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Arts and Entertainment => Hobbies and Photos => Topic started by: Solomon Zorn on September 15, 2013, 02:32:56 AM

Title: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 15, 2013, 02:32:56 AM
I wrote these both today. The song, Human, came to me complete with a tune for the chorus. The poem, Vicious, came to me at virtually the same time. I've been tweaking them all night.

Human
Lyrics by
Solomon Zorn

It's all just human,
Seems to me.
If there's a god,
He never spoke to me.

It's all just human,
Can't you see?
If there's a god,
He must have set us free.

   To think for ourselves,
   Learning all that we can,
   Never to know,
   What's the fate of a man.

It's all just human,
Seems to me.
If there's a god,
He never spoke to me.

It's all just human,
Can't you see?
If there's a god,
He must have set us free.

   To hope to continue,
   Expecting to end.
   Living each day
   As if fate is your friend

It's all just human,
Seems to me.
If there's a god,
He never spoke to me.

It's all just human,
Can't you see?
If there's a god,
He must have set us free.

   So stay fascinated,
   With beauty on Earth.
   Valuing each life
   For what it is worth.

      Human dreams
      Human longing
      Human works
      Human art

      Human thoughts
      Human feelings
      Human words
      Human heart

It's all just human,
Seems to me.
If there's a god,
He never spoke to me.

It's all just human,
Can't you see?
If there's a god,
He must have set us free.

Set us free

Set us free



“Vicious”
Solomon Zorn


Wind in the woods
Brings the sound of a scream
Vicious designs
From a nightmarish dream

Proof is the scream
Crying out in the woods
God doesn't care
What is evil or good

Caught by the neck
And then lifted in fright
Suddenly falling
From dizzying height

Impact shock renders
A paralyzed state
Shadow comes heralding
Cruelest of fates

Hawk tears his prey
Its pain is intense
Stunned, but not dead
Yet it has no defense

Terrible tools
Start to rip apart flesh
Spilling red blood
On the green grass afresh

Clinging to life
Until it's last breath
Moments of torment
That end in its death

Deep in the woods
And unseen to the world
Nobody mourns
For the death of a squirrel



(Last tweaked on 11-23-14)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on September 15, 2013, 12:29:10 PM
A Friend Without Friends

As far as I can tell
I see no god at all
I search here and there
Yonder to and fro
But theres no answer to my call

My friends all hold hands
And pray to what I do not know
They ask for forgiveness
They ask for things
But theres nothing that ever shows

I was taught to believe
To obey in faith blind
But I cannot obey
I cannot stay
The imprisoned mind

So now I walk alone
I face life real
And smile at my friends
At those who pretend
Very content in how I feel

                                 Myke
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 15, 2013, 12:51:44 PM
I love it, Myke. Your poem evokes an emotional response, which, I was taught, is the first objective of poetry. I really identify with the sentiments.

If this were a class, and I were critiquing, I would only say that I wish you used that excellent rhyme-scheme from the last two stanzas throughout. The first two are similar, but lack the interest created by rhyming the 3rd line with the 4th line. (I've even got in mind a fix for it: one line and one word to perfect the rhyme scheme! Oooooo-let-me-at-it!)

That's just nit-picking though really. It's a great poem. Thanks for sharing.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on September 15, 2013, 12:58:34 PM
A poet and don't know it are these two fools without the tools to know God.  Just kidding guys!  =D>  Well done. Solitary
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on September 15, 2013, 02:38:03 PM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
I love it, Myke. Your poem evokes an emotional response, which, I was taught, is the first objective of poetry. I really identify with the sentiments.

If this were a class, and I were critiquing, I would only say that I wish you used that excellent rhyme-scheme from the last two stanzas throughout. The first two are similar, but lack the interest created by rhyming the 3rd line with the 4th line. (I've even got in mind a fix for it: one line and one word to perfect the rhyme scheme! Oooooo-let-me-at-it!)

That's just nit-picking though really. It's a great poem. Thanks for sharing.
Go for it!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 19, 2013, 02:34:08 PM
I made some major changes to the song, "Human". It flows a lot better now. You're invited to read it again.

I wrote two more poems night before last, but I don't have time to post them now. Thanks for reading. :-D
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on September 19, 2013, 03:12:43 PM
Like the messages.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 21, 2013, 08:59:48 PM
Here are two more I wrote this week.

Insufficient
Solomon Zorn


They say he walked on water,
And turned water into wine,
He fed a multitude,
And drove some demons into swine,

They say he raised the dead,
And gave back eyesight to the blind,
He told a crippled man to walk,
And lepers found him kind,

But these are insufficient works,
In fact they're quite mundane,
When used as evidence,
For extraordinary claims.

Like saying he's the Son of God,
Whose word is always right,
And telling all to follow him,
Because he is the light.

Or saying that the unbelievers
All are bound for Hell,
Then using this coercive threat,
His ministry to sell.

For even if the stories
Of his “miracles” were true,
(Just speaking from an onlooker's
Subjective point of view)

This still is not the kind of
Evidence I need to see.
The stories that I once believed,
Are not convincing me.

No, I've seen way too many,
Looking like a bunch of asses,
Praying to the salt-stains
Underneath of overpasses,

To think that people can't be fooled,
Especially back then,
Or swallow all the dogmas,
And the myths I can't defend.






Too Many
Solomon Zorn

Our pursuit of happiness,
Leads simple folks to find,
All of man's contentedness
Begins within the mind

Every plant is there for us
To use as we see fit.
Urgently we must discuss
The laws concerning it.

There's too many locked in jail,
For having too much fun.
How can justice here prevail
When they have hurt no one?

Once a drug conviction's made,
A price in years is paid.
Even then, the stain won't fade,
Because they disobeyed.

Silly prohibition goons,
Have spread their phantom fears:
Wild intoxication, soon
Will wreck all we hold dear.

Legal alcohol has not
Destroyed society.
Let's try legalizing pot,
And set the addicts free.

Worrying what drugs they're on
Should not be your concern.
They will change or they'll be gone,
So self-control they'll learn.

(Last tweaked 9/27/14)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on September 26, 2013, 04:07:42 PM
Love the first one Zorn "Insufficient"
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on September 27, 2013, 12:49:49 AM
A Brave Facing of a Scary Moment
By Myke

To all twas a good night, but an early summer night it was. Carried on the wind floated a hope of better times so innocent its entry. I in no cap laid not to rest, hopelessly tossing, wrestling with morbid futures not yet realized.  Like the rest I wished for a betterment of times, knowing full well it shall not come to pass.
I rose to view from my storied window down upon a tempest threatened bay. Could this squall foretell the fortunes of us all so blind? All storms end eventuality true, but with them they bring the cleansing rain a scourring wind that doth take those not prepared to yield. The god of power makes its demands and the economics of it determines that the weak and the stubborn are consumed by it.
Tarry not just on hope, and bother not to brace the feeble sash. So I will walk acceptingly into that wind trusting the compassion of it to not take me, relying on the foolhardiness of my action to weather it and not be my folly.
If I make it through? If it is true that I walk clear to the other side, whether that side is life or after life, I will have won but one victory of my own. That is the victory that I gave no fear just because the wind howled and the sky blackened and impending doom appeared before the horizon. It matters not where my foot falls, this world or the next, only that I took the steps necessary to reach that world.
The day hath found me drowned. My lungs filled with a wealth of emotion. My bones are tired and shake with fatigue, but I live in this world. The village is a buzz with rumor of me. No heroes welcome, no celebration of my deed. A newfound respect of my lack of sanity is expressed with every face. I care not. I am the knowing.
I have no need of explanation and will not satisfy any curiosity but my own. I will not bow to their reasoning or questions. There shall be no need to repeat my journey, so the moment ist passed. I retire in a smug repose, quite unintentional in disposition. To finally sleep with no dream, no images contented and exhausted. As easy as a child I fall asleep cradled in my confidences, fearing no more death or life.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on September 27, 2013, 01:17:48 AM
'Promise'
by Myke

Carried in the night I was. To my dingy home of sorts. A lamp, a cot, an end table surrounded by a door, window, and four walls. My routine has taken me back while in my stupor to this most humble of humble abodes. Cigarette butts litter the floor every inch and they guide me through to the hall lavatory and back. There, I expel the poison that I worked so hard to consume.
Awake to the point of feeling the sickness I inflicted on myself, I make it back to my cell and plunge down on the cot that serves only as a platform that holds me in an eternal spin.
I fight to raise my head and search for yet more of the evil elixir. Nothing there but dead soldiers. Nothing to drive me to the blackout I so desire. My stomach wretches fruitless evacuations save the loud roar from the depths of my body.
Conscious, unceremoniously conscious, I cannot sleep. I can't do anything but wallow in my thoughts and physical pain.
I once had promise. I was bright, energetic, ambitious. "Potential" that's what they all said "That lad has potential." I find myself saying, "I once was..." and, "Years ago..." Seems like a century ago.
Don't know when all that potential ran out, when I lost my energy, ambition. Now the only thing bright in this room is the lamp and that's because theres no shade to soften it's glare.
If I live tomorrow, I'll walk down to catch a ride and hope for a labor job, if I get up that is. Even if I make it I won't be worth much. I'll have to bow and scrape and hope I can work. If not, I'll have to hope someone will take pity on me and give me enough to eat on.
And if someone does. If someone can find it in their heart to give me enough of their hard earned cash to sustain me through one more day, I promise, I really promise not to poison myself again.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on September 27, 2013, 06:15:51 PM
I am hoping for comment by Solomon Zorn on my last two entries on this thread.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on September 27, 2013, 07:01:01 PM
Quote from: "mykcob4"
A Friend Without Friends

As far as I can tell
I see no god at all
I search here and there
Yonder to and fro
But theres no answer to my call

My friends all hold hands
And pray to what I do not know
They ask for forgiveness
They ask for things
But theres nothing that ever shows

I was taught to believe
To obey in faith blind
But I cannot obey
I cannot stay
The imprisoned mind

So now I walk alone
I face life real
And smile at my friends
At those who pretend
Very content in how I feel

                                 Myke

There is not an atheist I know that has not at some point felt that way.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on October 04, 2013, 04:20:18 PM
Sorry it took me so long to respond, Myke, my computer got stolen by crack-heads and I still haven't replaced it. So I'm only online every other weekend.

Anyway...great work! I especially liked the first one's subversive undertones. The second one actually has me worried about you! But it really captures the whole experience.

I actually saw your post a while ago, but didn't have time to respond. It got me thinking about poetry in general though, an so I put some of my thoughts on the subject into writing. Here's what I came up with:

On Poetry
Solomon Zorn

    I don't write much free-form poetry. Although it's lofty language lifts the limits of simple prose, and presently progresses into a lot of alliteration, I feel the reader will find it ponderous. It's capable of evoking an emotional response, but I prefer more structured forms.

Poetry
Still needs to be
A challenge to the writer

Structure gives
A positive
Inducement to the reader

Poetry is evolution
Advancing in stages
Growing branches
Selecting traits
Defining functions
Adapting to the repeating patterns of words
Making them serve the central theme

Structure is environment
Establishing parameters
Limiting expression
Suggesting tangents
Separating ideas
Adapting to the unpredictable flow of thoughts
Making them serve the central theme

A poem
A child
Taking his own path
Not forced
Not restrained
Only guided

A poem
A performer
Entertaining the reader
Not trivial
Not mundane
Only inspired

Consider:
Emotion
Audience
Message
Brevity

The uneducated hick gets down from his soapbox and resumes watching television.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on October 04, 2013, 11:03:22 PM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
Sorry it took me so long to respond, Myke, my computer got stolen by crack-heads and I still haven't replaced it. So I'm only online every other weekend.

Anyway...great work! I especially liked the first one's subversive undertones. The second one actually has me worried about you! But it really captures the whole experience.

I actually saw your post a while ago, but didn't have time to respond. It got me thinking about poetry in general though, an so I put some of my thoughts on the subject into writing. Here's what I came up with:

[center:35iydnbm]On Poetry
Solomon Zorn[/center:35iydnbm]
    I don't write much free-form poetry. Although it's lofty language lifts the limits of simple prose, and presently progresses into a lot of alliteration, I feel the reader will find it ponderous. It's capable of evoking an emotional response, but I prefer more structured forms.

Rhyme and meter
Need to be
Challenging
Linguistically

Rhythm adds
A new dimension
Thoughts aligning
In progression

Poetry is evolution
Advancing in stages
Growing branches
Selecting traits
Defining functions
Adapting to the repeating patterns of words
Making them serve the central theme

Structure is environment
Establishing parameters
Limiting expression
Suggesting tangents
Separating ideas
Adapting to the unpredictable flow of thoughts
Making them serve the central theme

A poem
A child
Taking his own path
Not forced
Not restrained
Only guided

A poem
A performer
Entertaining the reader
Not trivial
Not mundane
Only inspired

Consider:
Emotion
Audience
Message
Brevity

The uneducated hick gets down from his soapbox an resumes watching television.
great lesson, oh and don't worry about me. I rarely write about me.
I aspire to be a writer a published writer. I have things to say and I say them differently. I have a short story that is unpolished and isa twist murder mystery. Take a look and critique.
'Turn About Is Fair Play'
by Myke
"Paul? Is that you Paul?"
The dark was filled with the eerie calm of being too silent. Marilyn was tense. Nervous about nothing really, but yet it was something.
"Paul? If thats you Paul, quit playing games. I'm just not in the mood."
"PAUL!!!! Stop it PAUL, Just stop it!!!!"
Marilyn couldn't see Paul. He wasn't four feet away from her lying face down on the floor bereft of life.
Marilyn stepped further through the dark and felt the squish of a soggy carpet beneath her feet.
"....Paaaaul?"
She bent down and felt the moister with her shaking hands.
"This had better be a Halloween joke."
But of course it wasn't. Marilyn's eyes were now adjusting to the lack of light. Her pupils dilated to take in more and more of the detail laid out before her. There just there was a man face down bloody and dead as dead as he can be. The carpet was filled with blood. Marilyn's mind was racing ("I hope to god this isn't Paul"). Of course it was Paul.
Marilyn was stricken immediately with grief as she recognized the scar just by the ear. The scar that Paul got as a boy when Marilyn first moved here and met Paul. Handsome amiable Paul. Her friend, from that quick moment until just a few moments ago when she argued with him. When he had accused her of cheating on him, and she explained most cruelly that their romance was merely in his head and didn't exist. She suddenly recalled the loud uncontrollable sobbing that only a truly insecure hurt man can impart.

Just at that moment the lights flashed on.
"Marilyn!"
"Joan? Oh Joan, it's Paul. I found him here lying on the floor. Oh Joan it's awful!"
"I know dear. Here sit down, calm down."
Several men...policemen had entered with Joan and were busy investigating the scene. One of the men approached the women as the others looked on.
"Ma'am. Can I see your hands?'
"What? Why?"
"Just let me see your hands"
Marilyn pulled out her right hand.
"And the other one."
Marilyn pulled out her left. Blood was on the tips of her fingers from searching the floor earlier, but remarkably it also was all the way up her sleeve and staining her clothes on her left side.
"Ma'am, did you stab this man?"
"What? No, no I found him that way!"
"No ma'am you didn't. Your clothes are stained on the left side. This man was stabbed in the front right through his heart from the left side of the murderer. I must insist that you go with us."
"NO , no,...Joan help me, No I didn't do it, Oh my head, JOOOOOAN help me"
"It'll be alright dear, I'll call some one. Be brave dear be brave.
The men dragged Marilyn out of the room and into the squad car. She would be charged with the murder of Paul Thayer, her lover.
Joan watched at the open front doorway. The rain obscuring the closed car window that the handcuffed Marilyn was frantically screaming her innocence from. The squad car slowly at first then with more speed pulled out into the street and left out of sight.
Detective Marx finally came out of the murder room and motioned the rest of the men to load up and leave. He waited in the hall as the men passed and went outside. Joan turned and walked back in to face Det. Marx. She slowly came closer to Marx then planted a big kiss on his awaiting lips.
"Where did you hide the knife babe?"
"In the kitchen where I hid the hammer that I hit Marilyn with."
"You should of hit her harder. Her being alive is going to make things much harder"
Joan just smiled and kissed Marx even harder. He pulled away and headed for the door. He paused and turned around.
"What? What are you waiting for?"
"Well babe, I was just thinking. This is an awful mess. Paul dead, Joan arrested for his murder. You waiting for a jury to convict her, and me dead set on convicting you. Thanks, it would have taken days for me to find the hammer."

Later at the station Marx was cleaning the wounds left by angry claw wielding Joan. She was arrested now and calming down in a straight jacket in a single cell.
Marilyn walked in and helped him with his chore.
"Man Don that hammer hurt. That wasn't such a good idea of yours".
" Well babe I wasn't figuring on you actually surviving!"
End
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on October 07, 2013, 01:09:45 AM
Grip
by Myke
For now I sleep only to wake later with the dread of events to come. The worry is that there is no control of what will happen or even knowing what will happen, only knowing when. I wax philosphofical about not caring about myself and cry out a desire that others may be saved. It all sounds so honorable. The truth is that I am not that brave. I wish for more than I can hope, the possibility that can never be realized. And now every moment weighs heavy upon me. The anticipation, the wait, the torment as time ticks slowly down. So what is it that I can't face but must? What is it that tortures me with every remaining second? What could it be that strangles me with fear to the point of paralysis?
The unknown.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on October 07, 2013, 02:17:49 AM
I like that one, Myke. =D>  In fact my only criticism would be that you misspelled "philosophical." #-o

Actually there is one thing: I didn't understand what you meant by "...only knowing when." That phrase confused me a little. :-k  

And I'm sorry I didn't get around to critiquing your short story. I'm at a creative slowdown in my own writing, and have been struggling with a few things all weekend. I only have access to my sister's computer every other weekend, so I have a lot of accumulated writing to type up and polish.

Let me just say that I think it's an interesting little bunch of twists for a very short story, and I really would like to see you rewrite it from the point of view of one of the characters. My choice would be the cop. But don't reveal too much of what he's thinking. Keep the twists unfolding in the same manner.

Just curious, Myke: How old are you? Have you had any college level writing classes?

I'm 47, and although I frequently refer to myself as an uneducated hick, I actually attended bible-college from 1985-1987, and took Creative Writing 101 as well as Logic 101. (I actually could have opted out of Comp and Grammar because I received a perfect score on the writing portion of the A.C.T.) But I still consider myself to be uneducated, because I don't have formal education in any field that would yield any specialized knowledge about the world, if you understand what I mean. I have a PBS education.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on October 07, 2013, 10:57:56 AM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
Sorry it took me so long to respond, Myke, my computer got stolen by crack-heads and I still haven't replaced it. So I'm only online every other weekend.

Anyway...great work! I especially liked the first one's subversive undertones. The second one actually has me worried about you! But it really captures the whole experience.

I actually saw your post a while ago, but didn't have time to respond. It got me thinking about poetry in general though, an so I put some of my thoughts on the subject into writing. Here's what I came up with:

[center:2pn5d8z7]On Poetry
Solomon Zorn[/center:2pn5d8z7]
    I don't write much free-form poetry. Although it's lofty language lifts the limits of simple prose, and presently progresses into a lot of alliteration, I feel the reader will find it ponderous. It's capable of evoking an emotional response, but I prefer more structured forms.

Rhyme and meter
Need to be
Challenging
Linguistically

Rhythm adds
A new dimension
Thoughts aligning
In progression

Poetry is evolution
Advancing in stages
Growing branches
Selecting traits
Defining functions
Adapting to the repeating patterns of words
Making them serve the central theme

Structure is environment
Establishing parameters
Limiting expression
Suggesting tangents
Separating ideas
Adapting to the unpredictable flow of thoughts
Making them serve the central theme

A poem
A child
Taking his own path
Not forced
Not restrained
Only guided

A poem
A performer
Entertaining the reader
Not trivial
Not mundane
Only inspired

Consider:
Emotion
Audience
Message
Brevity

The uneducated hick gets down from his soapbox an resumes watching television.

There is a reason we write poetry, so I like the motif of "why" as a subject.

However, I do get down on people who insist it go a certain way. What does all the meter and code language mean if the message is lost? I've heard poems and read poems I love that are simplistic.

Poetry to me is ultimately the message and all it has to do is work for the reader.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on October 07, 2013, 04:53:01 PM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
I like that one, Myke. =D>  In fact my only criticism would be that you misspelled "philosophical." #-o

Actually there is one thing: I didn't understand what you meant by "...only knowing when." That phrase confused me a little. :-k  

And I'm sorry I didn't get around to critiquing your short story. I'm at a creative slowdown in my own writing, and have been struggling with a few things all weekend. I only have access to my sister's computer every other weekend, so I have a lot of accumulated writing to type up and polish.

Let me just say that I think it's an interesting little bunch of twists for a very short story, and I really would like to see you rewrite it from the point of view of one of the characters. My choice would be the cop. But don't reveal too much of what he's thinking. Keep the twists unfolding in the same manner.

Just curious, Myke: How old are you? Have you had any college level writing classes?

I'm 47, and although I frequently refer to myself as an uneducated hick, I actually attended bible-college from 1985-1987, and took Creative Writing 101 as well as Logic 101. (I actually could have opted out of Comp and Grammar because I received a perfect score on the writing portion of the A.C.T.) But I still consider myself to be uneducated, because I don't have formal education in any field that would yield any specialized knowledge about the world, if you understand what I mean. I have a PBS education.
I have 2 degrees. I'll be 56 in two weeks. I started college, or rather ended college late as in between I had a complete military career that lasted 22 years+. No I don't have any formal writing training perse, just the basics.
I write in the venacular. I always compose runon sentences. I lack puncuation and spelling skills. When I write I am basically talking out loud. I become a character not necessarily in the story, but of the same ilk as the story. For example if I actually wrote Sherlock Holmes, I would smoke a pipe, wear a cap and Mac to write the story. I often draw about what I am writing, so if I'm using a legal pad it's covered with graffity.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on October 08, 2013, 02:47:34 PM
I Think Therefore I
by Myke


I thought I the Son of God
till someone asked me Who?
I said that I would show them.
And they said, Oh please do?

I summoned all my powers near.
I called upon the sky.
I call upon you God,
To me dont deny

The clouds grew dark and black.
The thunder began to roar.
Then the rains fell with a crack,
And the sky began to pour.

You see? I said proudly.
Ive made it rain.
They laughed defiantly and said
That can be explained.

And it were not explained,
It doesnt mean a thing.
To claim to be the Son of God,
Much more you must bring.

It rains everyday,
Someplace, somewhere.
You cant say that it was you.
This you cannot declare.

So I thought I the Son of God,
And it was just a thought.
To think is to assume,
But to say, I ought naught.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on October 11, 2013, 11:49:31 AM
Modern Politics
by Myke

Have you ever notice the brat?
"I want this!"
"I want that!"

There is no end to the selfishness.
"Me' me' me"
They insist.

"I want it now,
Or I'll pout,
and I'll cry!"

"I won't even negotiate!"
"Won't consider...,
I won't try!"

"My Teaparty tells me
To rant,
And rave!"

Have you ever noticed the brat?
They just can't....
behave!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on October 11, 2013, 08:03:40 PM
Quote from: Brian37
There is a reason we write poetry, so I like the motif of "why" as a subject.

However, I do get down on people who insist it go a certain way. What does all the meter and code language mean if the message is lost? I've heard poems and read poems I love that are simplistic.

Poetry to me is ultimately the message and all it has to do is work for the reader.

I would never insist on structure, but it's what works for me as a reader. And it's what interests me as a writer. To me the free-form stuff is just a lot of prose trying to be a poem. It doesn't need rhyme and meter, necessarily, just some kind of structure to give it a pattern for the reader to enjoy. And most importantly, to challenge the writer. There's nothing wrong with free-form poetry, it's just that I think it should be called prose. I actually wrote some free form poems when I was a Christian. I used a lot of King James language and alliteration.

Poetry is message-first to me as well, but I was taught that emotional response should be the prime consideration. Message-first poetry can be dry, which is the case with a lot of mine.  :embarrassed:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on October 11, 2013, 08:18:24 PM
Quote from: "mykcob4"
I have 2 degrees. I'll be 56 in two weeks. I started college, or rather ended college late as in between I had a complete military career that lasted 22 years+. No I don't have any formal writing training perse, just the basics.
I write in the venacular. I always compose runon sentences. I lack puncuation and spelling skills. When I write I am basically talking out loud. I become a character not necessarily in the story, but of the same ilk as the story. For example if I actually wrote Sherlock Holmes, I would smoke a pipe, wear a cap and Mac to write the story. I often draw about what I am writing, so if I'm using a legal pad it's covered with graffity.


Being 56 doesn't mean you can't still get started as a writer, in my opinion. I would rather read the words of someone who is older than me. You have a lot more life to draw on than a youngster. That's where your appeal lies.  8-)

I liked both the new poems. Especially Modern Politics. Very relevant.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on October 11, 2013, 09:00:01 PM
Well I was on fire this week!
Since last Friday, I have written three more poems, two political cartoons, 30 stanzas of proverbs, a short essay, and ten pages of outline for an X-Men sequel! :geek:

I got up at 6AM yesterday, and started writing this one:

The Salesman
Solomon Zorn
http://www.solomonzorn.com/the-salesman.html

EDIT: I have changed the poem significantly since writing it. The repost below is no longer accurate.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on October 11, 2013, 09:15:13 PM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
Well I was on fire this week!
Since last Friday, I have written three more poems, two political cartoons, 30 stanzas of proverbs, a short essay, and ten pages of outline for an X-Men sequel! 8-)

I got up at 6AM yesterday, and started writing this one:

[center:3296omay]The Salesman
Solomon Zorn


He sold you a book
That's based on a story
By people who look
For post-mortum glory

Did you buy it?

