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Does anyone write poetry?

Discussion in 'Chit Chat' started by MauEvig, Jan 21, 2020.

  1. MauEvig

    MauEvig Scribe

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    I haven't written poems in a long time, yet I used to all the time in High School and I'm not sure why I stopped.

    However, after one of my morning walks the country side around me inspired me to write.

    Honestly, I'm not sure if this should be here or writing discussion, but since the forum more or less focuses on fantasy writing, I figured I'd put this here. The plus side here is that I was able to tap into my inner metaphor writing. I think I'm getting better at the whole metaphors thing, so yay! :)

    Feel free to share your poems if you write any, or give feedback that's much appreciated. :)

    This new poem is titled "As the Country Sleeps"

    As the country sleeps
    And grass turns to white diamonds
    Fields shimmering in the day light
    I continue on my morning walk
    Down the same old road
    And though the wind chills
    And tickles my nose
    To Jack Frost I say hello!
    Light curiously peaks at me through the woods
    Illuminating the world as it rests
    Onward I journey
    Curious that I might have turned into a dragon
    For my breath is visable in the air
    Yet such beauty to behold
    And I a mere observer
    Wide awake and going forward
    To the bridge and back
    Taking a moment to watch the river that never rests
    Like the veins of nature itself bringing lifeblood to all living things
    I take it all in
    As a mere observer
    As the country sleeps
     
    Tom Cruise 94 and Ned Marcus like this.
  2. Ned Marcus

    Ned Marcus Troubadour

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    I sometimes write poetry—not sure how to critique it though. I think reading (and writing) poetry helps writing fiction too. But I've not been brave enough to expose mine to the world :)
     
  3. MauEvig

    MauEvig Scribe

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    Why not show it off? This seems like a great place to discuss writing.
    Regardless, I just thought I'd share since I was proud of the fact that I'd actually written a poem for once.
     
  4. Hawthorn

    Hawthorn Dreamer

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    I write poetry, have done since my early teens - it's only more recently I've started writing prose. Here's my most recent poem, Selkie (it's quite long, sorry!)

    whisper me seaweed and
    gather these tides
    in a palm, fresh like lilies and
    cold as the earth
    remember her
    in the lines the moon pulled
    from the deep
    these are only oceans, a
    salty
    salve for a
    sea-drunk man
    when the song is as sweet as danger
    soft as a kiss
    that glides across briny skin
    so blow her along, white horses
    beneath blue reflected rain
    and let them beckon her
    with softness, siren sounds that
    echo the wordless deep
    she is…
    she is not one for
    promises on
    salt-sung
    lips
    and open palms, the
    constellations cannot read her eyes
    for she, she
    is merely oceans away
    from that ancient, burning light
    and yet
    this skin, she shed
    in remembrance of him
    of a love that sucked the sea-fog
    from
    her bones
    her lungs would breathe a
    different kind of air
    a different kind of knowing on this
    sand-worn shore
    but a kelp-drawn soul
    cannot forget the wine-dark deep
    and her song has taken her
    down
    down
    where the moon is once again her
    mother
    so come to me with pockets of seashells
    fresh from the storm
    come, my child
    press your ear to the conch
    and listen
    for that seal-song
    of home
     
  5. Gospodin

    Gospodin Minstrel

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    I do, yes, sometimes. Silly poetry, though, of the shel Silverstein School.

    Hither, Thither, and Yon

    This morrow at the break of dawn
    I saw my neighbor walking yon.
    With haste, he trod upon the road.
    He seemed quite vexed and kicked a toad.

    Then hither came the man to me
    and asked me for a pot to pee.
    "Thither take thee to the shed,"
    I answered as I shook my head.

    A gracious man, I try to be,
    but lending out my pot to pee?
    That is where I draw the line.
    Ablute thou in thine, please not in mine.

    My neighbor did commence to dance,
    and like the Devil, he did prance.
    A lurid line of words most foul
    did paint his face into a scowl.

    T'was thus that I did come to see,
    good sense had set my neighbor free.
    He was possessed of something odd;
    hence, to the left his head did nod.

    Then off he went on his strange way
    without a word to bid good-day.
    My eye pursued as he went thence,
    and made love to a barbed-wire fence.

    The moral of this tale most queer,
    if in the tell was not made clear,
    have a care past your front door.
    The world is filled of strange galore.


    (2013)
     
  6. Ban

    Ban Sir Laserface Article Team

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    Below's the last one I put on my poetry wordpress (linked below my comments). I still write poetry fairly regularly, but I'm keeping these poems for a certain project I will unveil at some point.

    Hades laid Bare

    On fir boats fraught with barley, folk of fur and barn sail,
    Through farmer wealds and polder fields, they lower the down and dale.
    All of life and all of longing lies locked in reach.
    Do come the trouble, the rumble, the rubble, the brevity veil is breached.
    Of fire is known the finer nodes of forge, but not of flame.
    To fire they turn, who gives, who burns, who nurtures lone to maim.
    Ardent men wrench titan wealth, till they iron tyrants shape.
    Soot doth drain the hand it’s dealt, Eostre’s grant grows grey.​
     
  7. Kasper Hviid

    Kasper Hviid Troubadour

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    In the opening of the novel I'm working on, a guy is composing this poem:

    A mother had lost her only daughter,
    yet in the market she hears her laughter.
    Believed her daughter dead to be,
    finds her alive, married up to royalty.
    Rushes towards daughter, a song in her heart,
    but is roughly seized by the royal guards.
    The daughter sees her, quickly turns her back,
    she doesn’t know that poor old hag.
    A mother had lost her only daughter,
    yet in the market she hears her laughter.
     
  8. Asael Verity

    Asael Verity Scribe

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    I write some poetry, nothing huge and mostly haiku, but occasionally in other formats.
     
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