02-02-2004, 09:23 PM | #101 |
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that's cute! i have a million little poems like that; sometimes it's easier to convey an idea with a few lines than with a whole page.
The World in a Tube Life is a kaleidascope- Ever changing; Going from light to dark, Ugly to beautiful, In a moment. What I want to know Is: What shape confetti Am I? this one i wrote a long time ago; my poems don't always end in questions, btw, i've just posted the ones that do.
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*smooch* Proud Member of the Evil Mooters and upstanding citizen of the Planet Bob! And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be... My Space! Cynicism is what happens when a person opens their eyes; stops blinking in the sun, and starts wondering "why". Question everything, believe only that which you yourself deem true. Go ahead- Call me cynical. |
02-03-2004, 05:20 AM | #102 |
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Some of my poems end with questions too, but very few. But that's a really nice one!
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02-03-2004, 07:44 AM | #103 |
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Awwww that's a cute one .
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02-03-2004, 10:47 PM | #104 |
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thanx
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*smooch* Proud Member of the Evil Mooters and upstanding citizen of the Planet Bob! And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be... My Space! Cynicism is what happens when a person opens their eyes; stops blinking in the sun, and starts wondering "why". Question everything, believe only that which you yourself deem true. Go ahead- Call me cynical. |
02-04-2004, 08:41 AM | #105 |
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I like the poem, Lady Ravyn. Its cool, and I dig the analgy. Never really thought about it that way before.
Here's one I thought up soon: Day after day goes by never changing, never growing All the time, I want to fly and get away from this place. For a moment, the sun shines, then behind the clouds it goes For freedom, my body pines, To go where I want to go. Every day is one less day and soon it will be done I will be home again, Home with my wife and son.
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Well, there it is. |
02-04-2004, 04:32 PM | #106 |
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You are all so talented!!! I wish I could write like that. I'm working on a novel right now but I do write some poetry from time to time. I wrote this for a compitision, I have't gotten any word yet if it's excepted but I prey it is. The theme had to be the four seasons. this is what I wrote:
There is still frozen sadness in her icy teared diamonds that once rained from her eyes but are now frozen along with her lips hair and skin Birth comes from her every pore on her rose petal cheeks and lilies fall from her waves of gold strands that kiss her mouth as she laughs Sun on his skin and water lapping on his feet with smiles dancing in his eyes as he takes the new and makes it more and makes it mature in the spots of sunshine on the moss beneath a tree As he grows older the year must also but before it says goodnight to enter the dead, white, haven it showers life with color and he brings beauty back to what was new in bouquets of cornflowers and warms scents of sandal wood
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02-04-2004, 04:42 PM | #107 |
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That's so beautiful, Pirate! Wow! It's very special; just the sort of I love. That's more of the kind I write too.
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02-04-2004, 10:22 PM | #108 |
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Thank you . I'd love to read some you your poetry. Is it posted anywhere (I'm sure it got it's own thread but i'm too stupid to find it) if not PM it too me or something. I adore reading poetry!
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02-10-2004, 08:30 PM | #109 |
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mm, reading poetry is very relaxing; i read from my "poem a day" book every night before bed
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*smooch* Proud Member of the Evil Mooters and upstanding citizen of the Planet Bob! And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be... My Space! Cynicism is what happens when a person opens their eyes; stops blinking in the sun, and starts wondering "why". Question everything, believe only that which you yourself deem true. Go ahead- Call me cynical. |
02-10-2004, 08:56 PM | #110 |
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Great poems, all!! I'll have to dig out some of mine and put 'em up.
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It's New Years Day, just like the day before; Same old skies of grey, same empty bottles on the floor. Another year's gone by, and I was thinking once again, How can I take this losing hand and somehow win? Just give me One Good Year To get my feet back on the ground. I've been chasing grace; Grace ain't so easily found One bad hand can devil a man, chase him and carry him down. I've got to get out of here, just give me One Good Year! |
02-11-2004, 04:14 AM | #111 | |
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Quote:
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"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known. " - C. Sagan My (photography) website My Flickr page |
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02-14-2004, 04:35 PM | #112 |
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My poem got excepted but I need votes. It would really help if you'd vote for me. This is the link . My poem is under E Rose. Thank you!!!
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02-15-2004, 10:04 PM | #113 |
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well, i voted for you, but what poem am i voting for
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*smooch* Proud Member of the Evil Mooters and upstanding citizen of the Planet Bob! And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be... My Space! Cynicism is what happens when a person opens their eyes; stops blinking in the sun, and starts wondering "why". Question everything, believe only that which you yourself deem true. Go ahead- Call me cynical. |
02-17-2004, 06:50 PM | #114 |
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the poem I posted about 7 or 8 posts up.
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"In a thousand years, there will be no men and women, just wankers, and that's fine by me. " ~Renton, Trainspotting |
02-24-2004, 09:27 PM | #115 |
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Here's one I finished not two minutes ago. My first of the non-rhymning variety.
