Re: Poetry
 

Hmm, strange. I never really saw "open" as one syllable though I suppose it could work...those crazy dictionaries...

EDIT: When I looked at dictionary.com they had it listed as "o·pen" as in 2 syllables, so I dunno...

Re: Poetry
 

It's not that she was miserable,
or dreary everyday,
She did agree with life,
and yearned for it to stay,
yet all she really wanted was
to fly away.

In life she held the principals
the virtues of the day
she followed all directions,
and seldom did delay
but all she really wanted
was to fly away.

Away from all the troubles
That live around the block
Away from the door of time
Upon which fears that seemed to knock
It's not as if she feared another day
But all she really wanted
was to fly away.

Away from "I'm not good enough"
Away from "something more"
Away from "Can you help me,”
and an ever whispering roar,
Away from all the requests, she felt she must obey
Yes, all she really wanted
was to fly away.

To leave an open window
And open wide her wings
To stretch them to forever
And see what yonder brings
To see the stars in all their bright array
Indeed all she truly wanted
was to fly away.

To soar with the birds
And dive through the clouds
to feel silence and solace
above all the crowds
to feel the sun's life-giving, golden ray
To feel the beauty,
to simply fly away.

It was her soul's desire,
to be herself one day,
to be her only master
to do things her way
she needed her own person
to discover who she was
to have herself come first
away from all else, above
above all the confusion
above the rattles of the day
what she needed most
was to fly away.

No one understood,
or thought of what SHE had to say
until they looked around
and found she had flown away.

She flew where ere the wind took her,
Where she hoped she could find peace
She flew where she felt happy
Where she could find release
She never knew that she could feel this way
Until the day
She stretched her wings
and flew away.

Re: Poetry
 

Most excellent poem.

Re: Poetry
 

Hey so yeah. Can I use that on the website that I'm making I like that poem :)

Re: Poetry
 

if that was to me, then yeah... if you want my real name to credit it to, then PM me

Re: Poetry
 

Ok.. I'll pm you here in a bit so I can get your name.. -

Re: Poetry
 

_________________________________________
Fragments of closure
Bleeding blue
The color of my soul
I was painted when you left
Screaming black
The color of the world
The life sucked dry – my vampire -
Gray cloud death
Your vanishing feelings
Unforgetting rainy day
Nothing left
The story of my life
Pick up the pieces again
Moving on
My closure complete now
The need for you – memory

Goodbye.
____________________________________________

I wrote this as I was typing (freestyle), so it's pretty fragmented (hence the title). But I decided to keep it anyway. I guess it kind of... well... signifies my closure. Since you obviously couldn't guess that.... Not at all...

Re: Poetry
 

Good poem, mariolover.

Amen.

Re: Poetry
 

This isn't a poem that I made, but it's a poem that I like (if ever there was such a thing...):

As I was going up the stairs,
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today,
I wish I wish he'd go away.

It's a modernized version of an older, similar poem. They used it in the movie "Identity." Good times.

Re: Poetry
 

=-D Thats cool. Im going to memorize that one.

Re: Poetry
 

that can often be the best...wonderful imagery!!!

Re: Poetry
 

Thanks Kitana. And wow. Your poem was awesome. I really appreciated the repeated theme.

I really liked that one that PureEvil(?) posted too.

One of my favorite poems is the childrens poem Mr. Nobody (maybe that's not the name, but it's about a guy named Mr. Nobody). I used to read that all the time when I was little. I'll have to look it up.

What are your favorite poems (regardless of who wrote them)? Post them here along with your own.

Re: Poetry
 

:lol: Mr. Nobody... ahhh, that reminds me of something. Err, it's completely unrelated to what you're thinking about, but maaa-aaan, would a poem about the Mr. Nobody I'm thinking about be hilarious.

Re: Poetry
 

Is this it?



Mr. Nobody

I know a funny little man,
As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody's house!
There's no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody.

'Tis he who always tears our books,
Who leaves the door ajar,
He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
And scatters pins afar;
That squeaking door will always squeak,
For, prithee, don't you see,
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr. Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire,
That kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud,
And all the carpets soiled.
The papers always are mislaid,
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody.

