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Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2020 20:01:11 GMT
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Post by clusium on Jun 6, 2020 20:50:35 GMT
Any brave souls willing to write some poetry? Here we are into June, 2020 cannot come to an end anytime soon. From COVID to racist police brutality, How the heck did we get into this Twilight Zone reality?
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Post by Stammerhead on Jun 6, 2020 21:39:49 GMT
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Post by alfromni on Jun 6, 2020 21:53:07 GMT
One more poem from me and I wish you all goodnight....
The newcomer
Lately in a fit of pique, I saw my room was in a heap, I used to clean it ev`ry week, but that was nineteen-ninety bleep.
I thought I`d flick a cloth about and dust away the rough, and get my ancient hoover out and sweep the cobwebs off.
I mind that meal a year ago, of ribs and peas and bread, I`d kicked the mess away from view... just found it `neath my bed.
The threadbare carpet`s still quite sound just strewn with smutty books, and in the lampshade was a mound, of smelly dirty socks.
Then through the wall some light appeared (just where I`d rubbed a stain), and as the grime and grease was cleared, I found a window pane.
I`ve got a brand new pal today, A rat berthed in my loo, he cocks his head as if to say "Just who the hell are you?"
I think he`ll be quite happy here, believes it`s been a wheeze, to party with my wine and beer, and share my blue-green cheese. -----------------
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Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2020 22:42:52 GMT
Match tips on his fingers
Trails of flame leave scars only I can see
Branded, like an animal a pet kept only for desire
From the ruins of the inferno a new woman emerges
yearning to be burned again
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Post by The Herald Erjen on Jun 6, 2020 22:48:57 GMT
Match tips on his fingers Trails of flame leave scars only I can see Branded, like an animal a pet kept only for desire From the ruins of the inferno a new woman emerges yearning to be burned again Wow. And I thought my poems were grim.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 6, 2020 22:58:31 GMT
Match tips on his fingers Trails of flame leave scars only I can see Branded, like an animal a pet kept only for desire From the ruins of the inferno a new woman emerges yearning to be burned again Wow. And I thought my poems were grim. It's not meant to be grim 😇
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Post by Fox in the Snow on Jun 7, 2020 0:26:40 GMT
the life of a sink it just takes your world away next thing you know, mars
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Post by Fox in the Snow on Jun 7, 2020 0:37:52 GMT
giddily cartons and then the rise of glazing thesp rock to sleep now
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Post by Fox in the Snow on Jun 7, 2020 0:41:03 GMT
g _i __l ___d ____e _____d
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Post by Eva Yojimbo on Jun 7, 2020 4:16:29 GMT
I've written many in my time. IMO, the best thing I ever wrote was this ending to a really long (3500 words/505-line) narrative poem about a particularly traumatic experience with tornadoes and floods. Basically, the majority of the poem is told in flashback, and the end is basically me waking up and reflecting on stuff. It doesn't quite make sense without everything that comes before it, but close enough:
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Post by Fox in the Snow on Jun 7, 2020 7:17:58 GMT
droplets glass toward my past I think a lot of you now droplets lull among the dull nightmares, flutter and wow
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Post by BATouttaheck on Jun 7, 2020 7:38:34 GMT
Surprise at the pond Mom duck and her eight wee babes Swam then disappeared
A true story !
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Post by Morgana on Jun 7, 2020 10:07:32 GMT
I wrote this when I was about nine
When will the wind every show it's face When will the stars come down from space When will the trees come alive again When will the lovers love
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Post by someguy on Jun 7, 2020 12:11:22 GMT
Another day like the one before The date is just a number I ignore My daily routine will remain The pursuit of pleasure leading to pain
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Skreebert
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Post by Skreebert on Jun 7, 2020 13:03:23 GMT
Why do birds exist? I look up to the sky and wave my fist They flap their wings and get me pissed Birds are on my most hated list I hate their dumb songs and I hate their beaks I hate a parrot when it speaks I think about a bird for weeks and weeks When it poops on me down by the creeks
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Post by Nalkarj on Jun 7, 2020 14:08:33 GMT
No way 132. The above poems are great! I can't compete. My idea of a poem i write starts with 'Rose's are red..' Or 'There was man from Nantucket..' I'm a loser compared to those on this thread. Lol Hey, red roses and Nantucket men welcome too! I once wrote some VERY SERIOUS lines on the latter subject:
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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2020 16:13:05 GMT
Dawn and evening, midnight and noon The river runs, the world spins sun in day, stars and moon at night when the day ends the end begins
I only miss summer when winter arrives I only miss you when you're not there I only miss light when darkness comes I only miss that you care
If I stare into the the abyss all I see Is my reflection staring back at me
the sadness seeps from me as I watch the sky at night the city lights grow dim I sit alone in the fog of white waiting for the blue light to embrace me
I'm like an empty cave with wind rushing through me without you when a flower gives up its dream it fades and the dream dies if I wait too long I'll have been laid in the ground pale and alone without you
I wonder where the wind is going in such a hurry If I sleep all day, tell the sun I'll see him another time As of now my dream of love is ended When the day stops, I die in desperation
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Post by alfromni on Jun 8, 2020 9:51:46 GMT
An artist from Belfast called Matt had a terribly talented cat who acrylicked his paws and painted the floors, then said to his master "Beat that!" ---------------------- I should have dedicated this to Catman
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Post by alfromni on Jun 8, 2020 16:26:09 GMT
A grumpy old man from Lahore, a frightfully crashing old bore, had a voice far too deep even he fell asleep, and finished his tale with a snore.
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