He sold you a myth
That's based on tradition
Of conquering death
And that was his mission

Did you buy it?

He sold you advice
That's based on a notion
That walks the thin line
Of doubt-free devotion

Did you buy it?

He sold you a light
That's based on a lie
He told you a fright
Of after you die

Did you buy it?

He sold you a fear
That's based on a threat
Of burning and tears
And endless regret

Did you buy it?

He sold you a cell
That's based on your guilt
Controlling you well
With fears that you felt

Did you buy it?

He sold you a Lord
Who's based on himself
He promised reward
And scared you with Hell

Did you buy it?

He sold you a tale
That's based on religion
And wrapped up the sale
What was your decision?

Did you buy it?[/center:3296omay]
No shit. That's awesome. I like the meter as well as the messege.
I love to free form and just spew what is inside. Funny how when someone else writes, you just have to write. Please read my thoughts on a movie script.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on October 11, 2013, 09:30:17 PM
For Soloman and anyone that whats to add.
Thoughts for a movie script a loose treatment

 'The Brazilian Nut Job'
In 2014 Brazil host the Olympics AND the Woirld Soccer Cup.
I thought a comedy about it would be fun. 'Imagine the Italian Job' and 'It's a MAD MAD MAD world.'
The story begins with high Brazilian officials discussing the world events they are hosting and the security that that entails. Primary on their minds is a national treasure. "The Brazilian Star". It's a 50 carat chocolate diamond, cresent shaped. The officials which include the president believe that many thieves and criminals will attend the games and use them as a cover to steal the Brazilian Star. Attending this metting purely out of courtesy is the Chief of police of Sao Paulo (Cheech Marin). He is largely ignored and stands quitly in the background. While everyone to include Intelpol, the US FBI, Scotland Yard, and various foriegn and Brazilian security officials are arguing juridiction and method for security. In the meantime the Chief decides to just put the jewel in his well worn suit pocket for safe keeping.
That's a small glimpse and it doesn't reveal the comic episodes that I have written down, nor the hundreds of international characters I want to use. Basicly Rio de Junero is one of the biggest stars of the script. I want it to be fast paced, wacky, hairbrained and funny.
Bumbling cops, inept thieves, colorful extras, flamboyant types, somewhat stereotypical types.
I have many stars in mind: Albert Brooks, Alan Arkin, Steven Colbert, Tosh, John Stewart, Cheech Marin, Matt Damon, George Clooney, All races, genders, every type!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on October 11, 2013, 09:55:38 PM
Sounds like a good start. I will be typing up my own movie-plot this weekend, just to make it neater. Altogether I have 14 pages to type up.  :shocked:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Anonymousjane on October 12, 2013, 05:59:46 AM
Hello. I couldn't sleep and it's almost 3am so I'll force myself to in a few moments. Please provide your feedback. I enjoy reading what's posted on this thread, too. Thank you for allowing me to share mine here.


This girl I knew
Fell madly in love
She was loyal and true
Her spirits high up above

Six seven years passed
Her love didn't last

This girl I once knew
Fell madly once again
Overwhelming feelings grew
High spirits' confusion began

Over a year went by
His shattered soul bid goodbye

Now getting back on her feet
She cried
Why do we fuckin fall
He lied
To learn how to get ourselves back up

This girl I once knew was me
Doing my very best you see

Life is for the living.
This is how I let go.

Alt
This girl I once knew was me
Trying to get back on my feet
Why do we fall, I cried
So we can learn to get ourselves back up, he lied.

Life is for the living.
I must let go.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on October 12, 2013, 01:41:02 PM
Quote from: "Anonymousjane"
Hello. I couldn't sleep and it's almost 3am so I'll force myself to in a few moments. Please provide your feedback. I enjoy reading what's posted on this thread, too. Thank you for allowing me to share mine here.


This girl I knew
Fell madly in love
She was loyal and true
Her spirits high up above

Six seven years passed
Her love didn't last

This girl I once knew
Fell madly once again
Overwhelming feelings grew
High spirits' confusion began

Over a year went by
His shattered soul bid goodbye

Now getting back on her feet
She cried
Why do we fuckin fall
He lied
To learn how to get ourselves back up

This girl I once knew was me
Doing my very best you see

Life is for the living.
This is how I let go.

Alt
This girl I once knew was me
Trying to get back on my feet
Why do we fall, I cried
So we can learn to get ourselves back up, he lied.

Life is for the living.
I must let go.
Great! A heartfelt poem. Keep going!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on October 12, 2013, 02:43:25 PM
Good work, Jane. Very emotive.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Anonymousjane on October 12, 2013, 08:26:45 PM
Thanks. I do have a few more but I'm too sleepy to share right now. I'll be back.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on October 26, 2013, 04:01:58 PM
Just read some of Brian37's poetry.  :clap: Good stuff. The link is at the bottom of his posts.

Thanks, Brian, for the info on Hypatia. Truly ahead of her time. Very sad.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Anonymousjane on November 02, 2013, 05:07:26 AM
Distracting mind with jumbled words
Drenching soul with premium wine
Soothing sounds
Winding down
Doing what I can
To redirect and rhyme

Because it's right
And the future looks bright
Life is for the living
Oh my Darjeeling.
And you say, "Live and let die."
OK fine. I say, "Goodbye."

Bittersweet tears
Letting go of fears
While sipping my late night tea.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on November 02, 2013, 06:47:54 AM
Good poem, Jane. Sounds like an emotional night. Hope things are looking brighter this morning.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on November 02, 2013, 02:56:08 PM
5 Alive
by Myke

I read a rant
That I can't
Debate
Nor negate.

I heard a song
That made me long
For the care
That isn't there.

I viewed the art
That swelled my heart
And left me saddened
And yet gladdened.

I felt the touch
Although not much
Fired inside me
Though twas beside me.

I smelled the air
The wind would share
And found my way
Through the day.

I sensed it all
As I recall
Filled with elation
Of having the sensation.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Anonymousjane on November 02, 2013, 09:33:42 PM
Thank you for your comment, Solomon Zorn.  
=D> I enjoyed your "5 Alive" poem, Myke.

Thank you for creating this thread. I feel like it's a safe haven.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on November 02, 2013, 09:58:33 PM
I'm glad you feel comfortable here, Jane. Poetry can be very therapeutic. I use it just to put my many weird thoughts into something that is more enjoyable to read.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on November 02, 2013, 10:02:20 PM
Here's my most recent one.


“Children of a Star”
http://www.solomonzorn.com/children-of-a-star.html

EDIT: I have changed this poem significantly since writing it. The repost below is no longer accurate.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on November 02, 2013, 10:27:13 PM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
Just read some of Brian37's poetry. =D> Good stuff. The link is at the bottom of his posts.

Thanks, Brian, for the info on Hypatia. Truly ahead of her time. Very sad.

Wow thanks, seriously. To be honest, I won't lie and say all of them are great. But this really gives me a boost considering getting raked over the coals sometimes.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on November 02, 2013, 10:31:30 PM
Quote from: "Anonymousjane"
Distracting mind with jumbled words
Drenching soul with premium wine
Soothing sounds
Winding down
Doing what I can
To redirect and rhyme

Because it's right
And the future looks bright
Life is for the living
Oh my Darjeeling.
And you say, "Live and let die."
OK fine. I say, "Goodbye."

Bittersweet tears
Letting go of fears
While sipping my late night tea.

Take away the wine and tea, replace it with beer,  for me it reminds me of all the rejection I got as when I was younger, especially with women.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on November 02, 2013, 10:33:10 PM
Quote from: "mykcob4"
5 Alive
by Myke

I read a rant
That I can't
Debate
Nor negate.

I heard a song
That made me long
For the care
That isn't there.

I viewed the art
That swelled my heart
And left me saddened
And yet gladdened.

I felt the touch
Although not much
Fired inside me
Though twas beside me.

I smelled the air
The wind would share
And found my way
Through the day.

I sensed it all
As I recall
Filled with elation
Of having the sensation.

Nice. If you are not feeling you are not living.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on November 02, 2013, 10:37:37 PM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
Here's my most recent one.


[center:16kdvxr3]Children of a Star
Solomon Zorn


Black dominates

So vast
The empty distances
So barren dead and dark
Between
The lonely instances
Of silent glowing stars

Light penetrates

Suspended
In the nothing
Moving through the endless night
Cohesive
Spheres of something
Massive engines burning bright

Energy radiates

Fueled
By a furnace
Lying deep within the core
Shining
On the surface
Through the darkness it abhors

Matter differentiates

Chaos
Not malevolent
Just random probabilities
Order
Not benevolent
Just branching possibilities

Change generates

Moments
Of complexity
Emerging in the sunshine
Eons
Not eternity
Just bubbles in the time-line

Life proliferates

See their graceful motion
Children of the ocean
See them learn to fly
Children of the sky
See us giving birth
Children of the earth
See the dust we are
Children of a star[/center:16kdvxr3]

I love poems with this type of message. It is really a Sagan view in the realization of how massive the universe is, and how complex everything is and still humbled by the knowledge that myth holds no candle to reality.

We really are star stuff! Great poem.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on November 02, 2013, 10:52:44 PM
My Therapy, By Brian37

The paintings we paint
Are cubist or realist
Some more coded in lexicon
Others Fresco reliefs

Some looking inward
Some looking out
Some whimsical
Some scream out loud

My quill and papyrus
Are now in modern form
I move mouse and click submit
You read it on this forum

But much more satisfying
Than getting a complement
Is reading that of others
Who bleed the same blood

Dare to bare emotions
For all the world to see
Zorn and Jane and cob4
Kindred you feel to me

Our lives completely different
On all subjects we may not agree
But there is this glorious thing
We call poetry
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on November 22, 2013, 03:56:22 PM
This one I wrote yesterday morning:


“Impotent Omnipotent”
http://www.solomonzorn.com/impotent-omnipotent.html

EDIT: I have changed this poem significantly since writing it. The repost below, "God Pretends," is no longer accurate.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on November 22, 2013, 06:25:55 PM
Fishing Village
by Myke

For out on a distance toils the men,
Pulling the nets each day.
They venture beyond sight as day begins,
Nothing but sea in their way.

They commune their thoughts,
They share their dreams,
They feel each others pain.

And seagulls mark their wake,
Cascading closer they come.
Marking the boats take,
Hoping that they share in some.

And they commune their thoughts,
And share their dreams,
And feel each others pain.

On the shore the women wait,
For men and boats to come home.
They hope all are safe,
And they'll not go home alone.

And they commune their thoughts,
And share their dreams,
And feel each others pain.

Everyday is the same,
Of the men, the birds, and women.
A labor of love and need,
Of lives among them.

Communing their thoughts,
Sharing their dreams,
And feeling their pain.

The village sleeps for now,
Rest sorely needed.
By light they'll arise,
And their task will be heeded.

They'll commune again,
They'll share again,
And agian feel each others pain.

For the village lives to be,
An interwoven community.
A place knowing each,
And each knowing,

Their thoughts,
Their dreams,
And their pain.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on November 22, 2013, 06:45:34 PM
I'm going to give it a shot in a bit, maybe post it later tonight.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on November 22, 2013, 10:16:52 PM
Quote from: "mykcob4"
Fishing Village
by Myke

For out on a distance toils the men,
Pulling the nets each day.
They venture beyond sight as day begins,
Nothing but sea in their way.

They commune their thoughts,
They share their dreams,
They feel each others pain.

And seagulls mark their wake,
Cascading closer they come.
Marking the boats take,
Hoping that they share in some.

And they commune their thoughts,
And share their dreams,
And feel each others pain.

On the shore the women wait,
For men and boats to come home.
They hope all are safe,
And they'll not go home alone.

And they commune their thoughts,
And share their dreams,
And feel each others pain.

Everyday is the same,
Of the men, the birds, and women.
A labor of love and need,
Of lives among them.

Communing their thoughts,
Sharing their dreams,
And feeling their pain.

The village sleeps for now,
Rest sorely needed.
By light they'll arise,
And their task will be heeded.

They'll commune again,
They'll share again,
And agian feel each others pain.

For the village lives to be,
An interwoven community.
A place knowing each,
And each knowing,

Their thoughts,
Their dreams,
And their pain.


Great poem, Myke. Do you live near a fishing village?
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on November 27, 2013, 08:40:14 AM
I want to apologize by saying I have never done a poem before. And I don't think I mean that in like, "...since I was a kid." ... I honestly think I have never done a poem before in my life. So keep that in mind when you see how bad this attempt is and if you have any advice... I am happy to hear it :P.

---------

An ocean before
The countless drops are as one
Waves crash and recede
For the ocean we can see
Is but fragment of one thing

We are as the sand,
Billions line the ocean's edge
Thought of as detached
Yet just as much part of ocean
As the wave in the water

What is the ocean
Without sand? It exists yet
It is without shape
So too life brings shape to the
Universe and defines it

Yet the seas before
Contains and transport the sand
Waves crash and recede
The sand exists as ocean
Then returns to alike shores

As ocean and sand
So is man and universe
Thought of as detached
Man defines the universe
As sand defines the border

Waves crash and recede
Man exists, then he does not
The sand is returned.

-----------

So, how was it? I wanted to expand more on man's attitude that he is somehow something separate but I just couldn't think of a way to incorporate it :.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on November 30, 2013, 06:08:04 PM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
This one I wrote yesterday morning:


[center:2avxftuj]God Pretends
Solomon Zorn

God saw the worker
Who fell in the chipper
All his thoughts are
With the family

God hears the prayers
Of children with cancer
He just lacks
A medical degree

God has such love
For the faithful devoted
Just to have them near
He crashed their bus

God stayed his hand
As a young heart exploded
All part of his plan
You have to trust

God knew beforehand
The planes' destinations
On the day
The twin towers would fall

God can't be bothered
With terror prevention
When busy with the outcomes
Of  football

God made the world
So worship him for it
Only wicked people
Will resist

God wrote a book
And you dare not ignore it
God only pretends
Not to exist[/center:2avxftuj]

AWESOME!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on November 30, 2013, 06:19:52 PM
Quote from: "Shiranu"
I want to apologize by saying I have never done a poem before. And I don't think I mean that in like, "...since I was a kid." ... I honestly think I have never done a poem before in my life. So keep that in mind when you see how bad this attempt is and if you have any advice... I am happy to hear it :P.

---------

An ocean before
The countless drops are as one
Waves crash and recede
For the ocean we can see
Is but fragment of one thing

We are as the sand,
Billions line the ocean's edge
Thought of as detached
Yet just as much part of ocean
As the wave in the water

What is the ocean
Without sand? It exists yet
It is without shape
So too life brings shape to the
Universe and defines it

Yet the seas before
Contains and transport the sand
Waves crash and recede
The sand exists as ocean
Then returns to alike shores

As ocean and sand
So is man and universe
Thought of as detached
Man defines the universe
As sand defines the border

Waves crash and recede
Man exists, then he does not
The sand is returned.

-----------

So, how was it? I wanted to expand more on man's attitude that he is somehow something separate but I just couldn't think of a way to incorporate it :.

I like the message, but you didn't follow protocol with your meter or rhyme. YOU SHOULD BE SHOT AT DAWN! (Actually poking fun at my critics who hate my style and as a result miss the message)

We are star stuff, but although everything is made of atoms, and we do interact with other atoms being made up of atoms, the realty is that we are NOT connected with everything, The quark on the other side of the universe will never have an affect on us.

Your poem reflects a very local reality on an island, but the sand is not the ocean and the ocean is not the sand, they merely exchange atoms in the interaction.

It is more a flow than a connection.

Still much more in tune with nature than superstition. I do like it.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on December 06, 2013, 12:29:35 PM
I like Shiranu's poem a lot. I don't think he meant we are connected with the entire universe, just that we are a part of nature, and not a separate "special" creation.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on December 06, 2013, 12:32:15 PM
I was writing this poem early this morning, and I heard about Nelson Mandela passing. He was on my mind as the poem progressed. (No rhyme and meter this time)



Inconsolable
Solomon Zorn


No sadness more
Profound
No absence more
Permanent

A human
Cannot be replaced
A heart in mourning
Will accept no comfort

Promises of heavenly reunion
Offer soothing
For a pain
That cannot be soothed

Death is tragic
Death is final
Death is painful
For those who survive

But survive they will
And build on the
Legacy
Of the one who died

The same fire
Which burned in that soul
Continues
In those who were touched

Eventually time heals
Survivors move on
But not today
Today we are inconsolable
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on December 06, 2013, 01:48:46 PM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
I was writing this poem early this morning, and I heard about Nelson Mandela passing. He was on my mind as the poem progressed. (No rhyme and meter this time)



[center:3sz770on]Inconsolable
Solomon Zorn


No sadness more
Profound
No absence more
Permanent

A human
Cannot be replaced
A heart in mourning
Will accept no comfort

Promises of heavenly reunion
Offer soothing
For a pain
That cannot be soothed

Death is tragic
Death is final
Death is painful
For those who survive

But survive they will
And build on the
Legacy
Of the one who died

The same fire
Which burned in that soul
Continues
In those who were touched

Eventually time heals
Survivors move on
With or without their faith
But today we are inconsolable[/center:3sz770on]
Thanx Zorn. I needed that to deal with the great mans passing.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on December 12, 2013, 09:03:49 PM
Christianity Unveiled (Ode to the father of modern atheism), By Brian37

Epicurus
And Lucretius
Skeptical
Long ago

The dark night
The cloak of theism
For  centuries
Buried inquiry

Deism arose
In response
To human cruelty
As a compromise to allow for a god

But amongst these enlightened ones
A refusal to do so
Gave birth
To modern atheism

Authorities as expected
Upon his public denial
The frightened ones
Ceased his books upon publishing

10 years elapse
After his death
Books with pseudonyms
Publicly burned

Paul Heinrich Dietrich
Took blasphemy
Further than anyone
Dared to go

"If the ignorance of nature
Gave birth to such a variety of gods,
The knowledge of this nature
Is calculated to destroy them"

*The bluntness of his quill
Put men in their infancy of thought
Which they were infatuated with
Viewing them as enslaved fanatics*

Their vanity
Based on concoctions
The needless distraction
Of mere superstition
(end)

Second to last  stanza is a paraphrase of this quote "It is thus superstition infatuates man from his infancy, fills him with vanity, and enslaves him with fanaticism."

Quotes sourced from this link.

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Baron_d%27Holbach#Sourced (http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Baron_d%27Holbach#Sourced)

Books quoted and paraphrased are

"Le Christianisme devoile(Christianity Unveiled)
"The System of Nature"
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on December 12, 2013, 10:01:43 PM
Quote
We are star stuff, but although everything is made of atoms, and we do interact with other atoms being made up of atoms, the realty is that we are NOT connected with everything, The quark on the other side of the universe will never have an affect on us.

Your poem reflects a very local reality on an island, but the sand is not the ocean and the ocean is not the sand, they merely exchange atoms in the interaction.

To address this, even though the quark is on the other side of the universe and will never effect us, it is still a part of the same universe as us; just as a fish in Hawai'i, nor it's offspring, may ever have an interaction with a fish in Alaska, they are still part of the same ocean.

The sand/ocean is suppose to be humanity/universe; we become a part of the ocean (life), and before that/after that we are returned to the beach (death). What I meant, and I guess I didn't convey well, is that the sand (our life) is just as much a part of the ocean as the fish, the pollution or what ever else finds itself in the waters (everything in the universe). We like to think ourselves as something beyond the universe, something semi-divine and special, but really while we are alive we are just as much a part of the universe as anything else.

Quote
I like Shiranu's poem a lot. I don't think he meant we are connected with the entire universe, just that we are a part of nature, and not a separate "special" creation.

This.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on December 13, 2013, 02:11:32 AM
Random Survivor
by Myke

Cast thine eyes outward past
The sun will ner last
And see 'for the light doth die
That which ist upon us

A storm she rises soon
And well it cometh boon
To tear and rip the nye
A struggle us to last

Dare we not take it on
But bear it till it gone
Then we shall hear the cry
Of which our fate be cast

Old and young die or live
Fates not ours to give
Words not ever heard
Things not ours for the askin'

Luck will have its way
Carin' not what we say
Choose and not choosin"
Whats left to be baskin'
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: aitm on December 13, 2013, 07:05:31 AM
I will play, I wrote this for my brother in law after his father died, a thing I have been doing most my life, writing specific poems for friends or family when life smacks them.
[spoil:2dy9u5ca]Guardian Of The Way

Ive driven down this road before, so many times it seems
that I know every curve and every bend and even every tree.

I know it all so very well though rarely stop to look
I arrive not knowing when I left, nor how long that it took.

This road of mine is nearly home, its path leads to my door.
So when homeward bound I steer myself, I see the road no more.

The years and miles have passed for us, but neither have we seen.
How much weve changed the two of us, ageing through the years.

Now in this morning mist, I stand with a heavy heart.
And view the carnage about my feet, a sight so very stark.

The old tree that stood this ground and weathered the many years
Now lay silently across my road, shattered bark its tears,

So familiar to its presence I ignored its gentle bend,
Though once in awhile it caught my eye like a wave to a passing friend

Memories of how it grew with me, marking the road I take.
Like an old guard that guided me, when homeward bound I make.

A Sentry of old who marked my path, to keep me on my way,
Pointing, gently nudging, should I chose to stray

And it always strengthened me by its ever present state
Though often I did not see it, I knew it marked the gate.

And now it lay amidst my feet, no longer there to say
the way to home lay this way son,  now be on your way.

Even though this road I know a thousand times to one,
I stand here now, not knowing how far it is to home.

For so long it has guided me, and put me on my path,
That Ive long stopped caring of the miles once Im safely past.

And yet I know, the roads not changed, the way is still the same
Shown a thousand times to me, by my Guardian of the Way.


Thomas Brumfield[/spoil:2dy9u5ca]
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on December 13, 2013, 07:56:59 AM
Hide And Go Seek, By Brian37

An insidious game
Of Peekaboo
The child counts
And looks through rooms

Elaborate prose
In ancient books
All do claim
He is somewhere

They look and look
And insist
He is real
And point to their books

They count to ten
Then to 100
Then to 1,000
And where is he

The empty mansion
Of fictional rooms
He hides somewhere
Through limitless excuse

I refuse with vigor
To play this game
There is nothing to find
No one is up there
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on December 13, 2013, 08:53:05 PM
Christianity Unveiled (Ode to the father of modern atheism), By Brian37

Epicurus
And Lucretius
Skeptical
Long ago

The dark night
The cloak of theism
For  centuries
Buried inquiry

Deism arose
In response
To human cruelty
As a compromise to allow for a god

But amongst these enlightened ones
A refusal to do so
Gave birth
To modern atheism

Authorities as expected
Upon his public denial
The frightened ones
Ceased his books upon publishing

10 years elapse
After his death
Books with pseudonyms
Publicly burned

Paul Heinrich Dietrich
Took blasphemy
Further than anyone
Dared to go

"If the ignorance of nature
Gave birth to such a variety of gods,
The knowledge of this nature
Is calculated to destroy them"

*The bluntness of his quill
Put men in their infancy of thought
Which they were infatuated with
Viewing them as enslaved fanatics*

Their vanity
Based on concoctions
The needless distraction
Of mere superstition
(end)

Second to last  stanza is a paraphrase of this quote "It is thus superstition infatuates man from his infancy, fills him with vanity, and enslaves him with fanaticism."

Quotes sourced from this link.

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Baron_d%27Holbach#Sourced (http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Baron_d%27Holbach#Sourced)

Books quoted and paraphrased are

"Le Christianisme devoile(Christianity Unveiled)

"The System of Nature"
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on January 07, 2014, 05:25:09 AM
And so he sat, that man in his cage; the cage he built with his own hands, with his own blood and sweat. It was a lovely cage, the grandest cage he had ever seen... but yet a cage is a cage, no matter how grand it may seem. And beneath its luster and beneath shine stood a rotten man with a rotten mind.

This was a cage of many years work; a cage that could not be fractured or broke. In this cage he lived, ate and worked. Once and awhile he would glance out to see what he may see, but never did he leave; This cage was a world that bonged only to he. What he saw outside tore at his heart; violence, hatred and all things of the sort. Men killing men for trivial reasons, women and children left starving for no logical reasons.

This cage would be his home in all of its grandeur, no one from the outside could ever corrupt it. And so in this cage he began to grow jaded; came to hate the world and all of its faces. And then inside the man became what he had despised; in his heart violence and hatred for all he had seen. If man could not love one another, what love did they deserve from him? They had chosen their fates as he had chosen his.

Annnnnd I'm too intoxicated to finish.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on January 07, 2014, 05:40:51 AM
Good morning, Shiranu! Up early, or up late? I like what you did so far, and I'm interested to see where you will go with it. :-D
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on January 07, 2014, 05:44:24 AM
Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"
Good morning, Shiranu! Up early, or up late? I like what you did so far, and I'm interested to see where you will go with it. :-D

Late... I think.

It started to feel like a Doctor Susess poem or something with the rhyming... probably cant do that sober. I'll see what I can come up with later, otherwise it will have to wait till tomorrow night to be finished.

Edit: Well, I have a bottle of Sake only half finished. I could take a couple more swigs and see if I can continue it. I feel the problem may be the next bit of the story is still a work in progress, and I am not so good at predicting the future :.