The finger marks upon the door
By none of us are made;
We never leave the blinds unclosed,
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill; the boots
that lying round you see
Are not our boots -- they all belong
To Mr. Nobody.

(http://www.cswnet.com/~erin/child.htm#mrn)

Re: Poetry
 

My favorite poem is this... read it once...then read what I have at the bottem, then read it again

anyone lived in a pretty how town
e. e. cummings
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

*
*
*
*
*
*
Anyone is a man, noone is a woman.... with this in mind, reread the poem.








Isn't it a beautiful love story?

Re: Poetry
 

Haha. Yeah, that's it. I haven't heard that for years. I still like it a lot. Thanks for that.

Wow! That's definately on my top 3 list for favorite poems. I had read some e.e. cummings, but not that particular piece. That's REALLY cool.

Re: Poetry
 

This isn't my favorite poem, but I like Russell Edson a lot...

A Stone Is Nobody's

A man ambushed a stone. Caught it. Made it a prisoner.
Put it in a dark room and stood guard over it for the
rest of his life.

His mother asked why.

He said, because it's held captive, because it is
captured.

Look, the stone is asleep, she said, it does not know
whether it's in a garden or not. Eternity and the stone
are mother and daughter; it is you who are getting old.
The stone is only sleeping.

But I caught it, mother, it is mine by conquest, he said.

A stone is nobody's, not even its own. It is you who are
conquered; you are minding the prisoner, which is yourself,
because you are afraid to go out, she said.

Yes yes, I am afraid, because you have never loved me,
he said.

Which is true, because you have always been to me as
the stone is to you, she said.

This one is good too.

Ape


You haven't finished your ape, said mother to father,
who had monkey hair and blood on his whiskers.

I've had enough monkey, cried father.

You didn't eat the hands, and I went to all the
trouble to make onion rings for its fingers, said mother.

I'll just nibble on its forehead, and then I've had enough,
said father.

I stuffed its nose with garlic, just like you like it, said
mother.

Why don't you have the butcher cut these apes up? You lay
the whole thing on the table every night; the same fractured
skull, the same singed fur; like someone who died horribly. These
aren't dinners, these are post-mortem dissections.

Try a piece of its gum, I've stuffed its mouth with bread,
said mother.

Ugh, it looks like a mouth full of vomit. How can I bite into
its cheek with bread spilling out of its mouth? cried father.

Break one of the ears off, they're so crispy, said mother.

I wish to hell you'd put underpants on these apes; even a
jockstrap, screamed father.

Father, how dare you insinuate that I see the ape as anything
more thn simple meat, screamed mother.

Well what's with this ribbon tied in a bow on its privates?
screamed father.

Are you saying that I am in love with this vicious creature?
That I would submit my female opening to this brute? That after
we had love on the kitchen floor I would put him in the oven, after
breaking his head with a frying pan; and then serve him to my husband,
that my husband might eat the evidence of my infidelity . . . ?

I'm just saying that I'm damn sick of ape every night,
cried father.

Re: Poetry
 

That ape poem is disgusting and weird, yet erotic. Just the thought of the mother getting drilled by a monkey on a kitchen floor and then cooking it is disturbing. I hope you're happy, you've contaminated my pure, virgin mind.

Re: Poetry
 

You're welcome. =-D

Re: Poetry
 

I swear to God you just ruined this whole thread...

Re: Poetry
 

Heh, sorry for trying to post something fun...I like Russell Edson, he's cool..

Re: Poetry
 

Mother-f*cking monkey-f*ckers...

Re: Poetry
 

Well, I figured I would try to salvage this thread (didn't mean to be rude before guys, but that stuff was just not my style at all).

So here's my new poem. I wrote it freestyle today in Psychology during a boring video. :D

Broken Wing
Do you wonder
what I'm doing?
Wonder if my voice still sounds,
like the voice that you remember?
Voice of reason from the ground.
As you flutter,
flitting flying,
I call to you from below.
I cannot fly
to join your sky,
so I'll wander on my own.
It's unfair of me
to ask you
simply to forget your wings.
So I ask you
just to fly away;
take what separate futures bring.

Edit:Kind of a late edit, but I'd just like to say that I really did like that last poem you posted Germinator.