News:

Welcome to our site!

Main Menu

The Poetry Thread

Started by Solomon Zorn, September 15, 2013, 02:32:56 AM

Previous topic - Next topic

Solomon Zorn

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)
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

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

Solomon Zorn

#2
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.
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

Solitary

A poet and don't know it are these two fools without the tools to know God.  Just kidding guys!  =D>  Well done. Solitary
There is nothing more frightful than ignorance in action.

mykcob4

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!

Solomon Zorn

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
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

Brian37

"We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers." Obama
Poetry By Brian37 Like my poetry on Facebook Under BrianJames Rational Poet and also at twitter under Brianrrs37

Solomon Zorn

#7
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)
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

Brian37

Love the first one Zorn "Insufficient"
"We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers." Obama
Poetry By Brian37 Like my poetry on Facebook Under BrianJames Rational Poet and also at twitter under Brianrrs37

mykcob4

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.

mykcob4

'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 there's 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.

mykcob4

I am hoping for comment by Solomon Zorn on my last two entries on this thread.

Brian37

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.
"We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers." Obama
Poetry By Brian37 Like my poetry on Facebook Under BrianJames Rational Poet and also at twitter under Brianrrs37

Solomon Zorn

#13
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.
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

mykcob4

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 that's 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