Also; I now want to try writing while high. Alcohol is fine, but... meh.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on January 12, 2014, 11:06:10 AM
Here's the poem I wrote this week:



"A Quiet Voice"
http://www.solomonzorn.com/a-quiet-voice.html

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: mykcob4 on January 12, 2014, 08:40:47 PM
I may have posted this before but I thought I would submit it:
[center:16njutmv]A Brave Facing of a Scary Moment
By Myke

To all twas a good night, but an early summer night it was. Carried on the wind floated a hope of better times so innocent its entry. I in no cap laid not to rest, hopelessly tossing, wrestling with morbid futures not yet realized.  Like the rest I wished for a betterment of times, knowing full well it shall not come to pass.
I rose to view from my storied window down upon a tempest threatened bay. Could this squall foretell the fortunes of us all so blind? All storms end eventuality true, but with them they bring the cleansing rain a scourring wind that doth take those not prepared to yield. The god of power makes its demands and the economics of it determines that the weak and the stubborn are consumed by it.
Tarry not just on hope, and bother not to brace the feeble sash. So I will walk acceptingly into that wind trusting the compassion of it to not take me, relying on the foolhardiness of my action to weather it and not be my folly.
If I make it through? If it is true that I walk clear to the other side, whether that side is life or after life, I will have won but one victory of my own. That is the victory that I gave no fear just because the wind howled and the sky blackened and impending doom appeared before the horizon. It matters not where my foot falls, this world or the next, only that I took the steps necessary to reach that world.
The day hath found me drowned. My lungs filled with a wealth of emotion. My bones are tired and shake with fatigue, but I live in this world. The village is a buzz with rumor of me. No heroes welcome, no celebration of my deed. A newfound respect of my lack of sanity is expressed with every face. I care not. I am the knowing.
I have no need of explanation and will not satisfy any curiosity but my own. I will not bow to their reasoning or questions. There shall be no need to repeat my journey, so the moment ist passed. I retire in a smug repose, quite unintentional in disposition. To finally sleep with no dream, no images contented and exhausted. As easy as a child I fall asleep cradled in my confidences, fearing no more death or life.[/center:16njutmv]
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on January 15, 2014, 07:58:41 AM
Neon lights shine bright.
Outside, the city breathes out.
Across, sits happiness.
Oh, her time here is fleeting.
Soon she will leave me once more.

I grasp out for her,
Yet she slips through my fingers.
The harder I hold
The faster she falls away.
Doubt begins to take my mind.

Neon lights now cold,
The city is calm and silent.
I alone stay up,
Trying to recall her face,
had she ever existed?

My memories blur.
Useless, I cast them aside.
It was just a dream
Of a world I don't belong to.
Isolated is my home.

Not my best, but I feel like shit and it helped a little bit so...
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on January 15, 2014, 06:32:10 PM
Quote from: "Shiranu"
Neon lights shine bright.
Outside, the city breathes out.
Across, sits happiness.
Oh, her time here is fleeting.
Soon she will leave me once more.

I grasp out for her,
Yet she slips through my fingers.
The harder I hold
The faster she falls away.
Doubt begins to take my mind.

Neon lights now cold,
The city is calm and silent.
I alone stay up,
Trying to recall her face,
had she ever existed?

My memories blur.
Useless, I cast them aside.
It was just a dream
Of a world I don't belong to.
Isolated is my home.

Not my best, but I feel like shit and it helped a little bit so...

Been there, it was nice, I can identify.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on January 26, 2014, 01:19:25 PM
Well I just did it! I put my writings into an e-book on Amazon! It should be available by tomorrow some time. It's called, IF GOD EXISTS, WHY DOES HE PRETEND NOT TO EXIST? by Solomon Zorn. It's $2.99, which is the minimum price. It's a very short book. Takes about an hour to read. It's just my poetry and proverbs. The ponderings of an uneducated hick.

All of the writings in the book, and a few more, can be read for free on my website however: http://solomonzorn.com/home.html (http://solomonzorn.com/home.html)

I can read everything on the website, out-loud, in under 90 minutes. You are all welcome to check it out. I think I finally have it how I want it. I welcome any feedback.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on January 26, 2014, 03:06:39 PM
Just checked...I'm on Amazon! Cool! Doesn't mean much really, though. Anyone can do it. I just got the idea from a couple I saw on the news. They lost their jobs and started writing steamy romance novels to sell on Amazon. If anyone wants to write a review, it's only three bucks...  8)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on February 07, 2014, 06:21:19 AM
Solomon post the one you sent me in PM or I will beat the shit out of you, it is damned good!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 07, 2014, 04:40:21 PM
It's on my website.

Here's one I wrote after listening to the Governor of Indiana last week.

I Like Pizza
Solomon Zorn

I like pizza
Most people do
In fact you could say
I support pizza

I don't like liver
Some people do
There are a lot of
Liver-eaters out there

I don't feel a need
To outlaw liver-eating
Just because
It disgusts me

How does their
Eating liver
Possibly affect my
Eating pizza?

I'll still be free
To eat pizza
Even if the liver-eaters
Are liberated
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on February 08, 2014, 05:25:05 AM
It's a metaphor about kittens?
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 08, 2014, 05:41:45 AM
Kittens who want to marry each other.  ;)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on February 20, 2014, 06:51:32 PM
Not poetry, but wasn't sure where stories should go so... here is something short I am working on. Like poetry, I have never really written that much outside of pure fantasy.

[spoil:2wtlntzm]
Quote
The worst part is getting started, isn't it?, she asked, peering me over from across the table.
Huh?
Starting... it is always the hardest part.. She stared me down, peering at me as some sort of oddity, some puzzle to figure out. And then as if I had been solved just like that, or she had lost all interest, her attention was gone to some passing car or a bird perched on a building across the street.
I would suppose it is. I mumbled back. Of course, she wasn't there. No one was. Not even an empty chair. Just me, a table, a laptop and an empty patio. Every once in awhile a noisy truck or a city bus, occasionally the loud choppers revved up so that they could announce their existence to the world would zip by, interrupting the gentle hum of the smaller cars that went through.

I couldn't help but wonder who she was. Had I met her, or was she purely imagination? That seemed unlikely, given the detail I could see in her from the corner of my eye. And yet if I turned to look at her, all that greeted me was the red walls of the caf or one of the various other patrons enjoying the sunny, windy afternoon.

  The city was a nice reprieve from the solidarity of home, or this pale imitation of one, and the small confines of the coffin others referred to as my room and in it the T.V. I would spend hour after hour escaping from one world to the next. Occasionally the solidarity would be broken, mostly when I came out to eat or to watch someone with a hundred times my motivation make the most of their life. I suppose there was some semblance of socializing to be found in my distraction; from time to time me and my friend would log into a game together, substituting the reality, the art, of soccer with a pale imitation. Yet no matter how fun it would be, it could never replace the the real thing; friends just 15 minutes apart who never saw each other, choosing instead to enjoy each others presence through television tubes, microphones and speakers.

Of course the companionship of the city was not much different. Though they sat, flesh and blood, around me, we did not interact besides the occasional glance or the, pardon as we would walk past one another. Still, in their solitude I found a odd companionship; they sat alone with their books, their laptops and their coffees as did I. Together we made a strange fellowship of loners, each with our own stories to tell and yet no one around to tell it to.

She looks at me again from across the table, and I cant help but wonder if she is looking straight through the back of the screen and to the words I am writing. I have little choice but to muse about the concept of my subconscious being unaware of the words I write, and yet there she sits, curiously looking at me. Perhaps she is wondering not what I have written, but what I have yet to write. She seems to have taken a curiosity to that, and has also chosen to hide herself again.

She only appeared recently, so far that I can remember. This would give some weight to the idea that she is someone I know, or at least mimicking her. If she wasn't being so damn elusive I could perhaps get a good enough view of her to figure that out, maybe even ask for a name or to hear her simultaneously familiar and foreign voice again.


Back in the coffin, I find myself unable to enjoy the distractions I have spent my life apart of. While lacking enjoyment is nothing new, as it has been several years since they could hold my full attention, I suddenly find myself more drawn to writing than escaping reality. She sits at the foot of my bed, staring at the closet as if beyond it's doors she can see into a different world. I find myself eying the doors as she eyes me, but just see them closed, four white rectangles making a cross through the middle of them. I hear her sigh, yet she has already disappeared.

I cannot remember when the distractions began, nor the desire to indulge in them. To ask when I started being alone is to ask when the sun first rose upon the Earth; after such a length, it is irrelevant. It simply always has and always seems to be. And yet lately I have been offered brief glimpses of what companionship means, what it is like to share this life in all its glory and all its suffering with another person. Like an eclipse it appears out of no where, and like an eclipse it disappears, until all that is left is the fading memory of something you know was amazing yet cannot recreate no matter how hard you try. It simply lays outside of your control.

I cannot help but wonder how much of this is of my own making. It was only within the last year that I learned what true friendship was. Yes, I had my few friends who I would hang out with, kick the ball around, make fools of myself with in public, and yet there is a difference between a friend, even a best friend, and a true friend. A friend and a best friend is someone you enjoy life with; a true friend is someone with whom you can share your pain and fear with. For 22 years I have kept these true pains bottled up, and even the little I have revealed of myself is only a drop from the container. I fear that if I was to fully open the bottle it would flood and wash them away from me.

Doubly odd is the fact that I have never met one of them in the flesh. Hundreds of miles away, they feel more a concept than a person, and yet I cannot help but feel attached to them. Through their words I can feel them as a human being far more than nearly anyone I have ever met in  the flesh, and their concerns and fears are my concerns and fears, even if I am unable to express this.

The second was forged in a rush of feelings; attraction, sorrow it wasn't shared, admiration for their drive, remorse that it had to end so quickly. If not for the fact we only had two weeks, perhaps this friendship would have never even formed; given a deadline, what we had to say came out in a rush with little time to think about if it was awkward. The pain of it being taken away is perhaps rooted to the same thing that brought it to fruition, and though it was short I learned much and experienced more than I had before. It was the first time I can recall anyone sharing something private with me, and only the second time I had put the real, raw me out for another soul to see. As clich as it is, what I found in this closing door has opened my eyes to the possibility that other doors may be opening and I just have to reach out and find them.
[/spoil:2wtlntzm]

I might work more on this if I feel inspired to.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 28, 2014, 07:33:09 PM
Quote from: "mykcob4"
Fishing Village
by Myke

For out on a distance toils the men,
Pulling the nets each day.
They venture beyond sight as day begins,
Nothing but sea in their way.

They commune their thoughts,
They share their dreams,
They feel each others pain.

And seagulls mark their wake,
Cascading closer they come.
Marking the boats take,
Hoping that they share in some.

And they commune their thoughts,
And share their dreams,
And feel each others pain.

On the shore the women wait,
For men and boats to come home.
They hope all are safe,
And they'll not go home alone.

And they commune their thoughts,
And share their dreams,
And feel each others pain.

Everyday is the same,
Of the men, the birds, and women.
A labor of love and need,
Of lives among them.

Communing their thoughts,
Sharing their dreams,
And feeling their pain.

The village sleeps for now,
Rest sorely needed.
By light they'll arise,
And their task will be heeded.

They'll commune again,
They'll share again,
And agian feel each others pain.

For the village lives to be,
An interwoven community.
A place knowing each,
And each knowing,

Their thoughts,
Their dreams,
And their pain.
I just re-read this poem and realized that I never gave it the proper respect. Great poem, Myke!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 01, 2014, 11:06:40 AM
Shiranu, I like what you've written there. It is very poignant. It could easily be a poem.

There is a writer's thread: viewtopic.php?f=6&t=811 (http://atheistforums.com/viewtopic.php?f=6&t=811)  but it hasn't had any posts in awhile.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on March 01, 2014, 11:54:46 AM
Danke, and alright if I keep on working on it (or another) I'll try to rez that thread :P.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 20, 2014, 04:32:08 PM
OK here's one I wrote a couple of months ago, that more or less qualifies as a poem. Its what I call a proverb.

"The Joke Is On You"
http://www.solomonzorn.com/the-joke-is-on-you.html
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 27, 2014, 04:36:07 PM
Just renamed the thread, again. Been thinking about it for awhile. More inviting sound to it.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: stromboli on March 28, 2014, 01:31:54 PM
I write poetry but it always rhymes
can't get that rhyme scheme
outside my mind

Iambic pentameter is a bitch
Or is it Scottish Stanza
Which is which?

I'm condemned for life to stick to rhyme
blank verse will forever
be a blank in my mind

O twisted fate! Thou has decreed
that all my efforts
will never succeed


Without the couplets of matching words
my voice, it seems,
will never be heard.  :sad2:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on March 31, 2014, 04:26:52 AM
Slow feet shuffle down
The dark hall towards it's dark rooms.
The body walks on
But it's mind lays somewhere else,
trapped in it's own creation.

Behind deep, dark eyes
lays a deeper, darker land.
The path forward steep,
And the ground beneath hidden
From the lone travelers sight.

He stumbles forward,
His "companions" the demons,
of flesh and shadow.
The memories of failures
And the cold hearts of the men.

He reaches the door,
and finds himself in his bed.
Bourbon at his side,
his body seeks to escape
the shell that lives inside it.

Back in the mind
the demons reach up from cracks
previously filed;
they burst forth, rabid and cruel,
To remind him of the truth.

In this creation,
There is no one to reach for.
One's suppose to love
Had beat, shamed and abandoned;
The young mind withered away.

The body stands and leaves,
mindlessly to the bathroom
it finds its own way.
At the mirror it watches,
looking for traces of itself.

A turn of a knob,
and scalding water comes forth.
The body lays down,
unaware of the burning
it stares into the celling.

The traveler stops,
before him lays a dark pool,
and the demons cry,
"Come, join us in salvation!"
Beckoning him to the water.

-------

The demons were his only friends, he reckoned. After all, they had accompanied him all this time when the others all left. Surely no enemy could have such persistence as to follow him all this way across the dark path and all it's treacherous twists and turns that could easily have one finding himself losing the trail and stumbling out into the never-ending darkness that surrounded it. And besides, all the events of the road had led him here; the doors all had closed on the road here, those grand doors with feasts and merriment and companionship that would slam in his face the moment he got near. The demons said all doors close for a reason and that reason was he did not deserve to pass through or that fate simply had no intention of that world belonging to him or him to that world.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Atheon on March 31, 2014, 04:38:45 AM
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Atheists rock
Fundies eat poo.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on April 02, 2014, 05:28:17 AM
E = MC²

In the end, we are all standing in the dark,
trying to figure out why we are here.
But let us not choose one direction
without proof of where it is headed.

Check your pocket for matches
so we can observe and learn together
as fast friends and relative idiots.
                     -Mr.Obvious
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on April 03, 2014, 12:13:09 PM
I write poetry but it always rhymes
can't get that rhyme scheme
outside my mind

Iambic pentameter is a bitch
Or is it Scottish Stanza
Which is which?

I'm condemned for life to stick to rhyme
blank verse will forever
be a blank in my mind

O twisted fate! Thou has decreed
that all my efforts
will never succeed


Without the couplets of matching words
my voice, it seems,
will never be heard.  :sad2:

I have been writing poetry for almost 24 years now. I've read codeded stuff that meets the meter motif some writers like. I've also read simplistic poetry that does not rhyme I loved. Art is never an either or or one way thing with me. With poetry especially, to me it means nothing if the message in it doesn't reach the person reading it. I rarely criticize others works merely because I have seen far to much reaction of their work and or my work to know whomever writes it, you will always find some who like it and some who don't. Be yourself and do you own thing when you write and fuck what other people think.

I personally like this one regardless of the rhyming. I got the message to it. It just happens to rhyme and you like rhyming.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on April 03, 2014, 12:34:53 PM
If I Had My Way By Brian37, (Also on my FB page BrianJames Rational Poet)

Entropy confirms
Energy transfer
Will never
Lead to such

To think of whims
In terms of utopias
To thus of boarders
Are absurd nonsense

Our conflict resides
In all of us
Stupidly thinking
It all matters

Time frame lost
To a universe
That will continue
Without any of us

If I had my way
I'd been not rejected
By my high school pine
Who had no interest

If you had your way
I would submit
Conform to you
And by way of force

If I had my way
There would be no death
No pain or suffering
Or any conflict

No old age
No wars or crime
No disease
Or suffering

"If I had my way"
We'd all say
Our narcissism
It only conveys

One of the same
We've always been
That after resources
Is all it is.
(End)

This is one of the few times I make mine rhyme to some degree. When I started writing this yesterday I simply went with it as it came out. But I really don't go out of my way to rhyme. It simply amounts to did it work for someone. So again, when you write for yourself no matter your style, you are not faking it and you have more of a chance of others liking it when it is not faked or forced.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on April 03, 2014, 12:50:44 PM
Neil Before Me, By Brian37

The vacuous mind rot
Scourge of most media
Shows of "reality"
Reflecting no such thing

A beacon of reason
Revived once more
Sagan once hosted
Now on Sundays again

Neil before me
Enlightening humanity
Fear has no respite
When faced with reality

Comets worldwide
Most humans feared
Neil before me
Said it was needless

That when we question
When we observe
Real predictions
Can we rightfully glean

Neil before me
With real tools
Observation and testing
Control groups and peer review

On a Empire street
In the Apple they met
Sagan before him
Was the path that led

Seth the producer
Saw the value
Neil to reality
The Cosmos we value
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on April 03, 2014, 03:19:41 PM
I'm on this website call 'allpoetry', and I gotta tell you guys. It's great to see some poetry on agnostic, atheist and secular points of view. Over there it's 'god this' and 'god that' and 'save me' and 'I'm a sheep' all the time. This is so refreshing. Keep it up.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on April 09, 2014, 08:14:21 AM
Notorious, By Brian37

Have you ever
Touched a wall
Thinking falsely
The paint was dry?

Have you ever
Picked up a bottle
Only to realize
It was the wrong one?

I once drove down
A winding road
Seeing smoke
In the sky

A brush fire
Off in the distance
Seemed to be
Shifting from side to side

The antelope
On the African plains
Has to make quick decisions
Not  always having the time

To assess
If the swaying grass
Is that of wind
Or a lion stalking them
 
Our perceptions
Can be false too
In what we think
Is really true

 

In that of ink blots
And butterflies
Of ghosts and gods
And conspiracies

We fill in gaps
Not realizing it
And faulty conclusions
Are the result

Our perceptions
Are notoriously flawed
And only one tool
Can counter this

Take a step back
And don't just question
Add to that
Control groups and testing

It is the only way
We can be sure
That our senses
Are not fooling us.
(end)

This poem also to be posted at www.rationalresponders.com under the name Brian37 at that website. All publishing disclaimers associated with my poetry thread at that website apply here as well.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on April 12, 2014, 01:29:15 PM
Illuminati

We are truly but feeble creatures
of blood and rust and static,
searching for logic amidst the erratic,
choosing between preachers and teachers.

Mankind is said to be inherently sinful
and weak to the touch of temptation,
with one way to avoid being an abomination
by fearfully cowering in a harness of wool.

But what man standing in ominous oblivion
has the wisdom to choose the right path
and be unbridled in his knowledge that
he has chosen the one true religion?

The darkness of not knowing grasps us all.
Yet is blind faith our best trait?
Should we not light a fire before it's to late
and our blind eyes lead us to a final fall?

It's a thirst for knowledge that is our prize,
which helped us throughout our entire evolution,
allowed us to shatter more than just one illusion
and question critically all dogma and lies.

Let us all stand together and bask in ignorance.
Let us all shed the talk of absolute truth.
Let us all move away from our dumb youth.
Let us all make the most of our gifted consience.

We'll make a flame so great it'll illuminate the skies
so we may look upon all that we can learn.
As fuel, fairytales inevitably might burn
but from their ashes a better mankind shall rise.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on May 11, 2014, 01:29:47 PM
Great poem Mr. O! I like the unusual rhyme scheme as well as the message.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on May 31, 2014, 05:30:13 AM
On the edge of infinite sadness

We are apes returned home.
Face to face with a greater power
expressed in crashing foam
from whence mankind did flower.

Arriving at a sea of realization
that this force does not care
'bout it's awe-strikken creation
nor speaks of just and unfair.

Here we stand naked and dry
on the edge of infinite sadness.
On uncertain sands, eye to eye
with waves of chaotic madness.

And we roar mad with laughter,
fueled by an insanity from within,
given to us by the blind disaster
that spawned us and our kin.

For this is a time of low tide,
allowing us to build on our bay
'till no secrets are left to hide.
Here we are and here we stay.

Based on a quote by Racheal Carson: "The edge of the sea is a strange and beautiful place".
Also found on: http://allpoetry-classic.com/poem/11513395-On_the_edge_of_infinite_sadness-by-Mr.Obvious (http://allpoetry-classic.com/poem/11513395-On_the_edge_of_infinite_sadness-by-Mr.Obvious)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: KUSA on May 31, 2014, 07:57:27 PM
There once was a man from Nantucket,
Whose dick was so long he could suck it.
Said he, with a grin,
As he wiped off his chin,
"If my ear were a cunt, I could fuck it!"
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on June 02, 2014, 06:59:21 PM
OK, here's my latest. It doesn't have the same bite as some of my better stuff. I think I might be losing my edge.

Faith Healer
http://www.solomonzorn.com/faith-healer.html
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on June 03, 2014, 02:42:40 AM
I dunno SZ, I liked it. Might not be 'edgy', but sure is entertaining.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on June 07, 2014, 01:58:54 PM
Here's another example of losing my edge:

A Particle
Solomon Zorn


I am a particle
Just a very tiny speck
In a vast universe
Of particles

I am a particle
Like all particles
I am composed of
Smaller particles

I am a particle
With unique properties
I can choose
I open and close the gate

I am a particle
Directing it's own motion
And directing the motion
Of other particles

I am a particle
In a group of particles
We interact
Forming complex systems

I am a particle
Responding to other particles
And assigning value
To those particles

I am a particle
Trading particles
With other particles
In need of a particle

I am a particle
Experiencing
The nature of being
A particle
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on June 07, 2014, 03:09:06 PM
I have never been a fan of telling others how poetry should be written. Art is simply that which works. I have read so much in my life of others and even seen people love some of mine that I didn't think was that special. To tell another poet how to write is to put shackles on them.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on June 07, 2014, 03:13:53 PM
Mendacity, By Brian37(Originally posted at Rational Responders.com

 

The enticing  falsehood

Drenched  in delusion

Self inflicted

From false perceptions

 

That angel is no angel

That hero is no hero

It is you lying to yourself

In want of the non-existent

 

The scourge of thought

To be complacent

With mere emotion

With mere tradition

 

You are not

Looking for evidence

You are looking for

Excuses

 

Excuses to cling

To empty claims

Too afraid

To self examine

 

So you lie

To yourself

And in turn

Lie to others

 
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: KUSA on June 07, 2014, 06:09:38 PM

夢ぢには
あしもやすめず
かよへども
うつつにひとめ
見しごとはあらず
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on June 09, 2014, 09:44:52 AM
What Happens In Vegas, By Brian37

When Dawkins spoke
Of meme theory
Upon the first time
Hearing about it

I scoffed
But be the issue
Religion or guns
Ideas and ideology sell

Why did this couple
Shout "Revolution"
Why did 9/11 happen
Why do they murder abortion doctors

Because marketing works
Play off of fear or vanity
Sell a utopia
In an imperfect world

Humans will futilely
Fight for Plato's essence
At the cost
Of compassion

Those evil cops
Simply eating pizza
Deserved to die
They were the bullies

Yes, the bullies
We trained collectively
To fear the worst
We are responsible

Absurd to expect
As some do
They should fight crime
With pea shooters

When we have A-R 15s
When 45s and Glocks
Infest every home
Made like Skittles

And you assholes
Have the nerve
To be shocked
At the body count

Have the nerve
To be paranoid
Of how well armed
Law enforcement is

When you yourself
Like a petulant child
Think Dirty Harry
Is Constitutional documentary

Your high capacity phallus
Does not impress us
Your deadly selfish
We've had enough of

These are not the days of muskets
You are no one's hero
If all you want to do
Is live in a bubble, concerned only with yourself
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on June 09, 2014, 10:41:31 AM
"High capacity phallus!" Excellent! :grin:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: NinjaRisu on June 09, 2014, 08:41:57 PM
I wrote this poem waayyy back in high school.


Darkness, lust, tormented by the sight,
Blood, love, killed by the light.
Hatred, death, feelings going no where.
Killing, fate, love that's not fair.
My cage is small and cold,
Aging feeling old.
Please let me be free,
Let loose my mind and you will see.
What it's like to be me.
Let loose my soul that you have caged,
Old and battered but never aged.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on June 16, 2014, 01:14:43 PM
Nice.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Nam on June 18, 2014, 12:02:30 AM
I wrote this 8 years ago and still pisses some people off. I have no idea why. It's a love story...

Sorry but you are not allowed to view spoiler contents.

:-)

-Nam
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on June 18, 2014, 11:59:28 AM
Submit, By Brian37

If the other tribe
Would just do so
If my women
Would just do so

My liberal brethren
So well intended
Lending cover
To the literalists

My qualm with you
Is your ignorance
That they read
The same words you do

Your kindness does show
And you know
Other labels
Can be kind too

Still not my point
Or argument
About any of
Your good intent

You skip some parts
Like they do too
And with the same god
Come to different conclusions

There is a source
As to which
Female cattle
They are treated

There is a source
Whence violence arises
And use words in a book
To thus justify

The violent ones
Are getting it right
Because back then
You defended your tribe

Back then
You obeyed the king
You dared not
Step out of line

Back then
Vaginas were fields
Men gave the seed
Girls were crops

The words in those books
Are hardly modern
Having nothing to do
With secular pluralism

The only peace
Holy books sell
Is peace through submission
Or burn in hell


Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Nam on June 18, 2014, 12:47:28 PM
an imperfection of art

a dream can show you lies
sorrowful good-byes
  from the woman you wish to forget
it can show you happiness
gentle waves of bliss
  yet seemingly poorly lit

still ..

it's worth to note
in each thought rote
  this woman you wish to forget
is that gentle wave of bliss
that shows you happiness
  and makes your heart offset

and ..

