words, jumbled up and so on...
Hi,
Long time SK reader, just recently found these pages, I have a few of these that I like to loosely refer to as 'poems' kicking around and it would be great to have some feedback on them... (good or bad - I'm a grown up, I can take it ;D)
So, here you go...
little things
when i first
met her
she
had this saying
almost a
catchphrase
and it
bugged me
i used to keep
onandonandon at
her
to stop
and one day
she did
now
i wish
i hadn't tried
so hard.
thats really clever!
I wanna read more of your poems!
if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do
@flaggwalkstheline - thanks very muchglad you like it.
Next...this is sort of part two of a trilogy - little things being part one...
second hand thoughts at two a.m.
such
a
small
thing
i remember thinking so then
but she couldn't sleep with it
such
a
small
thing
i loved her so i understood
never even noticed it before
such
a
small
thing
but she couldn't sleep with it
so every night i silenced time
such
a
small
thing
but it stopped her sleeping
and now alone i understand.
I am really enjoying these!
Please post some more!
Buddy, you think you look strong? You’re wearing a cape.
Thanks very much - more than happy to oblige...
Third part of the (kind of) trilogy...
old & new
half awake
half asleep
last night
i came to think of you
looking back
i can
only
see
blue skies
they hold a distant sun
it fades
an old
photograph
of
us
but its warmth
breathes fresh life
into
you and i.
I love the second part; romantic but not trite. Please post more.
All that's left of what we were is what we have become.
Jon - thanks very much
slight change of pace...
boundless
there is something
almost
beautiful
about it
the
understanding
acceptance
of the
load.
to embrace
it
totally
and alone
has a quality
rarely
understood
by any
excepting those
who
have travelled
the
same
way.
If you've ever had a class you were really excited about that just sucked the joy right out of you, well - this is for you.
eng. 231
once upon a time
it
was all so beautiful,
passionate and free and sprawling
but
week after week
i sit here
watching
as they
slowly
strangle
it.
hem
it
in
chop it
up
stretch it where it doesn't want to go, was
never
intended to be.
they
disect it,
force it into
neat
little
boxes
stealing its power
and
leaving us both
cold.
a healthy disrespect for authority
when you
get right down to
it
behind
their named doors
large
desks
and
larger waistlines
is
all too often
someone
who despite the fact
that
they
have
you
at their
mercy
is all too human
and
frequently,
not even
that.
That was slightly perfect.
Big town's got its losers, small town's got its vices...
Thanks, glad you liked it
lesson one
the result
is
immaterial
so long
as
you fought like hell
to
achieve
it
and in order to
fight
like
hell
you
must
above all else,
in spite of
whoever
whatever
and
whyever
believe.
Ok, so creative writing classes - bit of a strange environment - bit of a strange concept - at a base level 'here are the rules to follow to be creative' hmmm. As with all classes, a lot depends on who's teaching them and if they like what you do. My teacher preferred stories, long, character driven stories. We got on just great.
a good one
i knew,
even before it was finished,
knew,
it was
a good one
they didn't often come out like that
and
while you could be pleased
with the others,
almost
proud.
this one fairly wrote itself
and i didn't
feel
afterwards,
i just knew.
this time
i
was waiting,
for the class
and
for
him,
i
wanted to see
his face
see them all
see the realization.
so i carried
it
in,
knowing
and they just sat there,
looking
at it,
at me.
he said his piece,
seven weeks in
and i could have said it with him.
a girl,
across from me
said
she
liked
it,
a lot
no-one else spoke,
we moved on.
(I'll post the 'good one' next)
the 'good one' - well i thought so...
no words
to see the sun climb,
slow
and
sure.
to watch you sleep,
mirror
the line of your back
and feel you lean
easily
into me.
to see your hair spill
onto
the
sheets,
trace a line across your shoulder and
thrill
at your warmth.
to understand the cerulean sky,
contained
in my window
yet stretching,
sliding,
impossibly
into
the
morning.
to breathe you in,
knowing that
no words
can now,
or ever
catch
this
time.
knowing too
that i want it
no
other
way.
love does not die but it can catch cold
she had a big drive,
steep,
looked like
a ramp.
and there i was
at
three a.m.
in january.
freezing.
making this
huge
'?'
out of sticks, stones,
anything.
occasionally
a car would turn out
of the road
opposite,
catching me
full beam
there was
an
old
couple,
clear road and they just
sat there
blinding
me
and i
sat there
getting
blinded,
looking at them.
they eventually
pulled out and left
me
alone in the dark.
i finished
and
went home
to
bed.
she phoned me
the next day,
'it was you
wasn't it?'
'what?'
'you know, on
the drive.'
'yes'
'i thought so.'
she didn't see
it,
she
slept in.
her
dad had
swept it
up.
thats intense
if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do
@flaggwalkstheline - intense in a good way?
Ok, so we've all been here right?
worth it
i'd sit and wait
for the
bus
knowing that
ten
minutes ago
i
had been
in
bed
and not this tired.
sit and wait
for it
to come by and
clean me
off the kerb
take me
back
again
to pots and plates and
cups and forks
to steam and sweat and shit.
sit and wait
wanting the sleep
needing
the
money.
some mornings though
sat there
cradled
in the
stillness
the sun would
ease
up
into the
sky
making the mist
rise
just enough
that i could see
the
road
stretching itself
utterly
empty
across the town.
to see it so clean
and
unwearied,
expectant.
was
as the bus door
rattled
greedily
open,
somehow enough.
yes intense in a good way
I like your poetry, it has a distinct minimalist charm all it's own
if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do
Thanks very much
because
while it is there
as it
courses
through you,
there is glory.
enveloped
overrun
vital
so much so that
the silent
timeless
hours
the
lost
empty
days
are eclipsed.
the point to it
even
on the worst days
there
is
something
not much
maybe
but
something.
like the
clatter
of the drain
on
the
wrong side of the road
as you apex
the
s
bend
yourfootthroughtheboardsin
second
just to
hold her
down
and then the
perfect
white
O
of the lips
in
the face of the driver
coming at you
as you
get
the steering back
just enough
to
force the front
back
across then
clear
as he
flashes by
a breath away
and is gone.
leaving nothing but the
fading note
of
the horn
mixing
well and
easily
with the
laughter.
realise
holding onto the good.
[death grip]
just a little too tight.
[palpable want.
very air, thick with it.
laced.]
blinded by memory,
so real.
[but it is.
gone]
the moment spent unwisely?
[perhaps not]
[now is jealous of then]
remember you as light,
incandescent.
you are still there
[remain imprinted]
when i close my eyes.
perfectly imperfect.
but i was not
[am not]
and i still feel you,
sometimes,
when your orbit brings you near.
pause
and there is a moment,
luminous,
even as you are
telling me
that it's stupid.
a moment in your eyes,
in the unconscious
half smile
that catches you unaware,
pure.
and it speaks to me,
tells me,
that this is as far from stupid
as anything could be
because this
makes you alive.
Originally Posted by smcicr
I like this poem very much
if the worlds gonna end then let's get it over with, i got shit to do
Thanks very much
living alone
people asked me
'do you like it?'
and i'd say
'yes'
no hesitation
but i was never quite sure why,
couldn't pin it
down.
tonight it clicked,
it's sitting on
my sofa
in
my living room
with a beer.
naked.
look harder
there is always
victory.
sometimes it wears the clothes
of defeat
but
if you allow it
there is always victory.
security
i need the words to be seamless,
unbroken.
i need the comfort that they bring.
they let me be
somewhere,
they are my compass,
my point
of
reference,
my constant.
i am safe within.
safe
within
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