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Does anyone write poetry?

MauEvig

Minstrel
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
 

Ned Marcus

Maester
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 :)
 

MauEvig

Minstrel
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.
 

Hawthorn

Dreamer
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
 

Gospodin

Troubadour
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)
 

Ban

Troglodytic Trouvère
Article Team
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.​
 
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.
 
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