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Regular poetry thread
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Regular poetry thread
Regular poetry thread (because I'm tired of not editing my poems)
This is exactly what it sounds like! A thread to post poetry. I'm excited to read all of your work!
submitted by Bluebird
(April 30, 2017 - 8:51 pm)
(April 30, 2017 - 8:51 pm)
first things first love
why do so many people fade from optimism as they get older
and fall back to uninteresting routine
get up:work:come home and hate everything
is is so hard to hold onto an inkling of happiness
or does everything just slip out of your grasp
and hide away where you can never find it?
is everyone cursed to become so sad and to sink to the ground
every day?
burdened by waight that they never knew they didn't need?
(December 2, 2018 - 2:16 pm)
XD
...XD
*weight
(December 3, 2018 - 10:38 am)
untitled
i hate how dreams affect you in real life
like how when you have a nightmare and
you wake up and feel strange
or when you have a dream with warped
reality and you half-expect the day to be
like that when you open your eyes
i don't have nightmares as much as
i used to anymore (it used to be every night) but i
still have dreams that i suppose could
count as nightmares because they negatively
haunt me and sometimes ruin my
mornings (is it just because i let them though?)
so i wish dreams would evaporate as soon
as morning light hit
(December 2, 2018 - 2:18 pm)
Whoa. That’s so good, and so relatable. Man, that’s exactly how I feel a lot of the time.
(December 3, 2018 - 10:19 am)
Hazel says bedx. What, didn't you get enough sleep last night?
(December 3, 2018 - 10:40 am)
I love writing poetry! :) Um-not sure if I posted this before on here, (probably not,) but this is a poem I created a bit ago. (Sidenote: Isn't it weird how poetry ideas appear in the most interesting of times? I know inspiration for my poems does that a lot for me.) (Another sidenote: I'm a girl, but I wrote this poem from the perspective of a boy. I am not transgender. I am not bisexual. So please do not read this poem in the wrong way. Thank you.)
My Sleeping Beauty:
There she lies, head rested on her arms,
my sleeping beauty.
Her hair wrapped
gently around her face-
Cheeks rosy pink,
lips radiant red.
Lovely cannot begin to describe her beauty.
Beautiful both inside, and out,
she lights the world of everyone she meets.
When she smiles, her eyes sparkle brightly
and when she laughs,
I feel like I could fly.
The moment she denies her radiance-
my heart aches,
for I see her for who she is:
Perfect.
Mistakes she has,
her flaws many-
yet she tries her best to make them strengths.
She's perfect to me,
and is never out of my thoughts.
In times of trial,
she strengthens me.
She sees my imperfections, yet helps me
just the same.
I don't deserve her.
How could she like me-
a boy of many flaws?
How does she continue to overlook them?
To see me for who I am,
who I truly am?
She surprises me every day,
every moment.
Her strength is larger than she knows,
always thinking of others before herself.
Now there she lies, head rested on her arms.
Like a guardian angel I watch her,
my sleeping beauty.
(December 3, 2018 - 11:17 am)
I really like that! I think it's great for people to write from a different point of view than they usually would.
(December 9, 2018 - 1:47 pm)
In which I tried to write a poem about my friend and I discovered what I really needed to work out. I tried out a different style for this one, I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'd love some thoughts on that! Also, I played with the formatting a lot, which may or may not translate here. We shall see.
je n'ai pas de père
—
one year ago: the best ten days of your life.
i stood there on the sidelines,
in the red sweater borrowed from my father
and skin too big for my brain
(i had not realized what myself looked like),
and waded through puddles of joy.
the water licks at my ankles, but i am never quite
submerged.
i see the best! trip! ever!
through a box of secondhand smiles.
i loved it in the way one loves the sun—
fiercely. distantly.
it is blinding joy and believing in something.
tel aviv at night, inky fingers smeared to gold.
uninhibited laughter, parties and friendship,
new words in an old language, and sweet things and
cold hands and cold smiles and circles that never quite close.
gossip that bites and pictures where my eyes are shut.
the stuffy basement of a house of the girl who doesn’t blink.
check-ins and discomfort and being apart
(they’d never cry for you).
and here are you: in memory,
a warped statue shaped from false silver.
too pretty, too quiet,
too easy to like,
lena but less funny—
and now you are my friend.
how unfathomable, to last-year’s me, to say that
and not doubt it for a second.
the best ten days of your life. i remember.
i think i am
happier now.
(December 8, 2018 - 3:33 am)
That's cool! I love the title; I'm taking French. The style you wrote this in doesn't seem too different from your normal style, but I think it's a little choppier. Not in a bad way, though--it fits the poem really nicely. I really like the second verse.
(December 11, 2018 - 10:51 am)
Ah, you’re taking French? So am I! Although I don’t think I’m very good at it. :/ It’s pretty cool, though.
@Abi, I love that poem, it’s so good!
(December 11, 2018 - 12:37 pm)
Leafpool and Leeli, thank you both so much! I'm taking French as well! I like it the class so far, but my accent is truly horrendous. :P
(December 11, 2018 - 7:54 pm)
I like this one, but I'm not taking French. Can you please translate the title for me? Also, I'm kind of confused, I assumed the poem was describing Israel because of the mention of Tev Aviv (which is in Israel, right?), but the title is in French, so is the poem describing a trip to France (or another French-speaking country?) or Israel (the language there is Hebrew, right?)?
Sorry if this reads as criticism, I'm just confused.
The title means "I Do Not Have a Father"
Admin
(December 12, 2018 - 6:34 pm)
Thank you so much! I'm glad someone asked about the title, I was lowkey waiting to explain it.
The "you" referenced in the poem is my friend Kenna.
We went on a trip to Israel one year ago, with our Hebrew school class, though we weren't friends at the time. Kenna loved the trip so, so, much. Unbelievable amounts, for reasons that have a lot to do with her home life and sense of self that I don't want to get into right now.
I loved the trip too, but it wasn't perfect. It was overwhelmingly amazing, and I'll never forget all the ways it impacted my life and the friends I made, but there were moments where it wasn't so great. Where I felt left out and upset and insecure.
I wanted to write about that— how two people can remember the same experience so differently, how something can be so good but so imperfect, and how memory tends to tint things rose-colored.
The title comes from a time we were hanging out with our other friend, who speaks fluent French. Kenna asked him to teach her a sentence in it. He taught her this one, and didn't tell her what it meant until she had said it a few times: "I don't have a father."
It was funny but also sad because, well.
Kenna doesn't have a father.
I thought it fit the poem because it was about things and experiences that are at once wonderful and terrible; vibrant and frightening; and funny and sad.
(December 12, 2018 - 7:41 pm)
(December 8, 2018 - 2:11 pm)
Here's something I just made up. It's nicer than what I normaly do.
Far off in a distant land
Lies truth in every hand
Soon It all turns to sand
(December 8, 2018 - 2:36 pm)