I know it could be true
this woman who is you
  is the one who holds my heart
a ring upon a finger
a soul that could linger
  an imperfection of art

I ..

could believe in this dream
an impossible scheme
  for you to marry me
yet there's more than you and I
in each tear that is cried
  from every touch that we breathe

still ..

a dream can show you lies
a glisten in one's eye
  a soul that seems offset
each beat of my heart
that won't stop 'til it starts
  from the woman I wish to forget



David Garrett Arnold
January 16 2009


-Nam
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Hijiri Byakuren on June 18, 2014, 01:48:31 PM
Not helping in Africa

preventing mishap,

Almighty God

is watching you fap.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on June 20, 2014, 02:12:14 AM
T- Boned, By Brian37

 

Someone texting

Someone smoking

Someone eating

While they are driving

 

Some one speeding

Someone drunk

Runs the red light

Hitting another

 

I have detractors

Who don't like me

What would they do

If  I was the perp

 

What if I

Was the innocent  victim

Would politics or religion

Prevent them from helping?

 

I certianly know

What I would do

When someone is helpless

And I could lend aid

 

I would not at all

Pass them by

Just because

I hate what they say

 

I am fine with the frey

With those who are lucid

Yet all of us

Are still the same species

 

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Nam on June 24, 2014, 03:23:23 AM
Carroll's Field

in Carroll's Field where pecans sleep
and the days become cool as the night
there are dreams vibrant in hours we keep
rippling in ponds filled within the light

echoes of a past turned to a present
and life becomes the knot untied
the stars appear in a spiral descent
graciously upon those who have died

and in Carroll's Field where tree limbs felt
like the rain from emptying clouds
we gather in prayer where worn tongues knelt
upon breaths deepened beneath the shrouds

we cannot falter in this life of greater solitude
just happen upon that light in air
having not wrenched in sunpour attitude
it's only the love that whispers fair. . .


David Garrett Arnold
April 09 2013

--

Sorry but you are not allowed to view spoiler contents.

--

river green

I could not hope more to breathe
 in each luminescent aura
where wind carries leaves beyond
 each silhouette of your form

It could be the happiness growing
 like the leaf to the root
or the touch of a lip upon a lip
 upon the single wave salted in
             rivergreen eyes
like tears wiped from the face
   gazing upon the autumn sun
gently slipping into the womb
   of the earth

I could not hope more to breathe
 in each whisper you echo in my heart
where the wind carries us beyond
 the silhouette of the moon



David Garrett Arnold
May 08 2013


-Nam
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on June 24, 2014, 03:53:26 AM
Drawn into this maze I find
A world quite unlike any in my mind.
With each intricate twist and twirl
I watch the minds unwrap and unfurl.

A voice cries out,
"By god's, I've seen the light!"
I see a man in stained whites,
and a broken halo around his head.
He believes himself to be high above,
transcending, flying above all these walls.
I watch as through the maze he blindly crawls.

Another walks past, his eyes blank and dull.
He is a slave to his routine; a broken, deprogrammed machine.
What life he had has gone black and cold,
And the music of his soul is a quiet, lonesome note.
The walls will guide his every move, and till his end their path he stays glued.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on June 30, 2014, 06:28:38 PM
Omnibenevolent, By Brian37

They all claim peace
Their goal so true
Here are some verses
For each of you

Hebrews first
And from the OT
From the book
Of Exodus

"2:11 And it came to pass
In those days,
When Moses was grown,
That he went out
Unto his brethren,

And looked on their burdens:
And he spied an Egyptian
Smiting an Hebrew,
One of his brethren."

"2:12 And he looked this way
And that way,
And when he saw
That there was no man,

He slew
The Egyptian,
And hid him
In the sand."

Street justice
Sanctioned by God
No civil court
Was involved

Now to that
Of the NT
Lets see what that
Has to say

In John 3
Verse 36
Here is what
It really says

"He that believeth on the Son
Hath everlasting life: And he that believeth
Not the Son shall not see life
But but the wrath of God abideth on him."

Tough luck Muslims
Atheists and Hindus
And even tough luck
To most Jews

I'd be remiss
If I forgot Islam
With all it's peace
And all it's charm

So lets take a look
At Allah's love
For the outsiders
Who don't subscribe

In book two
Named "The Cow"
Unbelievers fate
Under Allah's brow

Verse 161
And 162
Tell tells the unbelievers
Where they will go

"Lo! Those who disbelieve
And die while they are disbelievers;
And them is the curse of Allah
And of angels and of men combined.........

They ever dwell therein.
The doom
Will not be lightened for them,
Neither will they be reprieved"

Now I know
Others of these three
Others will claim
"Out of context"

But that is precisely
The same problem
Even with in the same religion
All do fight

Orthodox Jews
Do not like it when
Liberal Jews
Of Muslims befriend

Baptists think Catholics
Are not real Christians
German Christians
Once killed Jews

Sunnis kill Shiites
And their enemies still
Are Jews, Christians and atheists
They burn in hell

But all read the same
Exact books
Look for justifications
For what they do

And all the same god
All three have
How can this god
Sit up above

And watch us all fight
Like children with knives
Stabbing each other
To win a prize

You point to kindness
All of you do
But the kindess ends
When challenges arise

To take these books
Word for word
You all become monsters
In the name of your God

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on July 03, 2014, 07:21:16 PM
...I'd be remiss
If I forgot Islam
With all it's peace
And all it's charm...
:rotflmao:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on July 03, 2014, 07:29:28 PM
river green

I could not hope more to breathe
 in each luminescent aura
where wind carries leaves beyond
 each silhouette of your form

It could be the happiness growing
 like the leaf to the root
or the touch of a lip upon a lip
 upon the single wave salted in
             rivergreen eyes
like tears wiped from the face
   gazing upon the autumn sun
gently slipping into the womb
   of the earth

I could not hope more to breathe
 in each whisper you echo in my heart
where the wind carries us beyond
 the silhouette of the moon



David Garrett Arnold
May 08 2013


-Nam

Interesting work, Nam. Please use a larger font, so I don't have to mess with my settings in order to read it. My eyesight is terrible these days.  :biggrin:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Nam on July 03, 2014, 08:20:07 PM
Best I could do is probably bold it next time.

-Nam
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on July 20, 2014, 11:18:18 AM
I wrote this one yesterday morning. Appreciate any feedback.

“Humans”
http://www.solomonzorn.com/humans.html
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Applooza on August 03, 2014, 05:32:36 AM
Wow, I like all your poems Solomon Zorn. They are really good.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on August 05, 2014, 12:42:49 PM
My hands are tied

Picture a suffering world reminiscent of a pit,
with horrors more intense the deeper you traverse.
I'm repulsed by my own cowardice as I do sit
idly by staring and allow it to grow worse.

I am, as a Roman poet 'n guide once said;
'che visser sanza ‘nfamia e sanza lodo'.
Should Dante know what awaits the dead
I'd expect a warm place due to my motto.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As metaphore, christian-based mythology and literature still has it's use. (Though that's about it.) Inspired by Dante's inferno.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Nam on August 06, 2014, 02:33:39 PM
hate

there isn't a "we", there is just an...


lacking the architectural structure of the mind
where visions bre ak like waves in the sea
    it isn't just the regrettable lies
where each breadth becomes farther to breathe

it's the noise that becomes deafening
where lights flicker like the star of the moon
    voices echo in coloseums that tremble
hands clasping hands and the sweat falls expectantly

why haven't we murdered our brothers   ?
  why haven't we raped our mothers    ?
     why haven't we sung our songs    ?

is this not our treading breath    ?
 is this not our deepening grave    ?
  is this not our trampled flags    ?

there isn't a "we", there is just an...

another lynching has taken place
bullets bitten by the hands that feed
    the homeless become the wealthy
and gold turns into the mud beneath

our feet

children are weeping for their fathers
who have gone off to a war they'll lose
   the aborted are weeping for their mothers
to a hell they'll forever burn

because

the Christian™ is impeaching the world
for all the sins they commit
   they blame the president for not being

white enough

Earth may survive
  but where will we be   ?

the animals may survive
  perhaps that's how it should be   ?


there isn't a "we", there is just an...



US





David Garrett Arnold
July 06 2014


-Nam
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on August 06, 2014, 03:14:40 PM
Crashing to my right,
sea mist reaches the sky.
The seawall holds firm.


Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on August 07, 2014, 10:30:13 AM
"Identity" By Brian37(also posted at Rationalresponders.com)

I am a Muslim
I am a Jew
I am a German
I am a Hindu

I am from India
I am from Mexico
I am from America
I am from Morocco

I am Japanese
I am Chinese
I am Native American
I am Aborigine

I am the universe
I am much older
I'll be around
After the smolder

Of this planet
When it dies
There will be no record
Of our species tribes

What is important
Is here and now
And the only "Identity"
That I value

Is that of human
We are all
On one planet
Our only home
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Nam on August 07, 2014, 11:55:11 AM
You need to edit it. "Idinia" for example. That's the only spelling error but...

-Nam
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on August 07, 2014, 12:06:38 PM
My word pad doesn't have spellcheck, and my keyboard is fucked up so I like to hit submit before I lose something.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on August 07, 2014, 12:20:08 PM
So many poets that are so good, but still I haven't understood. Little lies, and big bad truths. The dripping of tears, from many fears, all for nothing in my ears. Once upon a morning clearly, while I wondered dumb and teary. I saw the light, and took a flight, into heavenly bliss, of sleeps wonderful kiss from poetry's might. Seriously, good poetry guys! Solitary   
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on August 08, 2014, 08:44:20 AM
Awesome one yourself.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on August 08, 2014, 09:59:53 AM
 :biggrin2: That was nice. Thanks!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on August 08, 2014, 11:54:34 AM
Slightly off topic: I think I was a bit hasty on my seawall haiku... it's now facing back to back hurricanes. Probably won't be holding the sea back now :P.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Nam on August 08, 2014, 12:17:19 PM
it's all just a story

I don't know if I am stuck in forever
if this will be the breath that I shall
always breathe
as if encompassed upon all thoughts
or all conclusions
that I'll ever have in my life
from now on until the day I breathe
my last breath
that I will be stuck in this period
of time
this moment that seems to go on forever for me
that never ends
as each moment never ends
in the solitude of one-dimensions
like darkness
it consists and rests
but
is it really there in the end?
I don't know if I am stuck or I am just
jammed in a hole that has no in
or no out
just a middle
that's what it feels like to me
a middle
and it will never end
it will never
end
I feel






thoughts

period of inclusion that isn't included
a book that is left on the ground
and is picked up by a stranger
though the stranger isn't really a stranger
but your best friend
or a friend that you considered to
be your best friend or
one
of your best friends at one
point/moment in your life
or is that one moment in time?
quagmire of sorts I feel
but
it still hinges there
as if it won't ever let
go
and you ponder
and you
ponder
and nothing comes to you
because the book is blank
but only to you
when your friend picks it
up
it tells a story
a story that you just can't seem
to finish
and you just can't remember
if it
ever had a beginning and you ask
yourself
do beginnings have endings?
and if they do
why isn't there an ending to your beginning?

he (or whoever) picks up the book
that seems to have been discarded on a lonely road
there are many people on that road
you just can't see them
and they can't see you
for they
only exist in their own realities
as you
only exist in your own reality
the reality that there is an ending
and that you are already there
and there is joy
or
sadness
but either way it is joy
because it's the ending

he picks up the book
and he opens it up and reads it
and it is about love
as they all are - love I mean
they are all about love
some type of love
some type of disgust from love
and the stories all seem to be the same
they really are the same
but different in ways
some are lost stories
some
are found stories
some are just stories
and they mean nothing
not even to the person who wrote it
or to the person it is for
it is just there for comfort
it is just there
and there is no letting go
you just wish to let go
but you just can't seem to let
go
though you wish to
and you repeat the action
until your fingers let loose
and there is nothing
left
not even your brain
just your heart
and it beats too slow
always too slow

he reads this book and
he sees it is about a girl
a girl that is unknown to the
person
who wrote the book
but known to the person
who is reading
the book as well
and why?
because they are friends
or used to be
or still are
and they just don't know
it
or maybe it's a past
a content past
of solitude
that leaves one nude
from everyday life
he knows her
and he knows who wrote the
book
at least he pretends he does
at least the writer pretends
that he does
as well
quagmire - comes back to that
forthcoming and un-ending
pretending and contemplating
it's all just run a-rounds
but the birds are all
who are running a-round

he reads the book
as if
in some manner
he wrote it himself
and he cries tears
but he doesn't know why he is crying these tears
he wishes to know why
but he doesn't
maybe it's sorrow
maybe he felt the same way about this girl
and just didn't know the words
to tell her
like the words written in this unknown book
filled page to page
about a girl
a girl first seen through the eyes of a loving
but a violent
yes a violent soul
why violent?
that's how some souls are: violent
but she calmed it down
and made this writer see peace
that he never knew existed
but there are no names
in this book
no names mentioned
so
how does the reader
who could be the writer
but just
as well be the reader
know
deep down who this is written about?
do the words entwine themselves into her image?
are they in her image?
he wonders this himself
(the reader of course
the writer
knows who it is about
but though he sees nothing written in the book
he sees her
as if she had never left his eyes
as if she travelled into his dreams
and told him
to love her
and told him
to hate her
and told him
to give up on her
and told him
to love her
and told him
that years have passed
though they only
seem
like mere seconds
and she wants to love him
but it would be false
and he thinks this for her
because after all
she is just his imagination
since she is just a dream
a figment
of his own reality
but
he sees her)
the image of her is there
in the dog-ears
in the crackle of his throat
and the reader can
read this
the reader can hear this
the reader knows
who the writer is
he met him in a lifetime that
has passed
and he does know the girl
and her name
is in in his brain
but he just can't remember
or maybe he chooses to not remember
for the sake of the writer
 
continued thoughts

the sun is the moon
the moon is the sun
the stars are children
and the earth seems to not even exist
not in the mindset of time
it as well is just a figment
a dream
and when the writer
wakes up
nothing will exist
as if he died in some way
or maybe he didn't die
but time died
and if time died
then she never existed
and the traveller never
persisted beyond the
boundaries of dog-ears
and friends that no one knew
or couldn't remember
and the writer wasn't born
he never had parents
or grandparents
or siblings
or even a pet
he just never existed
and he never fell in love
he never
no he never fell in love
with a girl he wrote about
in an empty book
and why is it still empty?
because still he can't see what he wrote
for her
he can't smell her hair
or see her smile
he can't taste her lips
though he never tasted them before
but the thought
is there
the thought is always there
he just wants
just wants
or pretends to want
or doesn't want
because he doesn't exist
or she doesn't exist
or nothing exists
did anything ever exist
he's not asking
nor wanting to know
so the reader doesn't need to answer
and the reader knows who the reader is
or does the reader know?
probably not
do they ever?

there are no words
there never were any words
just pictures
just photograph's
just time
that never ended
just a book stuck in the middle of nowhere
everything is stuck in the
middle of nowhere
just ask everyone who has ever loved
or thinks they have loved
or knows they have loved
or lost a love
or haven't lost a love
or wanted to lose a love
just ask
and they will tell you
that this writer isn't alone
even the reader has been there
or will be there
even she has been there
or hasn't and he pretends she has
or she has and she pretends she hasn't
and all three of them
like everyone else
in the entire world
don't really see the words
they
aren't there - nothing is there - nothing is here - nothing exists
it's all a faery-tale
and that is what the writer wants to believe
for if everything is a faery-tale
does the writer really have a broken heart?
and if he does
did he cause it or did the notion of her cause it?
he knows she didn't cause it
or doesn't want to believe she caused it
or thinks that maybe when she made him cry
that she meant to hurt him
and he never got over it
or maybe it was all always in his mind
and he always thought with
his mind
and he never thought with his heart
and he never listened to his soul
and thus
he lost her
from his own ignorance
from his own fear
from his own pitiful disguises
and she and the reader
just laughed at him
or he thought they did
or thinks they do
and paranoia is just an occurrence of subtlety
and the love is gone
he just doesn't know it
or can't fathom to know it
so he continues on loving her
though she doesn't love him
and probably had never loved him
for she was young and he was naive
or he was young and she was naive
and in the end
when there is an end
it's all just a story







David Garrett Arnold
April 30 2004

-Nam
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on August 10, 2014, 12:31:08 PM
 :super: 
http://lit.genius.com/William-shakespeare-the-seven-ages-of-man-annotated

Quote

The Seven Ages of Man
William Shakespeare

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

 At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

 And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on August 11, 2014, 12:54:37 PM
And you were there

Sheltering underneath
a flickering vacancy sign
stands a lonely Kansas girl.
Red lips, red dress, ruby shoes.
Sad eyes speak: "No place like home."
I lose all instantaneously:
my heart, brain and courage.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: renasimplified on August 14, 2014, 10:33:06 PM
Someone told me I should post this poem on here... so here it is :)

My God, My God

There once was a girl, poisoned by life and left alone,
rescued by God, the God of men.
all she knew to do, between the cry, between the moan,
was dripped into her by men, by kin.
from a booth, of truth and hidden lies,
it said if she believed, she'd own the skies.
and far from fear, was hope of happiness,
So she happily believed, hit or miss.
but happiness never came, only mistakes and harm,
and each new problem brought another one.
happiness waited just out of reach,
as God sucked her dry like a leach.
She stood by a cliff, surrounded by God's men.
Yelling at her, "SIN SIN SIN!"
All at once she fell from the cliff,
she became weightless, no longer stiff,
She looked up as she fell from the lies,
she took up heart, and started to fly.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on August 16, 2014, 07:11:56 AM
And you were there

Sheltering underneath
a flickering vacancy sign
stands a lonely Kansas girl.
Red lips, red dress, ruby shoes.
Sad eyes speak: "No place like home."
I lose all instantaneously:
my heart, brain and courage.
I like it. Simple and emotive. I can identify with the theme, because, as I understood it, it's a universal one.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on August 16, 2014, 07:14:16 AM
Someone told me I should post this poem on here... so here it is :)

My God, My God

There once was a girl, poisoned by life and left alone,
rescued by God, the God of men.
all she knew to do, between the cry, between the moan,
was dripped into her by men, by kin.
from a booth, of truth and hidden lies,
it said if she believed, she'd own the skies.
and far from fear, was hope of happiness,
So she happily believed, hit or miss.
but happiness never came, only mistakes and harm,
and each new problem brought another one.
happiness waited just out of reach,
as God sucked her dry like a leach.
She stood by a cliff, surrounded by God's men.
Yelling at her, "SIN SIN SIN!"
All at once she fell from the cliff,
she became weightless, no longer stiff,
She looked up as she fell from the lies,
she took up heart, and started to fly.

Wow. What can I say? I had to reread it before it sunk in for me. Great poem.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on August 18, 2014, 03:03:34 AM
OK. I just noticed that we are about a month away from the first anniversary of "The Poetry Thread."

I would like to challenge everyone to write a poem to post on September 15th. Something new. Just consider your audience, and try to be relevant to the forum.

And no, Brian, it doesn't have to rhyme. :blahblah:  :rotflmao: :naughty:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on August 27, 2014, 09:13:42 AM
True Lies, By Brian37 (also posted at www.rationalresponders. com in my poetry thread link listed in my sig)

 

Tumble tumble

Down the stairs

Rat a tat tat

Only bad guys die

 

Blame the owner

When things go wrong

General Motors

Was held responsible

 

Instructor dead

A girl traumatized

Gun manufactures

Sell True Lies

 

They want our highways

And public roads

With no street lights

Or stop signs

 

A free for all

Is what they want

For shear profit

At all costs

 

"Controlled environment"

At a gun range

Yet it still happened

Because of "True Lies"

 

Liberals do not

To get rid of all guns

Just some sanity

Instead of "True Lies"

 

You don't need an Uzi

To shoot a deer

You don't need an assault riffle

To protect your house

 

The police do not need

Tanks or gear

This is the industry

Selling fear

 

This is about profit

And nothing more

About a lobby

That does not care.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Savior2006 on August 28, 2014, 12:08:53 AM
I heard my mother pray.
"Be my light in the dark."

And I came beside her to say.
"Be my darkness in the light."
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Savior2006 on September 07, 2014, 02:21:43 AM
The Shadow March

We are the ice people. Of the world of Grey.
We lived in darkness, said those of the Dey.
They came, riding the fireflies.
“We’ve told ourselves terrible lies.”

Dancing among them, a Great Light.
It was great, and white and bright.
But as it neared us, it stung.
Our crops it killed and left hung.

We begged them take the Light and go.

The people of the Light were confused
But it was slight; they were amused
At our concern, at our growing fright.
It proved that they were right.

We retreated and they approached
The light came closer, larger; and they coached
On how to make it not burn
We would know and we would turn.

First close your eye.
What the eye tells is a lie.
What it tells not is right.
Now step towards the light.

We did, and there was the burn.
And in time, we did turn.
We saw our buildings were boiling,
Our melting ice trees foiling.

And we begged them take the Light and go.

But they approached, faster
And the light circled after   
To our horror it grew and grew
We saw our village became a stew.

We begged them take the light and go.

But they approached and they were mad.
This was proof that we were bad.
And we quickened and quickened.
And the Great Light made us sickened.

But they approached faster and faster
And the light circled after
And we smoldered and fried
And hundreds of us died.
 
But they approached faster and faster
The people of the Light circled after.
Then we happened among the moonflies,
They too had told themselves lies.

There were other peoples with other Lights.
The retreating moonflies proved that they were right.
My name is Dancer: I spoke to the moonflies.
I said, “Let us tell each other lies.”
 
We rode the moonflies, and then we fled.
We were offered the sickened Light and instead
Began the shadow march away,
To a darker place to stay.

 
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Deidre32 on September 11, 2014, 06:07:06 PM
I posted this poem I wrote, recently on a site for deconverts...

All This Time

 All this time
 I spent chasing You
 When I could've spent it
 Chasing my dreams

 All this time
 I spent trusting in Your Word
 When I could've spent it
 Trusting my intuition

 All this time
 I spent in church
 Waiting, praying, hoping
 For You to show up

 All this time
 I spent on my knees
 When I could've spent it
 Dancing or swimming or something else

 All this time
 I spent feeling guilty
 When I could've spent it
 Planting a garden

 All this time
 I spent loving You
 When I could've spent it
 Loving myself
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on September 15, 2014, 03:41:25 AM
In honor of the one year anniversary of this thread. Thanks for starting it Solomon.

P.S. I do hope it's the 15th in America already. It is where I live and I don't have much time for the rest of the day.

The Oddysey

A battered boat in the eye of a great storm,
with wailing winds and waves without wholesome form
fighting our craft through forceful insanity,
providing clouds on our course for clarity.

Plagued by plagues of creatures from the dark deep sea,
both mythological, in our odyssey,
and their real sirens; desiring reaction
who are to us foe, victim and distraction.

Among the crew heated arguments do rise
when the ominous ocean offers no lies.
Swiftly disbands the bond of community
replaced by weary whispers of mutiny.

For us present pirates who seek precious truth
atop our known cargo of forbidden fruit
need the Cyclops, even the circe and more
to keep us longing for those logical shores.

Yet a careful glance thrown at those on our ark,
tells me that this quest on which we did embark
can reach Ithaka's Penelope waiting,
through our modest love for honest debating.

Yes, my days upon this vessel are well spent,
for in this hull of free minds I feel content
to sit and talk with you as for truth we roam
to find out what lies in this most epic poem.

Brave friends, Troy's walls of ignorance are no more.
After a long fight, we waltzed right through the door.
And though our voyage home may truly be odd,
we won the war and can travel free of god.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 15, 2014, 06:59:26 AM
I posted this poem I wrote, recently on a site for deconverts...

All This Time

 All this time
 I spent chasing You
 When I could've spent it
 Chasing my dreams

 All this time
 I spent trusting in Your Word
 When I could've spent it
 Trusting my intuition

 All this time
 I spent in church
 Waiting, praying, hoping
 For You to show up

 All this time
 I spent on my knees
 When I could've spent it
 Dancing or swimming or something else

 All this time
 I spent feeling guilty
 When I could've spent it
 Planting a garden

 All this time
 I spent loving You
 When I could've spent it
 Loving myself


Great Poem, Deidre! :clap: Really evokes a strong emotion. Thanks for sharing it.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 15, 2014, 07:34:47 AM
In honor of the one year anniversary of this thread. Thanks for starting it Solomon.

P.S. I do hope it's the 15th in America already. It is where I live and I don't have much time for the rest of the day.

The Oddysey

A battered boat in the eye of a great storm,
with wailing winds and waves without wholesome form
fighting our craft through forceful insanity,
providing clouds on our course for clarity.

Plagued by plagues of creatures from the dark deep sea,
both mythological, in our odyssey,
and their real sirens; desiring reaction
who are to us foe, victim and distraction.

Among the crew heated arguments do rise
when the ominous ocean offers no lies.
Swiftly disbands the bond of community
replaced by weary whispers of mutiny.

For us present pirates who seek precious truth
atop our known cargo of forbidden fruit
need the Cyclops, even the circe and more
to keep us longing for those logical shores.

Yet a careful glance thrown at those on our ark,
tells me that this quest on which we did embark
can reach Ithaka's Penelope waiting,
through our modest love for honest debating.

