon, i was going to quote on each one - however i would have taken up a whole new page:)
Keep up the poems and i will post on them going forwards
**sits and waits for the poems Jon promised me this morning**:couple:
Mother and Winter Divorce
MARCH!
A command
A strong verb.
Rising forces
Green superb
Life returns
To the North
Spring shows force:
Heavy ice floes
Life to reinforce
Tornados
Germination
Mother and Winter divorce
:clap: and well worth the wait. Its a very strong poem - i like it
Thank you both!
The Beach With No Ocean.
Fettered, tattered limbs cry out to be free
Muted voices seek an audience for grievance
A lone “savior” comes from the mighty West
Freedom calls a people with a simple decree
No one told them of freedom’s deep cost
Not just a cost to the mighty, mislead savior
But a cost to the fettered limb and weak voice
No one told them their mighty “savior” was lost
The freed’s brief peace ended by concussion of things profane
The savior seeks to bury its children in the beach with no ocean.
The freed now see the price, the ugly truth, of cruel humanity
The freed see fear, pain and death now in all things mundane
Both love and cruelty
Are products of empathy
http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/f.../desertwar.jpg
http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/f.../thirdbase.jpg
I see hidden things on people’s faces.
She hates her tight, cramped, fashionable new shoes
The next one hopes there is no lipstick on his collar.
This one dreams of a change; not just new places.
But they judge me harshly too
A balding loser with bills overdue
That one has judged me as a most violent soul.
She fears me because of my heavy metal dress.
Her black boots; a walking advertisement for gun laws
Thank God she offsets it with that baby seal stole
The trio of teen boys think of only getting to third base
The elderly group thinks only of the glorious past
I look in the mirror and see only my crafted mask
I wonder what I would have seen on (Robert) Oppenheimer’s face.