The Poetry Thread

[Manverulin]

Sorry about the
resurrection of this thread,
for I have poems.

by
Me

~~~~~

There's A Hole in My Sidewalk
by
Portia Nelson

I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in. It is a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault. I get out immediately.

IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V
I walk down another street.

~~~~~

The Cold Within

Six humans trapped by happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold,
Each one possessed a stick of wood, or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs, the first man held his back,
For of the faces 'round the fire, he noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give the fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes, he gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use to warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned from the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge as the fire passed from sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood was a chance to spite the white.

The last man of this forlorned group did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave was how he played the game.

Their logs held tight in death's still hand was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without -- they died from the cold within.

~~~~~

Please ... Hear What I'm Not Saying

Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled from the mask I wear.
For I wear a mask, I wear a thousand masks,
Masks that I am afraid to take off, and none of them is me.
Pretending is an art that is second nature with me,
But don't be fooled.

...I give the impression that I'm secure,
That all is sunny and unruffled with me, within me as well as without;
That confidence is my name and coolness is my game;
That the waters are calm and that i'm in command and I need no one.
But don't believe it;
Please don't.

I idly chatter with you in the suave tones of surface talk.
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
Nothing of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine,
Don't be fooled by what I'm saying.
Please listen carefully and try to listen to what I'm not saying;
What I'd like to be able to say;
What, for survival, I need to say but I can't say.
I dislike the hiding.
I really do.
I dislike the superficial phony games I'm playing.

I'd really like to be genuine, spontaneous, and me;
But you have to help me.
You have to help me by holding out your hand,
Even when that's the last thing I seem to want or need.
Each time you are kind and gentle and encouraging,
Each time you try to understand because you really care,
My heart starts to grow wings.
Very small wings.
Very feeble wings.
But wings.
With your sensitivity and sympathy and your power of understanding,
I can make it.
You breathe life into me.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
But love is stronger that strong walls,
And therein lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls with firm hands,
But gentle hands,
For a child is very sensitive,
And I am a child.

Who am I, you may wonder.
For I am every man,
Every woman,
Every child...

Every human you meet.

~~~~~

Value

To realize the value of one year,
Ask a student who failed his or her AP exams.

To realize the value of one month,
Ask a mother who gave birth to a premature baby.

To realize the value of one week,
Ask an editor of a weekly magazine.

To realize the value of one day,
Ask a daily wage labourer who has six kids to feed.

To realize the value of one hour,
Ask the lovers who are waiting to meet.

To realize the value of one minute,
Ask a person who missed their train.

To realize the value of one second,
Ask the person who survived an accident.

To realize the value of one millisecond,
Ask the person who won a silver medal in the Olympics.​

 

[Syterion]

I gotta say Manverulin, The Cold Within was one of the best poems I've ever read.

 

[Manverulin]

I gotta say Manverulin, The Cold Within was one of the best poems I've ever read.

Yep, that's a pretty good poem. So thought-provoking and meaningful.

 

[JohnRM]

"Dear Lord III", by John HSOG

Dear Lord, these things I've got to say you already know
but I've got to put it in rhymes, cause that's how I show
my love and appreciation for all of your blessings
even though sometimes I don't learn from your lessons
I'm sorry for too many times when I lost the faith
and thankful for all those times when you set me straight
you've always forgiven me and treated me fair
no, you've treated me better, because that's how much you care
maybe more than you have to and more than you should
but you did it anyway, because you knew that you could
bring me out of the darkness and into the light
and show you walk with me, no matter what, through my life.

 

[storealex]

I made this my self to be used as lyrics in a Heavy Metal song, but mabye it's poetry too:

My reasons for sadness are here in this jail
of treason and madness but I must prevail
searching forever where is the grail
this is the legend of a warriors tale

postponing the actions that should follow belief
she's feeling contractions incited with grief
the child is delivered she remember the kiss
the kiss of the devil evil it is

seduced by the dark lord she carries his son
dooming her people as their future has gone
this child will grow and a demon become
there's no where to hide no where to run

fertile lands will be turned into dust
metal and armour will be subject to rust
values will change from honour to lust
evil enforced by the ones who were just

only the grail guarded by evil
can save her child while saving her people
but where is it hidden where is it kept
only god knows how much time I have left
________
MEDICAL MARIJUANA STORES ON OVERLAND

 

[raiderbob]

[loreena mckennitt also sings the ballad....10+min]

The Highwayman
by
English Poet

Alfred Noyes 1880-1958

#Part One

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding
Riding-riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say -

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

Part Two

I

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
Marching-marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

II

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.

III

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

IV

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one figure touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

V

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain






VI

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!

VII

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.

VIII
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

IX

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

X

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
XI
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
The End

http://www.teachersfirst.com/lessons/highwayman/st1.html

[very informative.....]

 

[polymath]

How many of those were by you, Manverulin?

 

[raiderbob]

Propaganda works

by raiderbob​

Propaganda works
When you feel uneasy duty,
Draped in a flag.

Propaganda works
When veiled controls you sense,
Expose your weakness

Propaganda works
When you smell something fishy,
But pinch your nose

Propaganda works
If you look upon the truth,
And yet deny it.

Propaganda works
Although it tastes like bush!t,
You swallow it whole.

Propaganda works
When someone dares to question,
You shout down the voice

Expect the worst, you won’t be disappointed!
Or surprised, fooled, nor taken as often as others....