Yes, my days upon this vessel are well spent,
for in this hull of free minds I feel content
to sit and talk with you as for truth we roam
to find out what lies in this most epic poem.

Brave friends, Troy's walls of ignorance are no more.
After a long fight, we waltzed right through the door.
And though our voyage home may truly be odd,
we won the war and can travel free of god.

I like it better on the second reading. Very good. Thanks for meeting the challenge!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 15, 2014, 07:42:57 AM
In celebration of the Poetry thread first anniversary, here's one I just finished. It's a little off-topic, but it's the best I can do at the moment.

“Waiting for the Sequel”
Solomon Zorn


Heartache pang,
Our Yin and Yang
Were action and reaction.
Heavy sigh,
For you and I
Are lacking interaction.

So why is it,
We don't visit?
Seems it's been forever.
Sun goes down,
Your golden crown
Is turning into silver.

Still, to me,
You'll always be
My perfect life companion.
Age and grace
Will shape your face,
Until our next reunion.

One more year,
I still don't hear
Your voice's simple magic.
Not to try,
Before we die,
Would certainly be tragic.

It's no sin,
Our Yang and Yin
Are opposite and equal.
If we dare,
Our love affair
Could one day write a sequel.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Deidre32 on September 16, 2014, 11:42:08 PM

Great Poem, Deidre! :clap: Really evokes a strong emotion. Thanks for sharing it.
Thank you so much! :)

I really like ''Waiting for the Sequel'' ... you are talented!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: PickelledEggs on September 17, 2014, 01:09:23 AM
This is one of my favorite poems. It always gives me a good chuckle.

Quote
I'm not grass
Why do you step on my heart
I'm so not grass
You treat me like grass
Do I look green
no
Only on roast beef day
Do I look "grassy"
no
Only when I go out side aka
Never
So I'm not grass go away don't mess with my feelings
http://allpoetry.com/poem/10970961-Im-not-grass-by-arianabootytiara

Also another one of this author's is
Quote
Pizza
Rough when you touch
Soft when you bite
maybe it's the way it's made
yum
ooh
ah
pizza
[[cue snaps]]
http://allpoetry.com/poem/10971005-Pizza-by-arianabootytiara
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on September 19, 2014, 04:55:56 PM
All young debaters over the belief   
Of the soul’s immortality delusion,   
I who lie here was the village idiot,   
Talkative, contentious, versed in the arguments conclusion.   
Of the atheists no Gods relief.
But after a long sickness of superstitious not    
of unbearable pain I welcomed para nirvana.    
I read the Upanishads and the poetry of Christ.   
And they lighted a torch of hope and wisdom's savanna,   
And desire within the Shadow of death's heist,    
Leading me swiftly through the abyss of darkness,   
Could not be extinguished for evermore.   
Listen to me, you who live in realities starkness,   
And think of realities only door:   
Immortality is not a gift of magical business ,   
Immortality is an achievement from living;   
And only those who strive to live life to the fullest    
Shall possess it's giving.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: AllPurposeAtheist on September 19, 2014, 05:02:18 PM
I must be the only person I know who when I read poetry I just shrug which isn't a knock on poetry, just that it doesn't often do anything for me..  Take no offence.. I've always been this way.  I'm a prose kinda guy I guess.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on September 19, 2014, 05:22:08 PM
All young debaters over the belief   
Of the soul’s immortality delusion,   
I who lie here was the village idiot,   
Talkative, contentious, versed in the arguments conclusion.   
Of the atheists no Gods relief.
But after a long sickness of superstitious not    
of unbearable pain I welcomed para nirvana.    
I read the Upanishads and the poetry of Christ.   
And they lighted a torch of hope and wisdom's savanna,   
And desire within the Shadow of death's heist,    
Leading me swiftly through the abyss of darkness,   
Could not be extinguished for evermore.   
Listen to me, you who live in realities starkness,   
And think of realities only door:   
Immortality is not a gift of magical business ,   
Immortality is an achievement from living;   
And only those who strive to live life to the fullest    
Shall possess it's giving.

One caveat "Living life to the fullest", to me does not mean being a workoholic, or outdoor sports nut or travel nut. It simply means to me, be yourself.

Other than that it was a great poem.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: AllPurposeAtheist on September 19, 2014, 05:37:16 PM
There once was a girl from Leads who swallowed two packets of seeds....... I don't remember the rest..
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on September 20, 2014, 08:01:44 AM
Dictator, By Brian37(AKA Brian James Rational Poet)

 

Never elected

Needs no consent

Laws unchangeable

Crushes dissent,

 

A manifestation

Of human desires

Their dear leader

Fights all outsiders

 

The call to loyalty

Thus he demands

A scorched earth

Is where it all ends

 

He set it up

Forced your existence

All to obey

To do his bidding

 

Maladroitness

Albatross strangles

Invisible chains

All enslave

 

Bring the bolt cutters

Of question and querry

Bring all reason

Ridicule and blasphemy

 

He has no chance

Under scrutiny

Employ freethought

Set your mind free

.......END..........

Also posted at my home poetry thread last page of the thread link location listed in the following link.
http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771

 
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: aitm on September 20, 2014, 08:39:33 AM
after Lucretius I can't read atheist poetry. If the point can't be made in four lines succinctly and decisively no one other than atheists will bother with it and why preach to the choir?
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on September 20, 2014, 08:54:32 AM
after Lucretius I can't read atheist poetry. If the point can't be made in four lines succinctly and decisively no one other than atheists will bother with it and why preach to the choir?

Really? Um please do not decide for others what they should do and why they write it or how they write it. It is written for everyone to read and people have different motivations and styles and the readers always respond to different poems for different reasons.

Everyone here is an individual and every poem is individual. If you want to write your own stuff do so, other than that, food critics, movie critics and book critics are a dime a dozen and poetry is no different.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on September 20, 2014, 11:54:05 AM
ATM, you are going to love this one:


Quote


        An Essay on Criticism
        Alexander Pope

        'Tis hard to say, if greater Want of Skill
        Appear in Writing or in Judging ill,
        But, of the two, less dang'rous is th' Offence,
        To tire our Patience, than mis-lead our Sense:
        Some few in that, but Numbers err in this,
        Ten Censure wrong for one who Writes amiss;
        A Fool might once himself alone expose,
        Now One in Verse makes many more in Prose.

        'Tis with our Judgments as our Watches, none
        Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
        In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
        True Taste as seldom is the Critick's Share;
        Both must alike from Heav'n derive their Light,
        These born to Judge, as well as those to Write.
        Let such teach others who themselves excell,
        And censure freely who have written well.
        Authors are partial to their Wit, 'tis true,
        But are not Criticks to their Judgment too?

        Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
        Most have the Seeds of Judgment in their Mind;
        Nature affords at least a glimm'ring Light;
        The Lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right.
        But as the slightest Sketch, if justly trac'd,
        Is by ill Colouring but the more disgrac'd,
        So by false Learning is good Sense defac'd.
        Some are bewilder'd in the Maze of Schools,
        And some made Coxcombs Nature meant but Fools.
        In search of Wit these lose their common Sense,
        And then turn Criticks in their own Defence.
        Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write,
        Or with a Rival's or an Eunuch's spite.
        All Fools have still an Itching to deride,
        And fain wou'd be upon the Laughing Side;
        If Maevius Scribble in Apollo's spight,
        There are, who judge still worse than he can write

       
        When first young Maro in his boundless Mind
        A Work t' outlast Immortal Rome design'd,
        Perhaps he seem'd above the Critick's Law,
        And but from Nature's Fountains scorn'd to draw:
        But when t'examine ev'ry Part he came,
        Nature and Homer were, he found, the same:
        Convinc'd, amaz'd, he checks the bold Design,
        And Rules as strict his labour'd Work confine,
        As if the Stagyrite o'er looked each Line.
        Learn hence for Ancient Rules a just Esteem;
        To copy Nature is to copy Them.

        Some Beauties yet, no Precepts can declare,
        For there's a Happiness as well as Care.
        Musick resembles Poetry, in each
        Are nameless Graces which no Methods teach,
        And which a Master-Hand alone can reach.
        If, where the Rules not far enough extend,
        (Since Rules were made but to promote their End)
        Some Lucky LICENCE answers to the full
        Th' Intent propos'd, that Licence is a Rule.
        Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take,
        May boldly deviate from the common Track.
        Great Wits sometimes may gloriously offend,
        And rise to Faults true Criticks dare not mend;
        From vulgar Bounds with brave Disorder part,
        And snatch a Grace beyond the Reach of Art,
        Which, without passing thro' the Judgment, gains
        The Heart, and all its End at once attains.
        In Prospects, thus, some Objects please our Eyes,
        Which out of Nature's common Order rise,
        The shapeless Rock, or hanging Precipice.
        But tho' the Ancients thus their Rules invade,
        (As Kings dispense with Laws Themselves have made)
        Moderns, beware! Or if you must offend
        Against the Precept, ne'er transgress its End,
        Let it be seldom, and compell'd by Need,
        And have, at least, Their Precedent to plead.
        The Critick else proceeds without Remorse,
        Seizes your Fame, and puts his Laws in force.

        I know there are, to whose presumptuous Thoughts
        Those Freer Beauties, ev'n in Them, seem Faults:
        Some Figures monstrous and mis-shap'd appear,
        Consider'd singly, or beheld too near,
        Which, but proportion'd to their Light, or Place,
        Due Distance reconciles to Form and Grace.
        A prudent Chief not always must display
        His Pow'rs in equal Ranks, and fair Array,
        But with th' Occasion and the Place comply,
        Conceal his Force, nay seem sometimes to Fly.
        Those oft are Stratagems which Errors seem,
        Nor is it Homer Nods, but We that Dream.

        Still green with Bays each ancient Altar stands,
        Above the reach of Sacrilegious Hands,
        Secure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer Rage,
        Destructive War, and all-involving Age.
        See, from each Clime the Learn'd their Incense bring;
        Hear, in all Tongues consenting Paeans ring!
        In Praise so just, let ev'ry Voice be join'd,
        And fill the Gen'ral Chorus of Mankind!
        Hail Bards Triumphant! born in happier Days;
        Immortal Heirs of Universal Praise!
        Whose Honours with Increase of Ages grow,
        As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow!
        Nations unborn your mighty Names shall sound,
        And Worlds applaud that must not yet be found!
        Oh may some Spark of your Coelestial Fire
        The last, the meanest of your Sons inspire,
        (That on weak Wings, from far, pursues your Flights;
        Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes)
        To teach vain Wits a Science little known,
        T' admire Superior Sense, and doubt their own!

        Of all the Causes which conspire to blind
        Man's erring Judgment, and misguide the Mind,
        What the weak Head with strongest Byass rules,
        Is Pride, the never-failing Vice of Fools.
        Whatever Nature has in Worth deny'd,
        She gives in large Recruits of needful Pride;
        For as in Bodies, thus in Souls, we find
        What wants in Blood and Spirits, swell'd with Wind;
        Pride, where Wit fails, steps in to our Defence,
        And fills up all the mighty Void of Sense!
        If once right Reason drives that Cloud away,
        Truth breaks upon us with resistless Day;
        Trust not your self; but your Defects to know,
        Make use of ev'ry Friend--and ev'ry Foe.

        A little Learning is a dang'rous Thing;
        Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian Spring:
        There shallow Draughts intoxicate the Brain,
        And drinking largely sobers us again.
        Fir'd at first Sight with what the Muse imparts,
        In fearless Youth we tempt the Heights of Arts,
        While from the bounded Level of our Mind,
        Short Views we take, nor see the lengths behind,
        But more advanc'd, behold with strange Surprize
        New, distant Scenes of endless Science rise!
        So pleas'd at first, the towring Alps we try,
        Mount o'er the Vales, and seem to tread the Sky;
        Th' Eternal Snows appear already past,
        And the first Clouds and Mountains seem the last:
        But those attain'd, we tremble to survey
        The growing Labours of the lengthen'd Way,
        Th' increasing Prospect tires our wandering Eyes,
        Hills peep o'er Hills, and Alps on Alps arise!

        A perfect Judge will read each Work of Wit
        With the same Spirit that its Author writ,
        Survey the Whole, nor seek slight Faults to find,
        Where Nature moves, and Rapture warms the Mind;
        Nor lose, for that malignant dull Delight,
        The gen'rous Pleasure to be charm'd with Wit.
        But in such Lays as neither ebb, nor flow,
        Correctly cold, and regularly low,
        That shunning Faults, one quiet Tenour keep;
        We cannot blame indeed--but we may sleep.
        In Wit, as Nature, what affects our Hearts
        Is nor th' Exactness of peculiar Parts;
        'Tis not a Lip, or Eye, we Beauty call,
        But the joint Force and full Result of all.
        Thus when we view some well-proportion'd Dome,
        The World's just Wonder, and ev'n thine O Rome!)
        No single Parts unequally surprize;
        All comes united to th' admiring Eyes;
        No monstrous Height, or Breadth, or Length appear;
        The Whole at once is Bold, and Regular.

        Whoever thinks a faultless Piece to see,
        Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
        In ev'ry Work regard the Writer's End,
        Since none can compass more than they Intend;
        And if the Means be just, the Conduct true,
        Applause, in spite of trivial Faults, is due.
        As Men of Breeding, sometimes Men of Wit,
        T' avoid great Errors, must the less commit,
        Neglect the Rules each Verbal Critick lays,
        For not to know some Trifles, is a Praise.
        Most Criticks, fond of some subservient Art,
        Still make the Whole depend upon a Part,
        They talk of Principles, but Notions prize,
        And All to one lov'd Folly Sacrifice.

        Once on a time, La Mancha's Knight, they say,
        A certain Bard encountring on the Way,
        Discours'd in Terms as just, with Looks as Sage,
        As e'er cou'd Dennis, of the Grecian Stage;
        Concluding all were desp'rate Sots and Fools,
        Who durst depart from Aristotle's Rules.
        Our Author, happy in a Judge so nice,
        Produc'd his Play, and beg'd the Knight's Advice,
        Made him observe the Subject and the Plot,
        The Manners, Passions, Unities, what not?
        All which, exact to Rule were brought about,
        Were but a Combate in the Lists left out.
        What! Leave the Combate out? Exclaims the Knight;
        Yes, or we must renounce the Stagyrite.
        Not so by Heav'n (he answers in a Rage)
        Knights, Squires, and Steeds, must enter on the Stage.
        So vast a Throng the Stage can ne'er contain.
        Then build a New, or act it in a Plain.

        Thus Criticks, of less Judgment than Caprice,
        Curious, not Knowing, not exact, but nice,
        Form short Ideas; and offend in Arts
        (As most in Manners) by a Love to Parts.

        Some to Conceit alone their Taste confine,
        And glitt'ring Thoughts struck out at ev'ry Line;
        Pleas'd with a Work where nothing's just or fit;
        One glaring Chaos and wild Heap of Wit;
        Poets like Painters, thus, unskill'd to trace
        The naked Nature and the living Grace,
        With Gold and Jewels cover ev'ry Part,
        And hide with Ornaments their Want of Art.
        True Wit is Nature to Advantage drest,
        What oft was Thought, but ne'er so well Exprest,
        Something, whose Truth convinc'd at Sight we find,
        That gives us back the Image of our Mind:
        As Shades more sweetly recommend the Light,
        So modest Plainness sets off sprightly Wit:
        For Works may have more Wit than does 'em good,
        As Bodies perish through Excess of Blood.

        Others for Language all their Care express,
        And value Books, as Women Men, for Dress:
        Their Praise is still--The Stile is excellent:
        The Sense, they humbly take upon Content.
        Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound,
        Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.
        False Eloquence, like the Prismatic Glass,
        Its gawdy Colours spreads on ev'ry place;
        The Face of Nature was no more Survey,
        All glares alike, without Distinction gay:
        But true Expression, like th' unchanging Sun,
        Clears, and improves whate'er it shines upon,
        It gilds all Objects, but it alters none.
        Expression is the Dress of Thought, and still
        Appears more decent as more suitable;
        A vile Conceit in pompous Words exprest,
        Is like a Clown in regal Purple drest;
        For diff'rent Styles with diff'rent Subjects sort,
        As several Garbs with Country, Town, and Court.
        Some by Old Words to Fame have made Pretence;
        Ancients in Phrase, meer Moderns in their Sense!
        Such labour'd Nothings, in so strange a Style,
        Amaze th'unlearn'd, and make the Learned Smile.
        Unlucky, as Fungoso in the Play,
        These Sparks with aukward Vanity display
        What the Fine Gentleman wore Yesterday!
        And but so mimick ancient Wits at best,
        As Apes our Grandsires in their Doublets treat.
        In Words, as Fashions, the same Rule will hold;
        Alike Fantastick, if too New, or Old;
        Be not the first by whom the New are try'd,
        Nor yet the last to lay the Old aside.


        Some praise at Morning what they blame at Night;
        But always think the last Opinion right.
        A Muse by these is like a Mistress us'd,
        This hour she's idoliz'd, the next abus'd,
        While their weak Heads, like Towns unfortify'd,
        'Twixt Sense and Nonsense daily change their Side.
        Ask them the Cause; They're wiser still, they say;
        And still to Morrow's wiser than to Day.
        We think our Fathers Fools, so wise we grow;
        Our wiser Sons, no doubt, will think us so.
        Once School-Divines this zealous Isle o'erspread;
        Who knew most Sentences was deepest read;
        Faith, Gospel, All, seem'd made to be disputed,
        And none had Sense enough to be Confuted.
        Scotists and Thomists, now, in Peace remain,
        Amidst their kindred Cobwebs in Duck-Lane.
        If Faith it self has diff'rent Dresses worn,
        What wonder Modes in Wit shou'd take their Turn?
        Oft, leaving what is Natural and fit,
        The current Folly proves the ready Wit,
        And Authors think their Reputation safe,
        Which lives as long as Fools are pleas'd to Laugh.


        Unhappy Wit, like most mistaken Things,
        Attones not for that Envy which it brings.
        In Youth alone its empty Praise we boast,
        But soon the Short-liv'd Vanity is lost!
        Like some fair Flow'r the early Spring supplies,
        That gaily Blooms, but ev'n in blooming Dies.
        What is this Wit which must our Cares employ?
        The Owner's Wife, that other Men enjoy,
        Then most our Trouble still when most admir'd,
        And still the more we give, the more requir'd;
        Whose Fame with Pains we guard, but lose with Ease,
        Sure some to vex, but never all to please;
        'Tis what the Vicious fear, the Virtuous shun;
        By Fools 'tis hated, and by Knaves undone!

        If Wit so much from Ign'rance undergo,
        Ah let not Learning too commence its Foe!
        Of old, those met Rewards who cou'd excel,
        And such were Prais'd who but endeavour'd well:
        Tho' Triumphs were to Gen'rals only due,
        Crowns were reserv'd to grace the Soldiers too.
        Now, they who reached Parnassus' lofty Crown,
        Employ their Pains to spurn some others down;
        And while Self-Love each jealous Writer rules,
        Contending Wits becomes the Sport of Fools:
        But still the Worst with most Regret commend,
        For each Ill Author is as bad a Friend.
        To what base Ends, and by what abject Ways,
        Are Mortals urg'd thro' Sacred Lust of praise!
        Ah ne'er so dire a Thirst of Glory boast,
        Nor in the Critick let the Man be lost!
        Good-Nature and Good-Sense must ever join;
        To err is Humane; to Forgive, Divine.


       
This is edited and cut from a much larger one.  :eek: :lol:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on September 20, 2014, 12:00:47 PM
There once was a girl from Leads who swallowed two packets of seeds....... I don't remember the rest..
There once was a MAN from Nantucket
Whose d*ck was so long, he could suck it.
He said with a grin
As he rubbed on his chin
"If my ear were a c**t, I could f**k it.  :tongue:  :lol:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: PickelledEggs on September 20, 2014, 12:40:03 PM
We already have a poetry thread.

*merge*
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on September 21, 2014, 08:39:01 AM
The Dark Room, By Brian37(AKA Brian James Rational Poet)

 

In your infancy

Your Iris fooled you

Kailedescope apiture

Gaps of the fool

 

Incert your film

Of ignorance

Only to develope

Utter nonsense

 

The broken camera

Was never there

The exposed film

Still unaware

 

The red light

Outside the door

Warns others

Not to enter

 

Open that door

There is nothing there

Open that door

Nothing to fear

 

Tis the con man

That dwells within

Holding no tools

Of real observation

 

It is the dark room

Empty and void

No real pictures

Ever emerge

........end......

Aso available in this thread link..........
http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 27, 2014, 07:02:09 AM
ATM, you are going to love this one:

An Essay on Criticism
Alexander Pope...

...This is edited and cut from a much larger one.  :eek: :lol:

I've never read the whole thing, but it took him three years to write it.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on October 13, 2014, 05:30:23 AM
 A Pennie For Your Thoughts, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB & Twitter)

 

The Union Jack

Never holds back

A sailor's language

She does not lack

 

Her body ravaged

In the same way

By crimes of men

Has had cancer too

 

Yet even with that

She does not want

Anyone at all

To feel sorry for her

 

She'll fight back

With Hitchens fervor

Razor sharp bluntness

She'll run you over

 

Not out of hate

Not out of anger

But freedom from fear

Of what others think of her

 

And does so too

With no magic

No divine being

To explain anything

 

The Union Jack

I'll hang out with

Much more fun

Than snooty rich men

 

She cares not for

Those who judge

No fear in her

Holds back no words

 

Prefers to party

In jeans and T-shirt

Would be out of place

As a debutant

 

No no

She's not lawless

Just not shallow

Pretending to be flawless

 

The Union Jack

Accepts everything

Does not gloss it over

Will tell you what she thinks
(end)

This is a poem about a friend I met last year on FB.  She's from the UK and not afraid of telling you exactly what she thinks.

Also available on the last page of my poetry thread listed at Brian Sapient's Rational Responders....
http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on October 13, 2014, 01:14:54 PM
No Con CERNS, By Brian37(AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

 

Do not ask me

To ponder the past

To give superstition

Equal weight

 

There is a collision

Brought on by question

Destroying absurd

Antiquated pasts

 

The ship's bosun

Is a petty past

The officer of

Merchants of myth

 

The real warrent

Is large in pyhysics

Giving Higgs Boson

It's now standard name

 

Mesons and pions

And keons long before

Discovered in the 40s and 50s

Studying cosmic rays

 

The study

Of kenetic energy

A game of chicken

Where they don't swereve

 

The old clip

Of the trains on same track

Aimed at each other

Avoid they cannot

 

The scientist's boon

Is what it is

To give us insight

On what really is.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on October 13, 2014, 02:45:10 PM
Old Main -

To a sky of silver and sapphire the vanilla-walled Chateau reaches; Burgundy capped, touching skies now crystal clear.

From the trees it rises, 300 steps my path above. Yet it beacons not for wealth or opulence, a manor of the sciences it stands. It's spire capped not with the cross but an old metal scale; a cathedral of knowledge.

For a hundred years it's stood vigil, an iconic figure of the estate. Dwarfed in size by it's young, it stands tall and proud, confident and defiant of the modern age it lives.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Deidre32 on October 19, 2014, 04:01:47 PM
Do you guyz like haikus at all? If so, I'll post some of mine. <3
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on October 19, 2014, 04:53:37 PM
Do you guyz like haikus at all? If so, I'll post some of mine. <3

Yes, I do.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on October 20, 2014, 04:17:57 AM
Do you guyz like haikus at all? If so, I'll post some of mine. <3

Sure!
To do them well is an art I've never mastered. But I enjoy reading them a lot.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Atheon on October 20, 2014, 01:33:04 PM
Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
God isn't real,
Fundies eat poo.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on October 25, 2014, 07:26:31 AM
We already have a poetry thread.

*merge*
I think you might be thinking of this thread, It was originally titled, "Two Poems in One Evening."
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: PickelledEggs on October 25, 2014, 08:56:12 AM
I think you might be thinking of this thread, It was originally titled, "Two Poems in One Evening."
No someone made another poetry thread. I already merged it though.

Sent from your mom

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Deidre32 on October 28, 2014, 08:16:25 PM
I wrote this for a friend whose boyfriend died in a car accident, two years ago. She was wrestling with her faith at the time... and I tried to observe through her eyes, her pain.

 

This Dance

 

Falling in the dark
Stumbling
Unable to catch my balance

Swaying to the distant melodies
We drip with anticipation
Hungry, but unfed

This wild ride
That winds around
Up and down
Colorful like a carnival

My head spins
Promises in the wind
That never come true

Your mouth meets mine
Frozen, I do nothing
This dance
This romance
Tell me it will never end
Tell me I’m not dreaming

Then, my world explodes
You are gone
Only fragments of you exist in my head
This dance
This romance
Vanishes…
Without a trace
Were you here at all?