S. J. G. You've gone away. I think of the things I said. I think of the hurt on your face. You tried to make me laugh But I thought I hurt you- I think it still. I can't say I'm sorry. That would be stupid, you'd shrug me off. You've gone away. I think of the things I said. I think of the hurt on your face. I wander here, in my room. I smell you in my teddy bear. You're here, but you've gone away. I bury my face here and breathe you in. You've gone away. I think of the things I said. I think of the hurt on your face. You don't know how I think of you. I don't know what you think of me. I am a constant dripping. I don't mean to be contentious. You've gone away. I think of the things I said. I think of the hurt on your face. I wish you'd yell at me for being nasty Even though I don't mean to. I don't want to laugh at your expense. You mean more than that to me. You've gone away. I think of the things I said. I think of the hurt on your face. I don't know if you're just a friend. Maybe you're dearer than that. Maybe it's my imagination. But, I love you, anyway. You've gone away. I think of the things I said. I think of the hurt on your face. You tried to make me laugh But I thought I hurt you- I think it still. I can't say I'm sorry. That would be stupid, you'd shrug me off.
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It's New Years Day, just like the day before; Same old skies of grey, same empty bottles on the floor. Another year's gone by, and I was thinking once again, How can I take this losing hand and somehow win? Just give me One Good Year To get my feet back on the ground. I've been chasing grace; Grace ain't so easily found One bad hand can devil a man, chase him and carry him down. I've got to get out of here, just give me One Good Year! Last edited by Rosie Gamgee : 02-24-2004 at 09:28 PM. |
02-26-2004, 07:52 PM | #116 |
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good! i like the line "i smell you in my teddy bear" cool!
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*smooch* Proud Member of the Evil Mooters and upstanding citizen of the Planet Bob! And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be... My Space! Cynicism is what happens when a person opens their eyes; stops blinking in the sun, and starts wondering "why". Question everything, believe only that which you yourself deem true. Go ahead- Call me cynical. |
03-02-2004, 06:24 PM | #117 |
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Thanks. The teddy bear thing is true- actually, the whole poem's true.
On repeated readings, I'm wondering if it's too monotonous? Maybe the repeating lines "I think of the things I said/ I think of the hurt on your face" should be interspersed only half as many times- two stanzas in between instead of one. What do you think? (Like I said, I've never really done any of the 'non-rhyming' variety before, and don't read much of it, so I'm open to suggestions. The mode seems to lend itself to melancholy, sad thoughts, so that's why I chose it.)
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It's New Years Day, just like the day before; Same old skies of grey, same empty bottles on the floor. Another year's gone by, and I was thinking once again, How can I take this losing hand and somehow win? Just give me One Good Year To get my feet back on the ground. I've been chasing grace; Grace ain't so easily found One bad hand can devil a man, chase him and carry him down. I've got to get out of here, just give me One Good Year! |
03-02-2004, 10:33 PM | #118 |
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i agree about the monotany; it's not annoying, it just takes away from the mood of the poem.
and non-rhyming isn't that hard to write; actually i find rhyming is harder. with non-rhyming, you just- say what your feeling or thinking about. the only thing you have to avoid is rambling on for pages... i tend to do that...alot...
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*smooch* Proud Member of the Evil Mooters and upstanding citizen of the Planet Bob! And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be... My Space! Cynicism is what happens when a person opens their eyes; stops blinking in the sun, and starts wondering "why". Question everything, believe only that which you yourself deem true. Go ahead- Call me cynical. |
03-05-2004, 10:55 AM | #119 |
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I've never written poetry before, but I thought I'd give it a try:
A Poem of Nostalgia: I remember the bright curved shell of the Easter egg Its orange coat glittering in the sun Reflecting the dew of the uncut grass I remember those diamonds in the sky Flying in the wind on cool summer evenings The kite silohetted against the end of day I remember the heat of the pavement The sound of the kickball game The smell of the lemonade stand And the brightness of it all Because most of all, I remember the Sun But its all gone now. Only some irrecovable dream lost to the weaving pattern of Time. Now I'm alone on the moor and I can feel The coarse grey grass rubbing against my legs, my arms The trees are far away, stripped, bared; A prelude to the oncoming cold of winter. The sun is eclipsed by the grey coulds, moving away Forever west Because nothing stays forever. The mists swirl around me, til I am enfolded in the dull monotony of the present. With nothing here and memory long gone. But then it all changes. Because I can smell the sea, and I can hear the thunder far off. And the ache fo things past is joined by The hope of things to come And the beauty of every moment. Its a feeling so sad and so sweet that I don't know whether to Laugh or cry Because they feel the same. Because some things stay. Because even though the sun is gone, When I look up, I can see the stars. Katie |
03-05-2004, 08:28 PM | #120 |
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that's so good! is it really your first attempt at poetry? i'm impressed
the only thing i have to critique is the second stanza; when you talk about the pavement, the lemonade stand and the kickball game? it sounds like it could be such a discriptive line! i can almost feel the things you're describing- almost perhaps if you described the heat of the pavement (ex: the sizzling heat or hotness); the sound of the kickball game, etc. other than that one part, it rather good!
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*smooch* Proud Member of the Evil Mooters and upstanding citizen of the Planet Bob! And all you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be... My Space! Cynicism is what happens when a person opens their eyes; stops blinking in the sun, and starts wondering "why". Question everything, believe only that which you yourself deem true. Go ahead- Call me cynical. |
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