Propaganda addendum-

Propaganda works
When government dictates,
What you see and hear.

Propaganda works
If your government tells lies,
And you swear to them.

Propaganda works
When your sixth sense screams stop!
But onward you go.

Propaganda works
When children are bondage born,
Slaves to your tax debt.

Propaganda works
Enlist loyal old children,
For flagged coffins.

 

[Manverulin]

How many of those were by you, Manverulin?

All of them except the first one!

 

[Giotto]

One of my favorites!

Sonnet CLXXI

Read history: thus learn how small a space
You may inhabit, nor inhabit long
In crowding Cosmos--in that confined place
Work boldly; build your flimsy barriers strong;
Turn round and round and, make warm you nest; among
The other hunting beasts, keep heart and face,--
Not to betray the doomed and splendid race
You are so proud of, to which you belong.
For trouble comes to all of us: the rat
Has courage, in adversity, to fight;
But what a shining animal is man,
Who knows, when pain subsides, that is not that,
For worse than that must follow--yet can write
Music; can laugh; play tennis; even plan.

By Edna St. Vincent Millay


Many of you will recognize the last four lines!

 

[Manverulin]

Here are more poems,
one's I like... but there's a catch;
none of them are mine.

by
Me (again)

~~~~~

Complexity in Basics

A picture tells a thousand words
But my picture does not speak
A cold harsh world in which you live
Ignorance is bliss

A story creates an image
But my story remains blank
A dark street in which I walk
Safety is absent

A smile can spread like fire
But my fire has long burnt out
A gloomy box in which I lie
Comfort is impossible

A hero can save a life
So where is my saviour?
A constant battle in which I fight
Failure is inevitable

A friend can break a fall
But my fall would break a friend
I believe in a companion’s comfort
Happiness is essential

~~~~~

Put me in an airtight box
Chain it up
And call it lost
And maybe
You'll forget me

You say I'm too complicated
Your excuses resound in my head
Cut me off
And maybe
You'll forget me

I leave my heart in a box by your bed
You avert your eyes
Pretend that I'm dead
So maybe
You'll forget me

You kick me to the floor
Leave me high and dry
Crying over your lies
Tearing pain
Maybe you'll forget me

But maybe,
someone will make the same excuses you made
Trash your heart in this many ways
And all the pain will come running back...

You'll never forget me.

~~~~~

Shattered Mirror

Cold as winter, strong as stone;
She faced the darkness all alone.
A silver goddess; a reflection.
A mirage; a recollection.
No return; no turning back.
The past is gone, the future, black.
Serpents gather in their nest,
As she stands above the rest.
Shadows hunt; she hunts the shadow.
The moon is risen; she stands below.
She views her world through the eyes of others.
Black and white; there are no colors,
As she looks down upon a shattered youth.
A shattered mirror shows a shattered truth.

~~~~~

Glass

Alone in the dark room
You feel a presence
But maybe, your mind has been
Delusioned
Corrupted

By the days and nights you spent
Alone
With nobody inside the walls
You close around yourself

The glass around you is
Thick
Nobody can see
What you feel or what
You see

You see the people’s pain
You see their lies
You feel their hate
For you

They cannot see
They will not see
Because no matter
How hard you fight
The glass will not break

Maybe one day
You will escape
The walls that hold
You in

Because no matter
How thick
Your glass is,
Glass is always
Transparent

One day
Someone will
See

One day
Someone
Will let you
Out

~~~~~

Today we're here
Tomorrow we're gone
What seemed forever
Is ending
We've seen each other
Through everything
And we feel it's impossible
To say goodbye
But life is short
And the journey's long
And we know in our hearts
That we have to part
Right now we feel it's
The beginning of the end
But really
It's only the beginning
We now know that
Life is a stage
And all the people
Who act upon it
Are merely players
In an endless play
Of joys and sorrows
And we are each part
Of many scenes
Throughout our lifetime
Right now
One of the first scenes
Of our life
Has ended
We're taking our final bow
And taking our first step
We're exiting
And entering the stage again
For a new scene in our life
As the curtain falls
And the audience applauds
We look around
And realize
That it is time
That we must
Face the curtain...

~~~~~

That's it...

But wait!

* BONUS POEM! *

I wish I were a glow worm
for they are never glum.
How could you be sad
when the sun shines out of your bum?


​

 

[raen]

I was listening to a Portuguese song and I was inspired by that song to make a poem.
I am not good at this, and it´s the first time I write a poem in English!! And the funny part is that the poem speaks about that

I am not a Poet

I wish to know how to rhyme
To make verses
So that One day I write
All about my senses

I wish to know how to make poetry
Inspired by my passion!
To invent suffering, agony,
To give you love and attention...

I wish to call you myne, trying
In sentences and things like such...
In a calm and confused writing.
With many words, to much!

I am not a Poet,
This is a thing I never done...
I never wrote a Poem,
I dont know to speak about love!

PS: please correct me if I dont rhyme or give some sugestions to improve this poem

 

[philippe]

Another classic:

Charge of the Light Brigade

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
`Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

`Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

-- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

what a nice poem....

 

[raiderbob]

here's my entry for a "worst poem" contest---

(the "prompt" for the contest was: Write a haiku describing the sound of one hand clapping.)

*Yawn* how droll this is-
BUSTED! Roll down the windows!
Smell? What smell? What fart?
​

i think its still open (the contest
WARNING- shameless plugs!

Read more?
Write some? "Bad to the Bone" CONTEST
If you get lost (raiderbob's e-mail)