He is in a better place
Heaven awaits
Say a prayer
Take care
And, The One will be sure to hear your despair

This ache, this suffering
It would be better to have never met you
Never loved you
This dance
This romance
Sifting through my hands, like a summer rain

Ah, but the heart never lets go
It winds around and holds tight
To even the mundane of all we shared
It won’t let me forget

This dance
This romance
This life
This pain
This suffering
This void
This… breakable heart o’mine

Tell God…I miss you.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Sinead Mc Namara on November 20, 2014, 06:14:13 PM
Mine from when I was young Ahh nostalgia

I LIVE FOR THE DAY
FOR THE GLORIOUS LIGHT THAT ILLUMINATES THE SOUL AND CREATES DREAMS
FOR THE STORY THAT STILL REMAINS TO BE TOLD
FOR THE NIGHT THAT IS DARK AND MYSTERIOUS
FOR THE BOOK OF FICTION THAT OPENS UP TO BARE REALITY
AND FOR THE PROMISE OF ANOTHER TIME
ANOTHER TALE AND ANOTHER INVENTION
 
I LIVE FOR THE TRUTH
FOR THE IMPOVERISHED MINDS BEGGING RELEASE
FOR THE WASHED UP BOTTLE ON THE SIDE OF THE SHORE
FOR THE TIME BOMB THAT TICKS RESOLUTELY INSIDE THE DRAGONS MIND
FOR THOSE STRUCK DUMB BY THE FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN
AND FOR THE LOVE AND COURAGE FORSAKED BY MOST
ANOTHER DAWN AND ANOTHER BATTLE

I wrote it years ago.  It took me about 50 seconds but I like it somehow
Sorry about the capslocks but I copied it from my facebook and was too lazy to downsize
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: stromboli on November 20, 2014, 06:46:36 PM
Don't blame it all on gravity
when the only direction is down
Your life in broken pieces
there laying on the ground.

And every friend you ever had
has quietly slipped away
Nothing to be gained my friend
however hard you pray.

You can wallow in your sadness
and crawl down deep inside
Or shout your name to the world at large
and ride the Ghostwind, ride.

The Ghostwind doesn't judge you
or care from whence you came
But if you listen in the stillness
It'll softly call your name.

And like that distant eagle
on a wide and empty sky
You can seek for new horizons
and ride the Ghostwind, ride.

Fortune decrees your fate, they say
you may not have a choice
You can shake your fists in the face of death
and curse till you have no voice.

Whenever you regret your life
is when you start to die
So shrug off all your failures
and look to the distant sky.

Seek beneath the rubble
to find where your courage lies
Strap life to your belt like a knife-
and ride the Ghostwind, ride.

Stephen Young
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: renasimplified on November 21, 2014, 09:06:59 PM
Song of My Heart, I wrote this today. Mostly because I am very lonely and afraid.


Song of my heart,
broken wing,
let us part,
falling down,
fields flowing,
winds blowing,
Song of my heart,
broken wing,
A falling start,
no sound,
earth shaking,
walls crumbling,
Song of my heart,
Broken.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: stromboli on November 22, 2014, 12:26:51 AM
Very nice, Rena. A little humor maybe....

Read my lips- Apocalypse!

we're gonna get Raptured into the sky
Don't get rowdy or you won't fly

(you realize there's half a chance
you might get caught in your underpants)

For atheists that has appeal
them suddenly free automobiles!

And don't be sinful, oh my dears!
You'll be stuck here for 7 years!

Who's the Beast? Well, we're not sure
but watch your back and bar the door

Current thinking, fundie trauma
They all swear it must be Obama

You or me? Mmm nope
(although they say it could be the Pope)

Jesus is coming with his angel chorus
riding a horse like ol' Chuck Norris

All us sinners don't have a chance
so for 7 years let's sing and dance!

When Jesus said he was coming soon
Everybody thought- "this afternoon!"

Unfortunately, it appears
he decided to wait 2,000 years

If you're worried (I'm really not)
because us atheists don't worry a lot.

Don't be frettin' and don't be a grousin'
'cause it might take another thousand.

And don't be afraid of what you heard-
Apocalypse is just a word!

Stephen Young
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on November 22, 2014, 06:16:27 AM
This is my darkest poem yet. I wrote it last weekend. It was inspired by a news story I heard some time ago.

“Fingers”
http://www.solomonzorn.com/fingers.html
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on November 22, 2014, 08:40:09 AM
Nice Zorn.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on November 22, 2014, 12:13:52 PM
The Eyes, Voice, And Black Heart Of An Angel

It is the years when from the wows
The Queen of Rock scream is heard;

It is the day---when lover's nows
Seem sweet in every erotic word;

And gentle caresses and bodies near,
Make music to the lovers ear.

Each rose the dews have aerially wet,
And in the heavens with the moon we met,

And on the wave is deeper crimson and blue,
And on the skin a reddish hue,

And in the sky that is mostly obscure
So softly dark hair, and dark eyes pure,

That stalking the never more of day,
As twilight last glowing beneath the moon gone away.

Oh how I miss my Jay Jay my love and soul mate.
Just because I was stupid and didn't show for a date.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: stromboli on November 22, 2014, 01:29:27 PM
Damn, Sol, that's deep. Seeing a whole different person lately. You aren't just a cranky old man after all.. :biggrin:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on November 22, 2014, 03:30:04 PM
Thanks! It means a lot coming from you. I didn't know I came across cranky, sorry about that, I only get like that with ignorant people, then I'm more than cranky. Did I ask for your fucking opinion? DID I? Just kidding, that was a response from the person I wrote the poem about, when I told her three years ago I loved her. I didn't know at the time that she kind of did me too. I still do, considering I'm married to the love of my life, it's ridiculous, but love is a form of insanity and being too brave in my opinion. It's idealizing someone that may not be one that should be , like people loving God.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on November 22, 2014, 07:16:52 PM
Friendship and lover

Gust! Gust! the winter wind,
You aren't so very kind.
As a bigots ingratitude;
Your fang is not so clean
Because you are not seen,
Although your puff be rude.

You blow! and blow! at the green holly:
Most friendship is counterfeit, most lovers mere folly:
Then, you blast!  destroying the holly!
This existence is most jolly.
 

Frigid, frigid,  the bitter sky,
You shall not bite so high.
As advantage forgot:
Though from you the waters part,
Your sting is not so smart.
As friends recollect not.

You blow! yodel blow! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is counterfeit, most lovers mere folly:
Then, you blow the holly!
This existence is most jolly.
 
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: PickelledEggs on November 22, 2014, 08:46:04 PM
Pizza.
You are my love.
You fill me with joy and satisfaction.
How are you not in my stomach today?
I yearn for you.
One day I will see you again.

Sent from your mom

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on November 22, 2014, 09:45:55 PM
 :biggrin: I know what you mean, I so wanted a pizza for supper tonight.   
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on November 23, 2014, 01:56:26 AM
Not mine, but one that feels relevant to my life so far.

"The Lovesong Of J. Alfred Prufrock"

Sorry but you are not allowed to view spoiler contents.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: PickelledEggs on November 23, 2014, 07:43:38 PM
I forgot that the "Sent from your mom" thing happens when I send things from my phone... lol Whatever it works haha
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mequa on November 26, 2014, 02:11:56 AM
Peace and Joy

Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Colours and comfort and peace and joy.
Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Love and happiness and bliss and peace.

I glow within and I reach it,
That place of stillness, peace and calm.
Stress melts away, light years away,
And light shines out and colours and scents.

Vivid transformation,
Like a butterfly from a cocoon.
All seems vivid and glowing and peaceful,
Life shines forth in calm repose.

Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Light shines within and darkness does leave me.
I sit in joy, warm peace and glow,
Reach out in contentment, stretch out a hand.

So pleasant to simply be,
Sit at rest, stretch, breathe and wonder.


- Mequa
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on November 26, 2014, 12:25:24 PM
Maybe we are in a cocoon of illusion, and will become an eternal being, free from suffering and pain. Nice poem!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on November 27, 2014, 07:22:17 PM
Peace and Joy

Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Colours and comfort and peace and joy.
Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Love and happiness and bliss and peace.

I glow within and I reach it,
That place of stillness, peace and calm.
Stress melts away, light years away,
And light shines out and colours and scents.

Vivid transformation,
Like a butterfly from a cocoon.
All seems vivid and glowing and peaceful,
Life shines forth in calm repose.

Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Light shines within and darkness does leave me.
I sit in joy, warm peace and glow,
Reach out in contentment, stretch out a hand.

So pleasant to simply be,
Sit at rest, stretch, breathe and wonder.


- Mequa

I grok you, man.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on November 29, 2014, 01:43:39 PM
An Old Man's Anguish And Self Pity


My mental life is a painful chart, drawn by a black rabbit
Under a glowing moon while she perceived it.

Instrument with brass strings, cheeks like jugs.
And eyes bright as the moon, under illicit drugs.
Here there be love lost, buried in the body slim.

Here is the dark cave eyeless fish swim
About their perfect idol so cold.
He wipes away his eyes both salty and old.
A place like the dark side of the moon.

A deserted counntry harsh too soon.
A country savage as a lunatics fury blind.
A land of black witches out of their mind.

Your mental life is as dark as night.
A crimson branch with its clover white.
A lavender as sweet as your words.

A place where love and honor sing like birds,
Throwing golden coins upon a tragic cloth,
A heavy fate and scorn like a doomed moth,
Strumbing and beats your lovely things.

You are the soul, enchanting me with your glorious wings.
The lonely voice whos scream awakens the dead,
To shake the pride of angels, I have said.


Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on November 30, 2014, 07:15:23 AM
Beauty beyond lies


The beauty of the natural world is not bound
to the restrictions of the fantasy of men.

More beyond, rather than within is found
regarding a liar’s or coward’s den.

There is more truth than words can speak
or language can even start to comprehend.

Answers give birth to questions as we seek
the picture in an exploration that can’t end.

But we’ll pass the lit torch none the less;
filled with pride of the works of mankind.

‘Cause though they amount to nothingness,
it’s marvelous what in this world one can find.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on December 04, 2014, 08:00:37 AM
Eleven, By Brian37 (aka Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

 

No video of me

When we smashed cars

No video of those

When I witnessed shoplifting

 

No video of

The fights on my block

In the sports bars

Or frat house parties

 

No video of

My own parties

Underage drinking

And smoking pot

 

No video in my young 20s

In the parking lot

Acquaintances

Busted for drinking in public

 

No video

When  pulled over

I was a passenger in a car

Of a guy in no shape

 

Staten Island

To Ohio

12 year olds

Or in  a Walmart

 

Video or not

What is wrong

There are separate rules

Within our deep denial

 

A disturbed man

Sitting in a chair

Waves his gun

All around

 

Another man

Shoots at a lawyer

In front of a court house

For all to see

 

In both cases

They stay alive

Even with a gun

While others unarmed

 

Prosecutors

Indict a ham sandwich

Cozy with cops

Video or not

 

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe

I can't breathe



Post #517 "Eleven" about Eric Garner, also posted here. http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=10
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on December 09, 2014, 07:43:15 AM
Strip Mining, (aka Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @brianrrs37 on Twitter)

 
You are not a shovel

You are not a wrench

You are not there

To simply make them rich

 
It is all a ploy

Make you sweat

Dangle the carrot

You will never get

 
Then they throw tantrums

Crying robbery

Merely because you want

Human dignity

 

Tell me how much

You are suffering

In your downtown penthouse

While the pay gap keeps exploding

 

Masturbating over

Third world cheap labor

Wanting to replicate it here

Throwing crumbs of cheap oil

 

In a hunderd years

Your extraction market

Will cost our planet more

And hurt our species more

 

Quit your strip mining

Quit claiming morality

Merely because of your tax bracket

Making excuses for your greed.

 

We are not your tools

Merely for you to use

We are not shovels

We are not your dirt

 

Rise up rise up

Workers arround the world

It is no longer about boarders

It is about our global market

 

We are being pitted

Against each other

By those with the money

Those with the power

 

Trickel up is golbal

You and I are  shovels

Sold the idea

To be their slave labor

 

Rise up rise up

Put money it it's place

Not to rid the private sector

Just ot get it to behave

 

No more strip mining

Humans are not mere numbers

We are not here for you

To simply make you rich.

 

 

We are not your tools

Born to make you rich

We are human beings

Who merely want to live
(end)

Also posted at my home poetry thread post #519 here. http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=10
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on December 13, 2014, 02:29:19 PM
Check out my new poem "Shooting Star" post #520 hosted by Rational Responders here.http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=10

Shooting Star, By Brian37 (aka Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37"RationalPoet" on Twitter"

 

How many here

Reading this

Can name

Every President

 

How many here

Reading this

Can name

Every Pharaoh

 

How many here

Reading this

Can name every

Prime minister of China

 

How many here

Reading this

Can name

Every Caesar

 

How many here

Reading this

Can name all prior

Leaders of the world

 

How many here

Can name

All the pop icons

Prior to their birth

 

How many here

Can name

The leaders

Of the Mayans

 

Fame is local

Fortune is finite

Powers shift

And life goes on

 

Trump to Tut

Isis to Jesus

Wealth to poverty

We are still finite.

 

Sagan

As right as he was

Knows that all this

Is Shakespeare's furry

 
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on December 17, 2014, 02:54:45 PM
INRI, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

 

Introspection

Nowhere to be found

Rational thought

Is forbidden

 

In to do so

Negates  the norm

Reason the victim

Inquisition

 

If to ban query

Never to question

Relegate oneself

In submission

 

In thus they claim

Never to falter

Rebel hero

In written word

 

In pior mytholgy

Never consider

Reject the truth

It is nothing new

 

It was Socrates

Not afraid

Reveled  in challenge

In that of authority

 

In history proir

Not unique

Refused to submit

If those above him

 

If those above him

Never considered

Reason in question

In introspection

 

It's not a trope

New to Jesus

Rebels existed

In prior history.
(end)

Also posted at my home thread at Rational Responders post #521 hosted here http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771#comment-414817
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Green Bottle on December 21, 2014, 04:59:07 PM
Xmas Haiku....

A merry christmas
You'll eat too much and get drunk
And a  hangover 

World's shortest Xmas poem..

Och Aye
Mince Pie.       :dance:                                                         
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on January 28, 2015, 08:06:33 AM
Well I just bought a computer, and I'm finally online at home! I plan on getting Dragon Naturally Speaking to use for dictating when I get inspired.

Here's my latest poem. It's a follow-up to the last one.

"Fingers 2: Tell the Good News"
http://www.solomonzorn.com/fingers-2.html
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on January 28, 2015, 12:22:05 PM
A great poem. I especially liked The last few lines.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on January 28, 2015, 02:03:00 PM
I don't know if it's a great poem - I did use both girl and child as two syllable words, after all (because that's the way they sound to my ear), when technically they are both one syllable words. But it does have a more difficult meter than I usually use. It was a much longer poem, but I deleted four stanzas for being weak. I spent probably three weeks on it, all told.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on February 01, 2015, 09:56:59 AM
Hayhaoya Ishishdo, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter)

Kenji Kenji

What have they done

Kenji Kenji

They've taken your son

 
Mother Ishishido

Is everyone

Crying from

The rising sun

 
He carried no weapon

He will rise above

No matter how many

They needlessly murder

 
Kenji Kenji

No parent wants

To survive the death

Of their children

 
Ichiban

To the world you are

Kenji Kenji

The real hero

 
Kenji Kenji

Junko knows

The pain of the loss

Hahaoya Ishido

(end)

 
"Hahaoya" means "Mother". Ishido is Junko Ishido the mother of the murdered reporter Kenji Goto.

Also posted at my home thread listed in my signature post #553 hosted by Rational Responders.http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=11
 
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: dtq123 on February 01, 2015, 11:54:13 AM
I've kept this poem for a while since I didn't like it, but ironically it's the only one I found worth sharing. Hope you enjoy it!

"Seven"

Your body grows from life,
How can you not love yourself?
Born from the best kind

Green eyes they wander.
Searching to be the best ones,
Wandering they go.

Sans rest you wither,
Repose is what you must seek,
Even at alert times.

The man and woman,
Adam and Even copulate.
Harlots seem quite close.

Food and Drink welcome,
How else one enjoy surplus?
Ichors and Nectars

Mammon oh wise one.
Aid me plan many days time.
Everlasting toys.

Wrath the core of us.
As spark to revolution,
For better or for worse.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Jmpty on February 04, 2015, 02:12:00 PM
Why do you even bother?
Why do you waste your time and mine with rhymes imagining yourself sublime while using and abusing words that have been spewed and spit a thousand million times
before you were even born.

What have you to say
exactly?
What have you that none gone before has already discarded?
as worthless

Is it worthwhile to compile a vile and tepid profile
of mediocrity?
or more so to remain silent and aloof appearing the fool
or the faceless everyman.

All the while
knowing what is
and what is not
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 04, 2015, 03:00:39 PM
Quote
Why do you even bother?
Why do you waste your time and mine with rhymes imagining yourself sublime while using and abusing words that have been spewed and spit a thousand million times
before you were even born.

What have you to say
exactly?
What have you that none gone before has already discarded?
as worthless

Is it worthwhile to compile a vile and tepid profile
of mediocrity?
or more so to remain silent and aloof appearing the fool
or the faceless everyman.

All the while
knowing what is
and what is not
Mmmm...irony...I wonder if it's intentional...
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Jmpty on February 05, 2015, 12:27:37 PM
Mmmm...irony...I wonder if it's intentional...
Both poet and poem seem sadly one dimensional
with a meter that's predictable, and a measure so conventional
though the effort is commendable, the result is

unexceptional.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 05, 2015, 05:55:47 PM
(https://d262ilb51hltx0.cloudfront.net/max/800/1*GPhnXZ98NJ0Cehb3crURig.jpeg)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Jmpty on February 05, 2015, 09:31:34 PM
I critiqued my own poem. With your help, of course.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 05, 2015, 09:57:21 PM
I'm inquiring about your first poem, were you aiming it at someone, or "talking to yourself," so to speak. It's a very harsh review.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Jmpty on February 05, 2015, 10:12:47 PM
I don't critique other people's poetry. I only talk about myself. I've been at it a long time.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 05, 2015, 10:15:31 PM
Oh. Cool. I thought we were going to have a rumble.

All you poets need to read this:
http://writing2.richmond.edu/writing/wweb/creativewriting/Poetry/mistakes.html
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: dtq123 on February 05, 2015, 10:26:10 PM
Oh. Cool. I thought we were going to have a rumble.

All you poets need to read this:
http://writing2.richmond.edu/writing/wweb/creativewriting/Poetry/mistakes.html
How do you think of mine? (I have my opinions, but I want to hear someone else's)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 06, 2015, 07:26:26 AM
"Seven"

Your body grows from life,
How can you not love yourself?
Born from the best kind

Green eyes they wander.
Searching to be the best ones,
Wandering they go.

Sans rest you wither,
Repose is what you must seek,
Even at alert times.

The man and woman,
Adam and Even copulate.
Harlots seem quite close.

Food and Drink welcome,
How else one enjoy surplus?
Ichors and Nectars

Mammon oh wise one.
Aid me plan many days time.
Everlasting toys.

Wrath the core of us.
As spark to revolution,
For better or for worse.
I found the last stanza interesting, but the rest seemed too personal to follow exactly what you were getting at. Maybe a little vague.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: dtq123 on February 06, 2015, 05:51:00 PM
I found the last stanza interesting, but the rest seemed too personal to follow exactly what you were getting at. Maybe a little vague.

Are you content with your understanding or would you like me to try and explain this.

I made this in one sitting half-asleep, so I would expect it to be bad.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 06, 2015, 07:17:10 PM
Quote
I made this in one sitting...

That's where the problem lies: it's not finished. It's just a start at something that could, perhaps, be a good poem, if you make it cohesive. It seems to me like a lot of disconnected thoughts.

As for explaining the meaning of the poem, I don't think it makes the poem any better to do so. Rewrite it and see if you can get the meaning across better. At least that's my suggestion.

And read the post I linked to about beginners mistakes. I don't think you'll find it hard to be a self critic.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 06, 2015, 07:31:35 PM
OH WAIT! I SEE! GOOD POEM!  :redface:

I'm not Catholic, so I didn't catch on to the meaning of seven. I have a habit of making poems of seven stanzas, and It didn't seem significant.

Still though, read the article I linked to. It's one of several I've read that I've found insightful.

Good poem though, seriously!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: dtq123 on February 06, 2015, 08:15:35 PM
OH WAIT! I SEE! GOOD POEM!  :redface:

I'm not Catholic, so I didn't catch on to the meaning of seven. I have a habit of making poems of seven stanzas, and It didn't seem significant.

Still though, read the article I linked to. It's one of several I've read that I've found insightful.

Good poem though, seriously!

Thanks, I'll look into it.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: stromboli on February 06, 2015, 10:56:29 PM
I tried writing an epic poem once but couldn't find anything that rhymed with epic.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 07, 2015, 07:52:53 AM
Here you go, Strom: http://www.rhymer.com/RhymingDictionary/epic.html

Nothings holding you back now! :biggrin:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 07, 2015, 08:17:58 AM
Here's a forum post that might be helpful as well.

Five beginners mistakes:
http://www.pigpenpoetry.com/thread-15730.html
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 09, 2015, 03:15:37 PM
Anybody still writing poetry besides Brian and me? I think it was Deirdre that was going to share some Haikus with us. I wrote a poem last month that I linked to elsewhere on the forum. Here it is:

"The Anti-Miracle"
http://www.solomonzorn.com/the-anti-miracle.html
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on March 09, 2015, 03:46:43 PM
Starting a job has tremendously cut down my inspiration to write. :/ shame really, not that my works are any good but they sure are theraputic to me.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 09, 2015, 03:55:20 PM
I enjoy your writing, Mr. O. Glad you found a job though.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on March 09, 2015, 04:10:43 PM
Ditto!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on March 09, 2015, 05:05:20 PM
Valentines Day Breaks My Heart

You were as a spirit of flesh in my arms JJ my love,
You laid your head just below my chin on my chest,
like a black dove that and flew too far and needed rest, 
Your whole body pressed up to mine with delightful charms.

My whole life's painful longing could not win;
With still the whisper of your attraction in me,
You made musical-tones of all my lifelong desires,
With honest and true humanity like a Saint.

I wished that we had started eternally
And secure forever that sweet rapture;
Blinded by infatuation beyond gender,
And soul mates for ever, and ever, and ever----

And as it is history, my thoughts are now for you
As every star is hidden by the sun,
And so the sun itself will perished too,
And with it, every dream of mine, but one---you.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on March 10, 2015, 01:12:11 AM
Thank you whomever liked it. I've been really depressed to day from thoughts of the past that I can't let go of because it makes me feel like death if I do. Solitary
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Atheon on March 10, 2015, 01:39:04 AM
I don't even need a smidgen
Of that thing they call religion.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 10, 2015, 06:52:36 AM
Valentines Day Breaks My Heart

You were as a spirit of flesh in my arms JJ my love,
You laid your head just below my chin on my chest,
like a black dove that and flew too far and needed rest, 
Your whole body pressed up to mine with delightful charms.

My whole life's painful longing could not win;
With still the whisper of your attraction in me,
You made musical-tones of all my lifelong desires,
With honest and true humanity like a Saint.

I wished that we had started eternally
And secure forever that sweet rapture;
Blinded by infatuation beyond gender,
And soul mates for ever, and ever, and ever----

And as it is history, my thoughts are now for you
As every star is hidden by the sun,
And so the sun itself will perished too,
And with it, every dream of mine, but one---you.

I'm of the opinion that pining is good for the soul, as long as you don't let it make you miserable. I think about my soulmate daily, though I haven't seen her in years. I'm grateful for the years we had, but I long for more time in her presence. Consider this: proximity is relative. As long as someone is still alive, they can be said to be "with us," in an expanded sense of proximity. This idea comforts me.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on March 10, 2015, 12:35:32 PM
http://youtu.be/NetlfJlzm_c
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Draconic Aiur on March 11, 2015, 02:15:57 AM
Hickory Dickory Dock
My dick is as tall as a clock
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 11, 2015, 05:22:55 AM
I'm posting this one again, as it ended up at the bottom of the previous page, and I think you guys will like it. I worked on it for several weeks, and finished it last month:

"The Anti-Miracle"
http://www.solomonzorn.com/the-anti-miracle.html
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 19, 2015, 10:12:26 PM
A friend just turned me on to this video. It's the poetry of William S. Burroughs read by the author, and set to music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESXW7_LUlmc
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on March 19, 2015, 11:11:53 PM
I've really been struggling with the concept of "simplicity" and it's relationship with beauty (or "artsy-ness") lately. I want to write about it, but just haven't had any good ideas for it :\.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 19, 2015, 11:24:07 PM
I've really been struggling with the concept of "simplicity" and it's relationship with beauty (or "artsy-ness") lately. I want to write about it, but just haven't had any good ideas for it :\.
Yeah, we haven't heard from you on this thread in awhile.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on March 19, 2015, 11:30:38 PM
Yeah, we haven't heard from you on this thread in awhile.

I felt too many of mine were too... personal emotional driven... rather than something that should be shared and had an actual message :\.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: dtq123 on March 20, 2015, 06:48:36 PM
I felt too many of mine were too... personal emotional driven... rather than something that should be shared and had an actual message :\.
Mine are too ._.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on April 03, 2015, 08:00:00 AM
The Fake And The Furious,  (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter) also  post #641 at http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=12 my home thread.

The Fake And The Furious, By Brian37

Hagee and Robertson

Rush and Coulter

Even DeePak

Full of bluster

 

Hinn on a stage

No real doctor

Fleecing the gullible

Furious with anger

 

Warren's Purpose

Countered by Dan

The fake ringmasters

Exposed by skeptics

 

The clowns get angry

When they are challenged

They don't like it

When you expose them

 

Their muscle cars

Impractical

Fueld by magic

Drifting off cliffs

 

Fast and furious

A race to doomsday

They'd rather commit sucide

If they don't get their way

 

Their diesil driven

Fantasy book

Has  a vin number

With a death wish

 

Their rumbels and roars

And pealing tires

They crash and burn

Over selfish desires

 

They're on the run

Futile speed

A highway to nowhere

They know we see

 

The expansion of

The universe

Is the real

Fast and furious
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on April 03, 2015, 11:56:55 AM
Love is Pain


I touch my lips upon your forehead
And, in leaving from you looking ahead,
this confession let me declare--

You are not in error, who's love I scream
That our years have been but a dream;
Yet if desire has flown away
In a night club, or in a sunny day,
In a band, or in a bed,
Is it therefore hell instead?

