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@Losty -I really like this one. I amazed that you wrote it at nine years old. I wrote poetry when I was really young too, but nothing quite so eloquent.
Thanks. Care to share some of your written work? You can post it in this thread if you want to, I won't mind.
@Pickup_shonuff -Keep it up. By the way, have you read any Charles Bukowski?
I haven't read much of him. The only poem I can remember from him is "Gold in your eye".
@Little lunch -Here's a couple more from Adam Ford.
I have to admit, the second one was somehow hilarious.
Some nights I think back on the love I felt for you, the longing for that love to be reciprocated, and it crushes me all over again.
Some nights I remember looking up at you and knowing that you were my world.
Ever since the day I realized who you were I have been crippled by a desperate need to be loved...by you.
My refuge, the only home I've ever known.
Unyielding, made of stone.
My shelter.
Unfeeling, heart so cold.
My only light, my only hope, drowning me in darkness.
My comfort.
Hold me tight, tuck me in, keep me safe, let me go.
You taught me to trust no one, but now I am alone...empty.
Most nights I know not to hold so tightly to the cause of my anguish.
Nights like this, I lie here wondering if I will ever find peace...without you.
(August 21, 2017 at 11:31 pm)KevinM1 Wrote: "I'm not a troll"
Religious Views: He gay
0/10
Hammy Wrote:and we also have a sheep on our bed underneath as well
Some Nights
Some nights I think back on the love I felt for you, the longing for that love to be reciprocated, and it crushes me all over again.
Some nights I remember looking up at you and knowing that you were my world.
Ever since the day I realized who you were I have been crippled by a desperate need to be loved...by you.
My refuge, the only home I've ever known.
Unyielding, made of stone.
My shelter.
Unfeeling, heart so cold.
My only light, my only hope, drowning me in darkness.
My comfort.
Hold me tight, tuck me in, keep me safe, let me go.
You taught me to trust no one, but now I am alone...empty.
Most nights I know not to hold so tightly to the cause of my anguish.
Nights like this, I lie here wondering if I will ever find peace...without you
Nice! I like it, even though I'm not into love and "I can't live without you" stuff. Good job nevertheless.
July 12, 2014 at 6:00 am (This post was last modified: July 12, 2014 at 6:01 am by Losty.)
Yea people tend to assume it's a romance thing. It's actually about child abuse. But I haven't figured out how to convey that message without just coming out and saying it.
And thank you
(August 21, 2017 at 11:31 pm)KevinM1 Wrote: "I'm not a troll"
Religious Views: He gay
0/10
Hammy Wrote:and we also have a sheep on our bed underneath as well
July 12, 2014 at 6:33 am (This post was last modified: July 12, 2014 at 6:40 am by Brian37.)
I do not like criticizing other's poetry. I only say if I like it or not. I have always found that others may like something I don't. I have written 400 plus. I am always amazed at what people like. Just keep writing, that is what matters.
(July 12, 2014 at 6:00 am)Losty Wrote: Yea people tend to assume it's a romance thing. It's actually about child abuse. But I haven't figured out how to convey that message without just coming out and saying it.
And thank you
While poetry shouldn't be "see spot run", it also does not have to be so coded the message gets missed.
I love Hitchens, but outside "GodIs Not Great", most of his books are high pitched as far as oxford words. There is something to be said for simplicity.
(July 12, 2014 at 6:33 am)Brian37 Wrote: While poetry shouldn't be "see spot run", it also does not have to be so coded the message gets missed.
It's not really meant to be coded. It was originally meant to be an intro for a book I was thinking of writing. You have a book about child abuse with that intro and the point is obvious. I've changed it a lot since I first wrote it, but it's meaning is still hard to decipher. I'm okay with that for now. It's mine and I like it, but if I decide to make it more public I will have to change it or accept that it will always be assumed to be about romantic love.
(August 21, 2017 at 11:31 pm)KevinM1 Wrote: "I'm not a troll"
Religious Views: He gay
0/10
Hammy Wrote:and we also have a sheep on our bed underneath as well
July 12, 2014 at 2:11 pm (This post was last modified: July 12, 2014 at 2:15 pm by Mudhammam.)
These are a some poems I wrote, untitled:
People say
the hardest part
is getting on.
I say
getting on
is the easy part.
The hardest part
is staying on
after you’ve realized
how much time
you have spent
and how little reward
you have reaped.
It is a proud but sad moment.
A deep breath is taken and the culmination of hours or days or weeks
is processed and analyzed.
The source of pride is folded and put back on the shelf.
Another is taken off for consideration.
It's like a drug that may or may not be enjoyed but is nonetheless
invaluable to those who wish to escape.
Those experiences that become alive and familiar when passed along
the right way.
Sadness lingers as this drug will no longer have the same effect,
if any effect, on the user for some time to come.
The only thing that can be done with it
is to share it with someone else who has not yet experienced
the words on its pages.
Darkness, fog, rain,
29 degrees Fahrenheit,
a curve in the road ahead;
no street lights.
You feel your car begin to slide,
thoughts race,
adrenaline begins to pump,
panic sends your heart
into your throat,
and life slips out of your control
with the wheel.
No matter how hard you slam the brakes,
your tires drift
toward a ditch.
The car catches air
in slow motion.
You’re upside down,
tumbling off the road
soon to be one
with a tree,
glass and metal folding into your bones.
You breathe in deeply,
coming back to reality.
Darkness, fog, rain,
29 degrees Fahrenheit,
a curve in the road ahead;
You slow down to a near stop
and safely take the curve.
I appeared uneasy.
Bumpity-bump.
The pressure heightened with each minute.
It filled a little more.
I tried to play it off,
smile and laugh with everyone else.
It worked for a while.
Then my thoughts wandered back to it.
I swelled like a balloon inside.
My friends chattered about sports and the workshop
but my mind focused solely on the pain at hand.
The van traveled along.
Bumpity-bump.
“Looks like an accident up ahead.”
My foot tapped the floor.
My hand tapped my knee.
I counted to 100 and back down to 1.
I almost made it;
14 Mississippi,
13 Mississippi
12 Mississippi.
Then I felt relief.
A warm wetness dribbled down my leg.
In life I was a beggar.
It didn’t matter much that my father
was Camp Prefect of the Sixth Victorious Legion,
I was still called dumb,
a devil, cursed by the gods,
left by my own family
to linger in the streets.
The truth is
I was born with Klippel-Feil syndrome,
although everyone then
only knew me
as a helpless cripple,
a freak.
People said I wouldn’t amount to anything
and I half believed them.
There was certainly nothing noble
about my death and burial
and I received no special ceremonies
or decorations
as my father had.
Only by the grace of Vulcan
on my final day
in the streets of Pompeii,
was I given a chance
at a new life.
Today I
stand
proud,
for all the world to see.
The wieners sizzled on the frying pan.
The cat gazed in admiration as she worked at the burners.
Cheddar cheese noodles were Harvey’s favorite side.
The main dish this evening
was chili dogs.
No beans.
She lit a nag champa stick.
The aroma from the incense
and her impeccable cooking
would make even a grouchy Harvey pleased.
She placed a couple candles on the table,
poured two glasses of Shiraz,
and set out the plates.
Dinner was ready.
She helped Harvey and herself to a serving
and sat down.
She stared at Harvey’s picture on the chair across from her.
“I can’t believe its already been ten years.”
He who loves God cannot endeavour that God should love him in return - Baruch Spinoza
