The poetry corner - post your poems in here
This is a thread for sharing your creative works.
Please bear in mind our community rules before submitting your work.
This thread is located in the BB Social Zone, so the primary purpose here is entertainment.
We will not publish poems containing dark or disturbing content, including themes of suicide, self-harm, death, dying, abuse or other forms of trauma.
Thanks for your understanding.
Little feather left and right
and she falls slowly in the night
coming from a nest above
a world of joy and a bed of love
Down she falls to the ground
a gust of wind to toss her around
then as the sun rose to dry her out
the lighter she was to get out and about
Then a magpie came to snatch her with glee
to take her to her nest in the tree
to place her in a cradled nest
to warm the heart where baby bird rests.....
Ok, so here goes...
EVERYTHING LEADS BACK TO YOU
Is it because you were my first love,
My first kiss, my first racing heart,
My first touch, my first embrace
That everything leads back to you?
Do I struggle to ask for the things you did,
the way you were,The look in your eyes,
the same kind of words
Because everything leads back to you?
Have I been looking for someone else
To cause the same pain, or take it away
Make it all better, make me stay
Otherwise everything leads back to you?
Will I ever be able to mend my heart,
To feel again the pleasures, the joy,
The self acceptance, The same love for a boy
Or will everything always lead back to you?
Have I ever been able to imagine
A life without pain, A life without sorrow,
a future without you,
A minute, an hour, or something new
Because always and forever everything leads back to you?
How do I tell him that I love him, That im discovering myself,
That im hurting so bad and I feel so blue
And im just not ready to let go of
The way that everything leads back to you?
Hi AGrace...that is wonderful poetry.. loved it.
Not everyone can write poetry. So I cant advise how. It's just an ability I think. Many of my 250 poems cannot be put on this forum.
This poem is very special. No names of course. I met a couple 8 years ago. Both their daughters were murdered. I drove past the cemetery 10 days after the tragedy and met the girls mother. I asked her if I could write to her. She accepted and- well I've been writing ever since...8 years. About 50 poems maybe more. Her dining room walls are full of them now. I truly believe it was meant to happen and there is a spiritual connection there.
This poem was to the girls mother on the first mothers day after they were taken from her- hope you enjoy it.
HOUSE OF WAX
He was busy with the pouring
this old man's name of 'Max'
so I toured his workplace as he toiled
this holy house of wax
There were inventors of a kind
and starlets from the stage
there were master minds of talent
from another age
There were heroes of the wars
and leaders of a group
there were figurines of wax
from every allied troop
I stopped to admire him work
his name tag read just "Max"
"you really are a marvel,
how you recreate with wax"
I focused on his one off mould
and marvelled when it set
this figure of a lady
that I recently had met
Her arm were open wide
as if about to fly
I asked a simple question
I asked a simple "why"?
Because she is cradling her girls
even though you cannot see
it is the stance she had
when they were 1 and 3
He continued to work away
as his making of a sign did end
and I was totally in awe
of the mirror image of my friend
He rolled out the final cast
to place it at her feet
this 'house of wax' curator
that I was glad to meet
He placed the sign just right
this single cast of one
the sign read appropriately
"this is the perfect mum".......
Writing poems - you first have to have a theme, a story to tell. For me, take the little feather one. It came to me when I saw a feather fall and the breeze made it fly up and down. it was so light.
So I just told that story eg Little feather left and right, as you fall slowly in the night. now when I've finished the first line with "right" I think of a word that rymes with that word eg night or it could be sight, or might or light.
eg could have been- little feather left and right, tries to stay up high with all her might....or little feather left and right falls from its nest out of sight....
Then the story goes on...and on. There are unwritten rules in poetry. Not for a poem to go on so long as the reader loses interest unless- its very interesting. And in my opinion m poems should be able to be read so it makes sense. However a lot of published poetry is so cryptic and doesnt rhyme it is barely understandable. Clever but for me it is the majority of people that poetry should be aimed at.
The story of a poem has to include in it a punch line, a line that at the end hits the reader between the eyes. As you read with House of Wax. The last line "this is the perfect mum" When the recipient read that poem she burst into tears with happiness. Any wonder.
With all written words there will always be the critic. Thats their right. Many miss the positivity of it all. Most of my poems are their to help others of the world. Little feather is actually a recycling theory. It comes form a nest and returns to one. lol
So lets write a poem here and try to follow how I wrote it.
A poem about a - bucket. I just thought of a bucket.
It sat so rusty and of not use, (now I'm think of abuse, loose, moose, )
this old bucket so dented and bruised, (I thought of bruised as I wrote dented)
no one cared and no one was amused (this is where the theme is developed)
But that bucket had nothing simply to lose... (so now the theme is a lonely rusty bucket...when I re-read this I added "simply" it made it better)
It had been carried and had been thrown, (thinking here -own, blown, lone)
carried water and a bucket of bones - (again thought of bones when writing)
now it sits on the grass all alone
hole in the bottom and hasnt got a home (theme is old and unwanted)
it hopes it will become a pot plants base
but its up to one of the human race
each day hopes fade and life is hard
a rusty old bucket in a lonely backyard....
At the end of "race" I thought of an ending. cheers.
I've searched my pile, and will share a couple more:)
Something's found a home in me,
a place to stay, a way to be.
Something's taken over me a parasite
or something alike
Something makes my blood boil,
my heart race, my stomach coil
Something's found it's prey
For me a high price to pay
Something keeps me awake, and wakes me all the same
I've met it 1000s of times but never catch its name
Something's going to break
this something is not fake
Something's weighing me down
another anchor it's become,
this something has a lot to say
and makes me want to frown
Someone by now should know its game
Someone else will have felt the same
Something will remind someone
of how this something steals your fun
if you haven't met this something or felt all of it's rage,
consider yourself fortunate you're on a different page
How long will it take me?
As long as it breaks me,
and longer than I can stand.
How long before I feel joy?
As this feeling continues to toy
with the pain and sorrow of it's hand.
How long will I feel blue?
As long as I need to
and longer without you.
How long til the good times?
As long as this work rhymes
and longer than these lines.
How long will it hurt me?
As long as it beats me
and longer than these whines
How long will I be without?
All the fun I'm missing out
As long as I doubt.
How long will it take me?
As long as I let it break me
and longer than I planned.
Wow AGrace. had to read them twice it was so good.
Struggler, there are something one can appreciate form poetry that doesnt rhyme.
Like this one I wrote a long time ago. Hope you like it.
Yell at me
-I not yell back,
-I bid you good luck
- I'll hug you
- I'll untie your shackles
-I'll be your audience
Ask me how
-because I've found my inner self,
If you dont understand then yell
- but I not yell back.....
It is a poem with great meaning. But it doesnt rhyme.