All that we experience as a team
Is but a vision inside a dream.

I sit withen the roar
Of a surf-harassed shore,
And I grasp within my hand
grandular bits of the golden sand--

How they flew! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I cry in pain--while I cry in pain!

Oh crap! can I not hold with a tighter resist,
Them with a tighter fist?

Oh hell! can I not save
One from the cold harsh wave?
Is all that we see or experience as a team
But a vision within a dream?
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on April 14, 2015, 06:48:55 AM
Fighting Fossils

I shan't please self-imposed apostles
who beckon me with their chime;
Herders who waste lives fighting fossils,
worn out by the sands of time.
Unaware they are that an empty shell
bereft of flesh, blood and even bone
can not speak but certainly does tell
more than commandments in stone.
Behind the frames of those who went before
there lie ideas which can never pass away;
Even when heroes fade and are no more
their truths and legacies forever stay.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: stromboli on April 14, 2015, 11:21:27 AM
Which is exactly why in this incantation
I call my verses rhyme
In another life, with depth and feeling
I might have sent emotions reeling
but I just don't have the time.

To Rime like an ancient mariner
about a troublesome bird of woe
Moody words that haunt and linger
About lives both full and meager
but instead just rhyme and go

Once I sought to be a poet true
but life is unfair and ruthless
along the way I realized
that words, like leaden skies
can be epic, but also truthless

so emote and write your epic words
and cast your thoughts upon the water
There's nothing wrong with words that rhyme
it gets you through your day, sometimes
if it don't- well hell, it ought'er   :biggrin:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Unbeliever on April 14, 2015, 05:18:09 PM
Poems and equations are similar, in that I can appreciate either, but can generate neither.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on April 14, 2015, 05:21:04 PM
Sure you can, just put down in words what you feel.

  SAND & STONE

          JJ AND I WERE WALKING
          THROUGH THE DESERT .
          DURING SOME POINT OF THE
          JOURNEY, WE HAD AN
          ARGUMENT; AND SHE
          SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE.

         WHEN I GOT SLAPPED I
          WAS HURT, BUT WITHOUT
          SAYING ANYTHING, I
          WROTE IN THE SAND ,

          TODAY MY BEST FRIEND
          SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE AND HURT ME.

          WE KEPT ON WALKING,
          UNTIL WE FOUND A NICE PLACE TO REST
          WHERE WE DECIDED
          TO GO SKINNY DIPPING IN BEAVER CREEK.

          I GOT STUCK IN THE WET SAND ALONG THE BANK
          AND I THOUGHT I WAS DROWNING,
          BUT THEN JJ SAVED ME.

       AFTER I RECOVERED FROM
          THE NEAR DROWNING,
          I SCRATCHED
          ON A STONE:

          TODAY MY BEST FRIEND JJ
          SAVED MY LIFE!

          JJ WHO HAD SLAPPED
          AND SAVED ME
          ASKED ME, "AFTER I HURT YOU,
          YOU WROTE IN THE SAND AND NOW,
          YOU WRITE ON A STONE, WHY?'"

          I REPLIED,
      'WHEN SOMEONE HURTS ME
          I SHOULD WRITE IT DOWN
          IN SAND, WHERE THE WINDS OF
          FORGIVENESS CAN ERASE IT AWAY.."

          "BUT, WHEN SOMEONE DOES SOMETHING GOOD FOR US,
          WE MUST ENGRAVE IT IN STONE
          WHERE NO WIND
          CAN EVER ERASE IT'"

          LEARN TO WRITE
          YOUR HURTS IN
          THE SAND AND TO
          CARVE YOUR
        BENEFITS IN STONE.

          THEY SAY IT TAKES A
          MINUTE TO FIND A SPECIAL
          PERSON,

          AN HOUR TO
          APPRECIATE THEM,

          A DAY
          TO LOVE THEM,

          BUT THEN ,

          AN ENTIRE LIFE
          TO FORGET THEM!

         
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Unbeliever on April 14, 2015, 05:28:49 PM
OK, you asked for it!


Ode to Gaia

Sunlight and water engendered a form,
Once the planet became just a bit less warm,
Made up of bacteria well able to swarm
That could thrive in all climates, endure any storm.

Divinities didn't create planet Earth,
But scientists might just've witnessed the birth
Of an organism of far greater worth
Than deities of cosmic girth.

The Earth was blind, but now it sees,
By the light of its new-found faculties,
A candle lit by those whose knees
Wouldn't bend for kings nor deities.

With instrumentation we can now show
What before we couldn't hope to know,
From protons and photons to galaxies aglow,
From space/time and energy to how life can grow.

We've traced our genetics to eons long past,
When the new molten Earth had cooled at last,
When enough CO2 had been out-gassed,
When the moon first drew tides on oceans vast.

Once life struggled up from wherever it came,
It kept the Earth's temp'rature nearly the same,
Though the sun puts out more of its hot solar flame,
We simply metabolize it like it's a game.

Mars and Venus, our neighbors, are sterile, we've found,
One's too hot, one's too cold, not a bug on the ground,
It's only on Earth that life moves around,
Like Goldilocks here, life laid itself down.

Now we're searching throughout all celestial space
To discover another intelligent race,
For anything there that can maybe keep pace,
But we've heard not a peep, not even a trace.

Nowhere else in the universe have we yet seen
A stable wet planet that's even as green,
A globe with an atmospherical screen,
With a chemical brew that could stir up a gene.

No gods and no aliens do we discern,
We need them the less the more we can learn,
Our fortunes, our fates and our lives do not turn
On whether we're saved or whether we'll burn.

Apparently then we're a planet alone,
All the problems we have are solely our own,
So that what we have planted is what will have grown,
And what we will harvest is what we have sown.





See, I told ya!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on April 15, 2015, 12:01:50 AM
That was great! I can't believe this has gotten into a poetry contest with some really great poems. I have always thought atheists were very creative, and the best comedians, even if religious nuts aren't laughing.  :butt: :popcorn:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on April 15, 2015, 07:08:49 AM
I don't know if I should say what I think. I know some people don't take criticism well, but I think this thread would be more interesting if we critiqued each other. So here goes.

I see a lot of great starts to what could be great poems with a little (or sometimes a lot) of polishing. One of my best teachers once told me, "Never be in love with your own words." In other words, be tough on yourself. I see that as applying to poetry most of all.  I have one poem, that I tweaked on for 10 years before I considered it finished.

Work on your meter. Some of you have terrific rhyme schemes, but that's the easy part of the struggle. If I don't have the cadence, I don't consider it a finished poem.

Even when you forgo rhyme and meter, it's not just some sappy, tug-at-your-heart-strings, anecdote. It has to have a purpose. A message expressed in emotional imagery. Universal themes, woven into an eloquence of language.

I find insightful criticism to be as helpful, as praise is encouraging. Anyone who want's constructive criticism, from others on the thread, just mention that you would like some, and I at least will try to help. And I welcome feedback of any kind on my own poetry.

Poetry is hard to write. It's not for the lazy. The last one I posted took me two weeks to write. But apparently no one liked it.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on April 15, 2015, 07:32:49 AM
Hit me with your best shot.
I used be a member on AllPoetry, but couldn't stand it after a while on account of it being one enormous circlejerk.
"Oh, you're so briliant. I really like everything in this poem. There isn't a word I'd change. You can really tell you put your heart and soul into this."
Right... There were some poets who I could honestly say something like that to, about some of their poems. But even people who were much better than me made faults and ugly constructions. So I sure as hell knew I had some of my own.
It's only that I find it hard to offer constructive criticism. Because often when you suggest one thing to change, the entire poem must change with it.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on April 15, 2015, 08:20:18 AM
Hit me with your best shot.
I'm not sure I understand exactly what you mean by "fighting fossils." But here's what I would suggest to get the meter stable on the first stanza.

I shan't please self-proclaimed apostles,
Beckoning me with their chime,
Who waste their lives on fighting fossils,
Worn out by the sands of time.

Using "herders" and "fossils" in the same line is a mixed metaphor, so I left it out.

It might even work better to stress the first syllable in each line:

Hear the self-proclaimed apostles,
Herding people with their chime.
Wasting lives on fighting fossils,
Worn out by the sands of time.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Unbeliever on April 15, 2015, 06:24:13 PM
It's only that I find it hard to offer constructive criticism. Because often when you suggest one thing to change, the entire poem must change with it.

Perhaps the flaws are part of the beauty of the construction, as in the purposeful mistake in Persian carpets, so as to avoid the hubris of perfection.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on April 15, 2015, 09:16:46 PM
Here's on I've been struggling with for about eight hours. Any criticism is welcome:

“Beyond the Blue”
Solomon Zorn


Sunlight shining on my face
Traveled here from outer space
Moving very fast
Beyond the blue

Crossed a distance to the Earth
More than seven times its girth
In one second passed
Beyond the blue

If you were to time its course
Since it left its blazing source
Eight minutes surpassed
Beyond the blue

Like the sun the stars at night
Bathe our planet with their light
Galaxies amassed
Beyond the blue

Pondering those shining spheres
Looking back so many years
I can see the past
Beyond the blue

Stars that seem to have no end
Finally I comprehend
Space is truly vast
Beyond the blue
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on April 18, 2015, 03:22:09 PM
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered your poem weak and wearying, I asked myself, who makes up these fucking rules?  :eek: Just kidding, I liker your poetry, and you are correct, it isn't easy to make a poem profound. Poe did it the best in my opinion. I believe he also write the first mystery. Only Truman Capote did anything original in my time that I know about.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on April 23, 2015, 06:53:44 AM
Here's the same poem, after tweaking it this morning. My aim, with these changes, is tho keep the speed of light as the focus of my fascination through each stanza, progressing from a light-second, to intergalactic distance.

“Beyond the Blue”
Solomon Zorn


Sunlight shining on my face,
Traveled here from outer space,
Moving very fast,
Beyond the blue.

Crossed a distance to the Earth,
More than seven times its girth,
In one second passed,
Beyond the blue.

If you were to time its course,
From the sun, its blazing source,
Eight minutes surpassed,
Beyond the blue.

Looking to the sky at night,
Nearest neighbor shone it's light,
Four years in the past,
Beyond the blue.

Pondering those shining spheres,
Looking back so many years,
Galaxies are massed,
Beyond the blue.

Stars that seem to have no end,
Finally I comprehend:
Space is truly vast,
Beyond the blue.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on April 23, 2015, 01:01:43 PM
OK, how many of you fabulous femmes, or gay guys, want to jerk him off after reading that poem?  :eek: :winkle: :biggrin2:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on April 23, 2015, 01:20:02 PM
*drops pants, and coughs*  "I love you too, Sol!" :lol:
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on April 24, 2015, 01:45:24 PM
This is actually from an earlier version, but I think I prefer this phrasing:

Sunlight shining on my face,
Just arrived from outer space,
Moving very fast,
Beyond the blue.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on April 29, 2015, 01:20:34 PM
I tweaked it some more this morning, mainly to get the rhythm better.

“Beyond the Blue”
Solomon Zorn


Sunlight shining on my face,
Just arrived from outer space,
Moving very fast,
Beyond the blue.

Crossed a distance to the Earth,
More than seven times its girth,
In a second passed,
Beyond the blue.

If you were to time its course,
From the sun, its blazing source,
Minute eight surpassed,
Beyond the blue.

Pondering the sky at night,
Nearest neighbor shone it's light,
Four years in the past,
Beyond the blue.

Far beyond those shining spheres,
Looking back so many years,
Galaxies amassed,
Beyond the blue.

Stars that seem to have no end,
Can a human comprehend?
Space is truly vast,
Beyond the blue.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Savior2006 on May 10, 2015, 01:50:45 PM
I love it. I'm a fan of space science and that sort of thing. I went to the dermatologist a couple months ago. He had a whole mess of space paintings and information. Really awesome was a stage by stage detailing of the conception of the solar system and GASP! The Earth is not 6,000 years old! WHAT LIBERAL PROPAGANDA!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Atheon on May 10, 2015, 02:00:25 PM
There is no god,
There is no Jeeze.
You're free to do
Whate'er you please.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Unbeliever on May 20, 2015, 08:09:49 PM
Here's a little ditty I just typed:

the ultimate cabal



when they divide us - black from white
when they divide us - left from right

when they divide us - sick from healthy
when they divide us - poor from wealthy

when they divide us - gay from straight
when they divide us - church from state

when they divide us - far from near
when they divide us - hope from fear

when they divide us - faith from facts
when they divide us - from their golden stacks

then they'll have us kill each other
then the rest of life will surely smother

then they will have conquered all
and will become the ultimate cabal
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on May 23, 2015, 04:55:08 PM
I love it. I'm a fan of space science and that sort of thing...
If you liked that one, you might like this one, that I wrote since then:


"The True Sky"
By Solomon Zorn


We look

Staring up at blue illusion
Witness heavenly deception
Hiding realms beyond our vision
Color filters our perception

We see

Background hue for puffy masses
Painted with a vapor palette
On a canvas made of gasses
High above our verdant planet

We wait

Sunset watchers wax emotive
Curtains part in revelation
Nightfall brings the true perspective
Darkness holds illumination

We learn

As the haze is disappearing
Gazing deep into the distance
Products of our  engineering
Scan the cosmos with persistence

We search

Past the atmosphere's distortion
Far beyond mankind's dominion
Sights of such sublime description
Stars that number in the billions

We yearn

Implementing innovations
Meant to move our limits forward
Breaks the bonds of gravitation
Thrusting human beings upward

We reach

Rocket riders feeling fearless
Blasting through the azure ceiling
Walking on the lunar surface
Make the sky a human dwelling

We grasp
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mike Cl on May 23, 2015, 05:03:02 PM
Solomon, you aught to be a poet! :)   You are very good!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on May 23, 2015, 05:10:21 PM
Thanks, Mike! I will be posting a few more in the next half hour, so watch for them!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on May 23, 2015, 05:20:33 PM
This is a poem in a classic form, called a "Roundel." I wrote it for a contest (I'll let you guys know if I win anything).

"Unspoken Objection"
Solomon Zorn


Keep it quiet, spare your speaking
When extremist words exhibit
Notions that deserve debunking
Keep it quiet

Rantings of a biased bigot
Unenlightened ways of thinking
Issue from some mental midget

Callous comments he is squawking
Push my patience to the limit
Held in check until I'm choking
Keep it quiet



If anyone is interested in writing one in this form, just google it, and you'll see how. I added the meter and alliteration, just for fun. The form doesn't require it.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on May 23, 2015, 05:36:16 PM
These next two were for another contest. They are done in a classic form called, "Villanelle."

"Mutton"
Solomon Zorn



I'll no longer be a willing sheep
     For the shepherd leading us astray
Like the faithful flock of Miss Bo-Peep

Followers who have the faith to leap
     Trust the shepherd never to betray
I'll no longer be a willing sheep

Mother prays a little soul to keep
     As the shepherd takes a lamb away
From the passive flock of Miss Bo-Peep

Building on a hill that's tall and steep
     Room where hanging knives and cleavers sway
I'll no longer be a willing sheep

Hunger craves the tender flesh to reap
     Bleating won't this final act forestay
Nor spare the fated flock of Miss Bo-Peep

Mutton is expensive, life is cheap
     Soon the butcher's blade will end the play
I'll no longer be a willing sheep
Like the faithful flock of Miss Bo-Peep





"Appeasement"
Solomon Zorn


Go call the righteous gathering
     The church bell tolls at twelve o'clock
So let us bind the offering

The cause of recent suffering
     Will all your godly senses shock
Go call the righteous gathering

His actions were dishonoring
     He's made our town a laughingstock
So let us bind the offering

The people all are clamoring
     Bring forth the sinner to the block
And call the righteous gathering

The judge's voice is thundering
     "They caught him sucking on a cock!"
So let us bind the offering

Appeasement is empowering
     Let's bash his head in with a rock
Before the righteous gathering
May God approve our offering



Once again, I added a meter to the required form, so that it flow more smoothly.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: dtq123 on May 23, 2015, 10:35:13 PM
These next two were for another contest. They are done in a classic form called, "Villanelle."

"Mutton"

"Thou Shalt Not Suck"


I do hope you win, fine sir.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on May 24, 2015, 07:08:20 AM
Thanks, D. There's some stiff competition, but I'm hoping to, at least, place.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mike Cl on May 24, 2015, 09:28:45 AM
Thanks, D. There's some stiff competition, but I'm hoping to, at least, place.
Well, Solomon, if you don't win, then the contest must be rigged.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on May 24, 2015, 10:08:28 AM
Thanks. "Fingers" got shot down in my first contest, when I thought it would at least make the finalists, so I don't have my hopes up.

It was a little edgy though, I think,  for the judge's taste.

“Fingers”
Solomon Zorn

Fingers chopped off,
In the shredder,
Little girl
Asks her mother,

“Will the Lord,
With his great power,
Make them grow back
In an hour?”

“Will he hear me
When I pray,
Make them grow back
In a day?”

“Tell me mother,
Be sincere,
Will they grow back
In a year?”

Mother doesn't
Dare reply,
With some
Condescending lie.

As her daughter
Bows to pray,
Mother has
No words to say.

God should give
An explanation,
For this
Senseless amputation.

God should tell her
His intention,
When withholding
Intervention.

Leaving fingers
To be severed,
Tell her why
They're gone forever.

Mother swallows
Past a lump
Seeing tragic
Little stump

Hand and nub
Are posed in prayer
To a God
That isn't there
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mike Cl on May 24, 2015, 11:04:34 AM
I like it--and it is edgy.  And if the judges are theistic, then you are dead before you start.  But yeah, I really do like it. 
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on May 24, 2015, 11:18:29 AM
It was entered in the "Favorite Poem" contest. I selected this one, because I have seen two different people (one a man and one a woman), get choked up a little at the end.

It's over though. Here's the winner:
http://allpoetry.com/poem/11907219-A-Letter-up-to-Heaven-by-Louise..xx-noguest
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on May 24, 2015, 05:07:00 PM
Well, I just won bronze in a "Dark Micro-Poem" contest (under 50 words). Here is the poem:



"Pleasure Center"
Solomon Zorn

A tiny little dose,
My paradise is close,
When smoking my cocaine.

I kiss the bliss I missed,
An alabaster mist,
That's stroking-off my brain.

But soon the soul atones,
And moans away the jones,
Until the next refrain.




I had a short-lived habit, about 15 years ago, but I don't have anything to do with the stuff anymore.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mike Cl on May 24, 2015, 05:38:23 PM
Well, I just won bronze in a "Dark Micro-Poem" contest (under 50 words). Here is the poem:



"Pleasure Center"
Solomon Zorn

A tiny little dose,
My paradise is close,
When smoking my cocaine.

I kiss the bliss I missed,
An alabaster mist,
That's stroking-off my brain.

But soon the soul atones,
And moans away the jones,
Until the next refrain.




I had a short-lived habit, about 15 years ago, but I don't have anything to do with the stuff anymore.
Congrats!  I like the one that won, but I like Fingers better. :)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Unbeliever on May 27, 2015, 05:53:53 PM
Wow Sol, you've been busy!  :super:

I like the ones you've posted so far. I wonder how many more you've got? Have you tried putting some of them to music?

The True Sky was right on - especially the final bit about making the sky our home.

Just...WOW!

I've got a short one I'll post later, after I peruse the other recent posts.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Unbeliever on May 27, 2015, 06:36:45 PM
Here's one of my all time favorites, by a fellow named Phil George, that I thought y'all might like:


BATTLE WON IS LOST

They said, "You are no longer a lad."
I nodded.
They said, "Enter the council lodge."
I sat.
They said, "Our lands are at stake."
I scowled.
They said, "We are at war."
I hated.
They said, "Prepare red war symbols."
I painted.
They said, "Count coups."
I scalped.
They said, "You'll see friends die."
I cringed.
They said, "Desperate warriors fight best."
I charged.
They said, "Some will be wounded."
I bled.
They said, "To die is glorious."
They lied.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mike Cl on May 27, 2015, 08:08:09 PM
Here's one of my all time favorites, by a fellow named Phil George, that I thought y'all might like:


BATTLE WON IS LOST

They said, "You are no longer a lad."
I nodded.
They said, "Enter the council lodge."
I sat.
They said, "Our lands are at stake."
I scowled.
They said, "We are at war."
I hated.
They said, "Prepare red war symbols."
I painted.
They said, "Count coups."
I scalped.
They said, "You'll see friends die."
I cringed.
They said, "Desperate warriors fight best."
I charged.
They said, "Some will be wounded."
I bled.
They said, "To die is glorious."
They lied.
You are right, I liked.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Unbeliever on May 27, 2015, 08:18:49 PM
OK, I've gotta go soon, so here's one I just finished:


What Next?


At first, there were only particles and fields
that clumped into atoms in the void
that fused in the stars to become all the elements
that then accreted into molecules galore
that developed into life of countless breeds
that complexified into mind of great imagination...
I wonder -
What might be next in this series?
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Unbeliever on May 27, 2015, 08:20:12 PM
You are right, I liked.

That's a poem I came across in maybe 7th grade. It's almost the only poetry I recall from so long ago!
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on May 29, 2015, 06:51:07 AM
I am the emperor

As my own swindlers weave my mind;
 to the truth they tend to keep me blind.
 Yet no amount of velvet cloth can hide,
 my own vanity on par with Satan's pride.
 But with my fears exposed I feel alright
 as long as your arms hold me tight.


Open to improvement, as per your opinion.
Inspired bya quote: 'What we want is someone to be naked with, not only in body, but in soul'. By J. Iron Word.
Also inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's 'The Emperor's New Clothes'.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on May 31, 2015, 10:11:07 AM
 License And Registration Please, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on twitter)

 

Just a moment ago

I received a call

My mom was worried

About my vehicle

 

My itinarary

Was to get legal

My vehicle

Before my plates expired

 

So this morning

I did just that

Got it inspected

And paid my taxes

 

And once I did

They gave me a sticker

Denoting next year's

Experation date

 

And dutifly I did

In the parking lot

Put the sticker

On my license plate

 

Now finished

On the way home

Stopped by my mom's

To tell her I was done

 

After our chat

She watched me leave

But somthing bothered her

Looking at my bumper

 

Improperly placed

Or it fell off

That sticker required

Is what she thought

 

Insistent she was

That I go out

To the front of my house

To check it out

 

So I did

To placate her

Knowing sure well

I had done it correctly

 

It is the false perception

We evolved with

The the brain gap fills

With out us realizing

 

It is why

Humans once thought

That angry volcano

Was a god

 

It is why

Dawkins is right

That god is a result

Of our flawed perceptions

 

Amused I was

But thankful too

That she bothered to call

To make sure

(end)

Also posted at my host poetry thread at Rational Reponders, post #733 here  http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=14

I wrote this after a phone call from my mom who was worried that I messed something up in the process of getting my vehicle legal. Nice she was worried, but it was a false perception of what she thought she saw on the back of my vehicle for whatever reason.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on June 01, 2015, 01:56:38 PM
I am the emperor

As my own swindlers weave my mind;
 to the truth they tend to keep me blind.
 Yet no amount of velvet cloth can hide,
 my own vanity on par with Satan's pride.
 But with my fears exposed I feel alright
 as long as your arms hold me tight.


Open to improvement, as per your opinion.
Inspired bya quote: 'What we want is someone to be naked with, not only in body, but in soul'. By J. Iron Word.
Also inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's 'The Emperor's New Clothes'.
I don't know about this one, O. I usually try to stick to just one simple idea with a micro-poem. You're going to need some more space to bring together the vanity idea of The Emperor's New Clothes, with the tenderness of the quote from J. Iron Word.

Maybe a longer poem exploring the vanity of clothing in general, told as a love poem for the empress. What do you think?
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on June 02, 2015, 04:56:15 PM
I don't know about this one, O. I usually try to stick to just one simple idea with a micro-poem. You're going to need some more space to bring together the vanity idea of The Emperor's New Clothes, with the tenderness of the quote from J. Iron Word.

Maybe a longer poem exploring the vanity of clothing in general, told as a love poem for the empress. What do you think?

I can definitely feel that.  I agree it is... Cramped.  But it was for a Max 50 words contest; perhaps i was overambitious. Might stretch it out and give it time to breathe once The contest is over.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on June 19, 2015, 11:10:01 PM
Wow Sol, you've been busy!  :super:

I like the ones you've posted so far. I wonder how many more you've got? Have you tried putting some of them to music?

The True Sky was right on - especially the final bit about making the sky our home.

Just...WOW!

I've got a short one I'll post later, after I peruse the other recent posts.
Thanks, you're too kind.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solitary on June 20, 2015, 10:59:51 AM
Now that my brain seems to be working again, here is a mushy poem I wrote today:

Brave Courageous And Bold

We, fearful to bravery and courage
banishment ourselves from delight
alone suffering in prisons of rage
until love swings its knife
and ventures into our sight
to free us into life.

Love arrives
and with its passions come ecstasies
old recollections of pleasure survives
past histories of pain so queer.
Yet if we are courageous and bold,
love eats away the chains of fear
from our hearts be told.

We are free from our timidity and dependence
In the blush of love’s brilliant light
we dare be brave in decadence.
And suddenly we see with clarity
that love requires all we are and more
and will be for eternity.
Yet it is only love's sentence
which causes us to be free.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Goon on July 11, 2015, 07:05:43 PM
roses are red
my balls are blue
screw you and you
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on November 13, 2015, 10:08:07 AM
Just finished a major rewrite on this Villanelle:

"Mutton"
Solomon Zorn


I'll no longer be a passive sheep
     For the shepherd leading us astray
Faithful like the flock of Father Creep

Followers who have the faith to leap
     Trust his guidance never to betray
I'll no longer be a passive sheep

Mother prays a little soul to keep
     As a carrot leads her lamb away
Chosen from the flock of Father Creep

Building on a hill that's tall and steep
     Room where hanging knives and cleavers sway
Destiny of all the passive sheep

Hunger craves the tender flesh to reap
     Bleating won't this bloody act forestay
Severed from the flock of Father Creep

Mutton is expensive, life is cheap
     Soon the butcher's blade will end the play
I'll no longer be a passive sheep
Faithful like the flock of Father Creep



Do you guys think "Father Creep" is better than what I had before (Miss Bo Peep)?
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on November 14, 2015, 01:08:28 PM
Pour le sud de la Hollande
un petit hommage flamande
sur la tragedié sous Hollande.


Le Bataclan


Vous étiez déjà bruyant.
Concerts. Soirées. Spectacles.
Bruyant. Tout. Toujours.

Vous étiez déjà rouge.
Chaises. Murs. Rideau.
Rouge. Tout. Toujours.

Vous étiez déjà coûts inoubliables.
Café. Infirmerie. Cinéma.
Coûts inoubliables. Tout. Toujours.

Et maintenant... Du vendredi le treizième.
Après un moment bruyant.

Vous êtes silencieux.
Mais le monde est pas.

Vous êtes rouge.
Mais les victimes encore plus.

Et nous ne vous oublierons jamais.




Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on December 03, 2015, 04:12:01 PM
Peanut Butter And Jelly, By Brian37(AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on twitter)

 

Please understand

I do agree

That with the East

There is a PR problem

 

Saudi Arabia and Iran

Are not exactly bastions

Of political or religious

Freedom

 

And they too

Are willing take up arms

Willing do die

For what they believe

 

I find it hard

While pointing

In the right direction

A mirror you lack

 

I guess it is ok

If in killing the other

It is done in the name

Of the right book

 

Even locally

You fear change

Willing to kill

To protect a gun

 

As if it were living

Just like Isis

Murders over criticism

Of their prized possession

 

As if a gun

Were an unborn child

As if it were Mohammed

Or even Jesus

 

This is no sandwich

To be admired

Worship of old books

Or tools of death

 

Dont talk about peace

And be willing to kill

Over old books or objects

Vile peanut butter and jelly

 (end)

This poem was originally posted at my host website graciously hosted by Brian Sapient's Rational Responders, post #781 here http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=15
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 18, 2016, 06:04:06 AM
Did another rewrite, to change the meter on this one. I think it reads more smoothly now.


"The Beginning of Wisdom"
Solomon Zorn

Wisdom starts when you first own,
The true unknowns, as true unknowns.

When reason greets you at the gate,
You venture to investigate.

A modern thinker will progress,
Although it seems like such a mess,
Discerning fact, from raw opinion,
Peeling layers like an onion.

Learning everything you can,
You study, till you understand,
There's always more you want to know,
Though now your head is all aglow,
With just a little bit of knowledge,
All those things you learned in college.

Always keep an open mind,
Consider both sides, and you'll find,
You soon may change your point of view,
Encountering a thinker, who
Will contradict your dearest notion,
Separate it from emotion,
See if it withstands the hit,
Or demonstrates what doesn't fit.

Your own ideas must compete,
To show your basis is concrete.
Then once you have a strong foundation,
You may lend illumination,
To a part of the discussion,
When you draw a sound conclusion.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on June 20, 2016, 10:28:43 PM
On an island long lost to man stands a doorway, long since used has it's once intricate carvings, once marvelled upon, now remain worn by aeons of salty mist and piercing winds laying bear. Only gray, cold, lifeless stone stands now upon those bitter shores.

Were one to lightly run their fingers across, perhaps yet it's former beauty could be found; a knick where carved a mural of flowers and their mistresses once adormed, or the tinniest shards and flecks of sapphire, ruby and obsidian depicting calmer seas, setting suns and embracing nights could still be felt. Only the cold, lifeless hands of time will touch the door which stands now upon those bitter shores.

It is unclear who built this relic of lives long past, or of what splendor and wealth laid beyond the adorned portal. For long ago the door will sealed tight, it's walls crumbled and those who built it set sail, leaving only this skeletal remain of the lifeless door which stands upon those hateful, bitter shores.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Brian37 on July 14, 2016, 06:35:03 PM
"If It Sounds Too Good" By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet On Facebook and @Brianrrs37 on twitter)

 
The soothsayers
And Seers
Oracles
And prophets
 
Psychics
And Ouija boards
Homeopathy
Don't doubt them
 
Of holy men, old writings
Blindly beleive them
Don't ever dare
To even question
 
They are the fine print
In any contract
There to serve you
Payday loan or cell phone
 
They are the woman
Sawed in half
PT Barnum
Has the last laugh
 
You'd have me believe
The claims of antiquity
Don't thrive on the same marketing
Of infomercial TV
 
Deities remove stains
Get your carpet clean
Read the fine print
Before you subscribe to Dish
 
Oxi clean
In omni fashion
Get's the mouse on the wheel
To chase utopia cheese
 
Reverse mortgage
Is what religion is
Henry Winkler
Is a scam
 
You still own
Your brain
Until the bookmaker
Demands you pay
 
Racketeering
Is all the same
Be it old
Or oxy clean
 
If it sounds too good to be true
It probably is
And that is why
All gods are dead
(end)

Original host thread here post #844 hosted here http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=16
 
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on July 15, 2016, 12:31:51 PM
On an island long lost to man stands a doorway, long since used has it's once intricate carvings, once marvelled upon, now remain worn by aeons of salty mist and piercing winds laying bear. Only gray, cold, lifeless stone stands now upon those bitter shores.

Were one to lightly run their fingers across, perhaps yet it's former beauty could be found; a knick where carved a mural of flowers and their mistresses once adormed, or the tinniest shards and flecks of sapphire, ruby and obsidian depicting calmer seas, setting suns and embracing nights could still be felt. Only the cold, lifeless hands of time will touch the door which stands now upon those bitter shores.

It is unclear who built this relic of lives long past, or of what splendor and wealth laid beyond the adorned portal. For long ago the door will sealed tight, it's walls crumbled and those who built it set sail, leaving only this skeletal remain of the lifeless door which stands upon those hateful, bitter shores.
Not quite sure what you are talking about, specifically, as is the case so often with(bad?) poetry. But I get the emotion of the imagery, and that may be the essence of good free verse.

That being said, I HATE FREE VERSE.

From you and Brian both, I would so much like to read a real poem. You both have an eloquence of speech, all you lack are formal challenges to that eloquence. In other words, a structure. Something to touch my sense of beauty, even as I may read about something ugly. Use some repetition, like a rhyme scheme, or a strict meter, or maybe a refrain, or all of the above. There are so many ways of doing it, that you shouldn't feel constricted. You both have the poetic heart for it, all you have to do is struggle with the construction a little, and I think you could write poetry.

Free verse is for teenagers, who believe that their every thought is so profound, that it qualifies as a poem.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on July 15, 2016, 12:39:15 PM
"If It Sounds Too Good" By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet On Facebook and @Brianrrs37 on twitter)

 
The soothsayers
And Seers
Oracles
And prophets
 
Psychics
And Ouija boards
Homeopathy
Don't doubt them
 
Of holy men, old writings
Blindly beleive them
Don't ever dare
To even question
 
They are the fine print
In any contract
There to serve you
Payday loan or cell phone
 
They are the woman
Sawed in half
PT Barnum
Has the last laugh
 
You'd have me believe
The claims of antiquity
Don't thrive on the same marketing
Of infomercial TV
 
Deities remove stains
Get your carpet clean
Read the fine print
Before you subscribe to Dish
 
Oxi clean
In omni fashion
Get's the mouse on the wheel
To chase utopia cheese
 
Reverse mortgage
Is what religion is
Henry Winkler
Is a scam
 
You still own
Your brain
Until the bookmaker
Demands you pay
 
Racketeering
Is all the same
Be it old
Or oxy clean
 
If it sounds too good to be true
It probably is
And that is why
All gods are dead
(end)

Original host thread here post #844 hosted here http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=16
 
I love the imagery, Brian.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: stromboli on August 09, 2016, 05:50:46 AM
The Farther Shore

The sun is slowly rising away in the Eastern sky
To the West the dark horizon fades away to slowly die
The shadows of the morning are long upon the land
the wise and ancient mountains in silhouette silence stand

Awestruck by the beauty begun with coming day
and awestruck by the diamond night now lit and gone away
To lose myself in silence in the endless depth of sky
And sleepless lay forever lost in endless flight

I have been a sailor who voyaged on the sea
I saw the lights of distant shores that beckoned, called to me
I see the lights of midnight skies wherever I may roam
and wonder about those sailors who call those stars their home

Unknown distant voyager- on a light ship do you sail?
Is there someone breathless waiting, afraid your quest might fail?
You cross the endless darkness to another shore to see
And in your quest a voyager no different than me

So ever beckoning the stars like distant beacon lights
bonfires on a distant beach to guide their way at night
And someone there awaiting for you to return once more?
So go then, sailor, travel- to that distant farther shore.
 
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on August 16, 2016, 05:52:07 AM
To love is to lie


I shall strangle my words and my thoughts
when salt is born from your grief.
For what kind of world can be bought
when it offers no relief?

Tongue crushed between red, wet teeth,
like the hydra that lost it's horrid head;
spawning more bloody lies beneath
the omisions of what cannot be said.

I'll keep my silence; let your ache go.
She is in heaven, amidst the whitest clouds.
I won't take this from you and won't say no.
I'll betray myself before I voice my doubts.


My girlfriend's grandmother passed away and she's having a real hard time with it. She wants to believe she's somewhere out there, enjoying the afterlife and has been asking me for confirmation. I've responded in broad, vague terms; not denying anything but not really confirming her ideas. I dislike it, and it may not be right. But I can't break her heart and flat out tell her I don't thinkher grandmother is anything else than a treasured memory at this point.
Though I was kind of shocked to find out that she seems to think I believe there is something more than this life. In the past, I've told her multiple times I don't believe in God, heaven, hell, karma, reincarnation, ... She seems to have blocked it out... I dunno.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on August 26, 2016, 01:29:52 PM
The Farther Shore

The sun is slowly rising away in the Eastern sky
To the West the dark horizon fades away to slowly die
The shadows of the morning are long upon the land
the wise and ancient mountains in silhouette silence stand

Awestruck by the beauty begun with coming day
and awestruck by the diamond night now lit and gone away
To lose myself in silence in the endless depth of sky
And sleepless lay forever lost in endless flight

I have been a sailor who voyaged on the sea
I saw the lights of distant shores that beckoned, called to me
I see the lights of midnight skies wherever I may roam
and wonder about those sailors who call those stars their home

Unknown distant voyager- on a light ship do you sail?
Is there someone breathless waiting, afraid your quest might fail?
You cross the endless darkness to another shore to see
And in your quest a voyager no different than me

So ever beckoning the stars like distant beacon lights
bonfires on a distant beach to guide their way at night
And someone there awaiting for you to return once more?
So go then, sailor, travel- to that distant farther shore.
 
Captivating. Great imagery.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on August 26, 2016, 01:35:37 PM
To love is to lie


I shall strangle my words and my thoughts
when salt is born from your grief.
For what kind of world can be bought
when it offers no relief?

Tongue crushed between red, wet teeth,
like the hydra that lost it's horrid head;
spawning more bloody lies beneath
the omisions of what cannot be said.

I'll keep my silence; let your ache go.
She is in heaven, amidst the whitest clouds.
I won't take this from you and won't say no.
I'll betray myself before I voice my doubts.


My girlfriend's grandmother passed away and she's having a real hard time with it. She wants to believe she's somewhere out there, enjoying the afterlife and has been asking me for confirmation. I've responded in broad, vague terms; not denying anything but not really confirming her ideas. I dislike it, and it may not be right. But I can't break her heart and flat out tell her I don't thinkher grandmother is anything else than a treasured memory at this point.
Though I was kind of shocked to find out that she seems to think I believe there is something more than this life. In the past, I've told her multiple times I don't believe in God, heaven, hell, karma, reincarnation, ... She seems to have blocked it out... I dunno.
Good poem, Mr. O.

I know how you feel. It's a very delicate thing, and you can't really stick to your guns about your beliefs. You'd feel like an ass. Love is more important than ideals sometimes.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 23, 2016, 01:31:05 AM
I rewrote this one about a week ago. I like the ending better now.

“Children of a Star”
Solomon Zorn


Black dominates

The vast
And empty distances
So barren dead and dark
That span
The lonely instances
Of silent glowing stars

Light penetrates

Where something
In the nothingness
Defies the endless night
A massive
Sphere has coalesced
Into a source of light

Sun radiates

From elemental
Furnace
Lying deep within the core
That's shining
On the surface
Through the darkness it abhors

Glow saturates

The Earth
In endless energy
Till molecules emerge
Constructed
With complexity
Conditions all converge

Life proliferates

An intricate
Diversity
That's thriving near and far
Ascends
From cosmic ancestry
As children of a star



I also rewrote the 3rd, 4th and 5th stanzas of this one:

"A Human Sky"
Solomon Zorn


Background hue for puffy masses
Painted with a vapor palette
On a canvas made of gasses
High above our verdant planet

We look

Witness heavenly deception
Hiding realms beyond our vision
Color filters our perception
Here below the blue illusion

We wait

Sunset watchers wax emotive
Over fading radiation
Cloudless night in clear perspective
Darkness holds illumination

We see

As the haze is disappearing
Gazing deep into the distance
Eyes enhanced by engineering
Scan the sky with fixed persistence

We learn

Implementing innovations
Meant to move our limits forward
Breaks the bonds of gravitation
Thrusting fragile bodies upward

We reach

Rocket riders feeling fearless
Blasting through the azure ceiling
To an altitude that's weightless
Make the sky a human dwelling

We grasp


Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on September 25, 2016, 01:44:44 PM
I did this one last night. Just a short one.

“Perpetual Payback”
Solomon Zorn


Revenge is mine, but what's it for?
As you kill mine, so I kill yours.

Lost limbs entwine, to settle scores.
As you kill mine, so I kill yours.

On flesh we dine, and beg for more.
As you kill mine, so I kill yours.

We drink the wine, of endless wars.
As you kill mine, so I kill yours.

(Made a few changes this morning, 9/25.)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on January 18, 2017, 03:27:05 PM
Did a substantial rewrite on this one:



“Faith Healer”
Solomon Zorn

He stands before the crowd
With microphone in hand
He's calling someone down
An old disabled man

He grips the wheelchair
The crowd is in a trance
When he invokes a prayer
The man begins to dance

We've all seen him before
The cripple sells the trick
By dancing on the floor
Like he was never sick

An actor aptly paid
A hypocrite for hire
Some simpletons get played
Their fervor is a fire

Donations are the proof
It's easy to deceive
The members of a group
And get them to believe

A spiritual ruse
Manipulating fools
Believers he will use
The gullible are tools

He's putting on a show
Their money he will take
The rational will know
The faith healer is fake
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on February 05, 2017, 01:24:13 PM
The Sun has been out most of the day, and I was thinking of my elderly neighbor, who seems to have seasonal affective disorder. This poem came to me.

The Invisible Sky
Solomon Zorn

The unseen Sun still shines as bright,
Though days of gray may dim it's light,
Above the clouds, it's hid from sight,
In the invisible sky.

The unseen Sun still shines as bright,
When Earth's own shadow casts the night,
Beneath our feet it climbs it's height,
In the invisible sky.

The unseen Sun still shines as bright,
To know it, gives my heart delight,
And lifts my Sol, to lofty height,
In the invisible sky.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Cavebear on February 17, 2017, 07:48:41 AM
All of the above a very nice.
Choosing fire or choosing ice.
Or an albatross or a snowy woods.
But I prefer Seuss.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on February 22, 2017, 03:40:55 PM
Small wonder

A one-trick pony
Performing in our circus
Drew crowds in tonight.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on February 23, 2017, 07:34:52 AM
Contemplating Cannibal

Hidden amongst green,
Atheist Mantis catches wind.
Yet never she prays.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Cavebear on February 23, 2017, 07:48:15 AM
As an atheist
I observed the posts this year.
Most like doves in Wind.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 13, 2017, 03:17:02 AM
All of the above a very nice.
Choosing fire or choosing ice.
Or an albatross or a snowy woods.
But I prefer Seuss.
I think I have posted this one before. It's my Seuss:

“Fingers”
Solomon Zorn

Fingers chopped off,
In the shredder,
Little girl
Asks her father,

“Will the Lord,
With his great power,
Make them grow back
In an hour?”

“Will he hear me
When I pray,
Make them grow back
In a day?”

“Tell me father,
Be sincere,
Will they grow back
In a year?”

Father doesn't
Dare reply,
With some
Condescending lie.

As his daughter
Bows to pray,
Father has
No words to say.

God should give
An explanation,
For this
Senseless amputation.

God should tell her
His intention,
When withholding
Intervention.

Leaving fingers
To be severed,
Tell her why
They're gone forever.

Father swallows
Past a lump
Seeing tragic
Little stump

Hand and nub
Are posed in prayer
To a God
That isn't there
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Cavebear on March 14, 2017, 07:42:25 AM
I think I have posted this one before. It's my Seuss:

“Fingers”
Solomon Zorn

Fingers chopped off,
In the shredder,
Little girl
Asks her father,

“Will the Lord,
With his great power,
Make them grow back
In an hour?”

“Will he hear me
When I pray,
Make them grow back
In a day?”

“Tell me father,
Be sincere,
Will they grow back
In a year?”

Father doesn't
Dare reply,
With some
Condescending lie.

As his daughter
Bows to pray,
Father has
No words to say.

God should give
An explanation,
For this
Senseless amputation.

God should tell her
His intention,
When withholding
Intervention.

Leaving fingers
To be severed,
Tell her why
They're gone forever.

Father swallows
Past a lump
Seeing tragic
Little stump

Hand and nub
Are posed in prayer
To a God
That isn't there

No reply is possible.   I stand in awe and sadness.  Tipping a hat would be insufficient and weak.  I bow.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 26, 2017, 07:51:58 AM
No reply is possible.   I stand in awe and sadness.  Tipping a hat would be insufficient and weak.  I bow.
Thanks, Brother. The first two people that I read it to, in person, got visibly choked-up, at the end.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 26, 2017, 07:59:38 AM
All of the above a very nice.
Choosing fire or choosing ice.
Or an albatross or a snowy woods.
But I prefer Seuss.
"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening," is my favorite Robert Frost poem.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42891

My all-time favorite poem, though is this one: "Richard Cory," by Edwin Arlington Robinson.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/44982
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 26, 2017, 08:04:35 AM
Here's one I did for the "Dark Parts Micro-Poetry" contest, on AllPoetry. It seemed like a dark treatment of the subject:

"Pleasure Center"
Solomon Zorn

A tiny little dose,
My paradise is close,
When smoking my cocaine.

I kiss the bliss I missed,
An alabaster mist,
That's stroking-off my brain.

But soon the soul atones,
And moans away the jones,
Until the next refrain.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on March 28, 2017, 03:30:34 PM
Okay, nobody liked that last one...

Here's a new one, I whipped up for a thread on another forum:

Behold, how everything God made demonstrates his love:

Like warm summer breezes,
Genetic diseases,
Or encephalitis
From insects that bite us

Like kittens, and babies,
Pneumonia, and rabies,
And victims that howl,
With extruded bowel.

Like big yellow flowers,
And pain-ridden hours,
For third world genius,
Who bleeds from his anus.

Let's hope we go to Heaven, so we can praise His Name forever.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Cavebear on April 03, 2017, 05:42:27 AM
Good mattering stuff.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mike Cl on April 03, 2017, 06:28:41 PM
Okay, nobody liked that last one...

Here's a new one, I whipped up for a thread on another forum:

Behold, how everything God made demonstrates his love:

Like warm summer breezes,
Genetic diseases,
Or encephalitis
From insects that bite us

Like kittens, and babies,
Pneumonia, and rabies,
And victims that howl,
With extruded bowel.

Like big yellow flowers,
And pain-ridden hours,
For third world genius,
Who bleeds from his anus.

Let's hope we go to Heaven, so we can praise His Name forever.
^this^

Rod McKuen move over! :)
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on April 03, 2017, 07:30:42 PM
Thanks, guys! I'm glad you enjoyed reading them.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Cavebear on April 07, 2017, 01:30:01 AM
Deer standing in the street,
Frozen in headlights as we meet.

Hating the world that kill us crying,
Laying bleeding, broken, dying.

Struck by random bullets on the street,
Afraid of everyone we meet.

Syria's dead, the children dying,
None claim the cause someone is lying.

Sarin here, and bullets flying,
Starvation rules and Kings not flying.

Assad rules a broken land,
He does not find a mighty land.

But there will surely come a time,
When his life is not worth a dime.

In the survivors of this fight,
Who working hard do see the light.
Of the struggle there to get the right,
To sleep in peace in the warm dark night.

Who is the deer?







Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on July 15, 2017, 04:39:51 AM
In nostalgia, immortality.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on July 18, 2017, 12:40:06 AM
I just passed a sign, that says, "Cliff Ahead."

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Cavebear on July 18, 2017, 02:50:38 AM
I remember a Dilbert cartoon where he is driving through a roadwork area and sees a sign saying "End Roadwork".

And he thinks "There are protestors everywhere".   I love it when things are interpreted in more than one way.  Poems too.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Shiranu on July 18, 2017, 05:04:13 AM
"Like pottery broken...

                        ...forever lost to the sands of time."
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Cavebear on July 18, 2017, 05:09:05 AM
"Like pottery broken...

                        ...forever lost to the sands of time."

Potteries get found beneath the sands sometimes...
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Solomon Zorn on July 19, 2017, 01:13:16 AM
I'm afraid.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on July 31, 2017, 03:39:58 AM
In memoriam

Omar Khayyan talked of how a hair divides what is false and true.
And in the wake of your despair, brother, I see that this you knew.
What realities did you travel? Between which worlds were you torn?
Which roads of dirt and gravel, in night’s illusions, left us to mourn?
Questions and concern too late, and by far too little for you now.
And ‘haps you couldn’t elaborate. If desired, would you know how?
But Solomon, to cut your hair’s length, like Samson of legends old,
To strip away, in his fashion, your strength, and to turn yourself cold...
But I know I cannot judge, oh Judge-King, only hope you rest deep and long,
as you so desired and left us here to sing, our own version of Solomon’s song.


Far from perfect. But... I don't know.
He will be missed.

Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Deidre32 on August 04, 2017, 12:32:19 AM
Here and There
(a poem by me that I wrote earlier tonight)

When I was there
I wanted to be here
And then, I thought about it
What was there that wasn't here?

My mind was here
My heart was there
If only the two could meet in the middle
I'd be happy if for but a day

Here is really no better than there
But, you can tell yourself almost anything
If you are escaping from here
To get to there

I like it here
It is real and precise
What I left back there, was not real
But it was nice

My heart can't stay there
It has to come here
And I'll watch over it
It doesn't need to be watched by him any longer

Whether I'm there or here
I've always been the watcher
Keeping me there
And waiting for me to come here

I like it here
I'm no longer there
I've come a long way
With a price to bear

But such is life
An endless journey
Filled with not enough here
And way too much... there
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Deidre32 on August 04, 2017, 09:23:28 PM
Guess I'm in a writing mood this week. ^_^

Darkness and Light
(by me)

What is darkness, what is light
Can either one
Solve my plight?

I’ve played in the light
Running from the dark
Only to come back to
Reality, so stark

But, one soon learns
a very harsh truth
That reality offers risk
But, it also can soothe

Darkness and light
Can’t live alone
They need one another
For a soul to grow

But, darkness isn’t what we
Have been taught to believe
It’s not frightening nor ghoulish
It’s meant to relieve

The light can be blinding
If we get too close
It’s thought to be godly
But, who would really know?

Darkness and light
Two friends on a stroll
What we do with both
Will determine their toll

What you make of your life
Is all that there is
There is no cosmic genius
There is no Great Quiz

Face your demons
They are probably your creation
Shine the light on them
There’ll be no condemnation

Like a wild ride
Life twists and turns
Ride the darkness
And, don’t let the light burn

Behold who you are
Embrace your deepest self
Don’t worry too much
You will rest soon enough

Darkness and light
I’ve come to know both
I won’t run from either
For they are betrothed

So listen to my words
They can save you much pain
Don’t run from darkness
Celebrate its reign​
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Mr.Obvious on August 05, 2017, 03:39:53 PM
I translated my favorite Folk-song from Dutch. I tried to stay true to the original meaning as well as the rhyme schematic and form.

At the shore of the Scheldt (Trans: Aan de oever van de Schelde.)

At the shore of the Scheldt, hidden in the reef
Was a young frog on ma's lap, struck with grief.
"See yonder." Spoke his mother. "Gaze at the stork over there.
't is the murderer of your father, ate him in a fight quite unfair."

"God damn it..." Said the little one.
"Has that bastard done this disgrace?
When I'm tall and strong, I shall hit him
right in his stupid face!"

Many years have since passed.
And the young one is no more.
But that old stork, his face
is still pretty sore.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Cavebear on August 09, 2017, 05:21:16 AM
Poem
Nice, a bit forced.  Keep trying.
Title: Re: The Poetry Thread
Post by: Baruch on August 09, 2017, 08:49:17 PM
Nice, a bit forced.  Keep trying.

Yours is laconic and free form.  It could be verse ;-)