Do any of you write poetry?

rcleary171 said:
My first poem.

A Winter Dirge
Beyond the yoke of
Lenten rum
Bright judgement waits with
Beating drum

Perched on brows appear
Ashen cross
As dreamers march in
Futile loss

The shredded dawn bleeds
Through the trees
Lank limbs sway in the
Silent breeze

The sacred hour passed
All is still
None shall rise before
Winter kill
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Oooh, I felt the somber chill. Beautifully evocative.
 

Wrote this poem today specifically for this thread of my current situation while I await my forever home to be finished with renovations. All true. I haven't yet registered the name for my beach house and may change it. If you have any suggestions for a beach house name feel free to suggest one. Critique is also welcome. I can take it....I promise...ha
Thank you for the gentle "push" @Gaer 😊


Windsong

Soon I’m bound for the Crystal Coast
Carolina’s Emerald Isle
Steeped in history of pirates and wars
Peace now fills the Isle

I found my seaside sanctuary
My dream to live at the beach
With endless views of sea and sky
Windsong is the name

But this piece of island paradise
needs some renovations
Where “Island-time” slows the pace
My Windsong awaits

Morning songbirds among maritime oaks
Whispering palms in the breeze
Toes in the water, seagulls delight
Windsong’s worth the wait

In the evening I turn off the lights
sunset colors fill the room
And then I feel like part of the sky
As Windsong heals my soul

Constellations so clear on the Isle
Stargazing on the deck
Moon-kissed glasses of Cabernet
Windsong sings goodnight
 
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Lara said:
Wrote this poem today specifically for this thread of my current situation while I await my forever home to be finished with renovations. All true. I haven't yet registered the name for my beach house and may change it. If you have any suggestions for a beach house name feel free to suggest one. Critique is also welcome. I can take it....I promise...ha
Thank you for the gentle "push" @Gaer 😊


Windsong

Soon I’m bound for the Crystal Coast
Carolina’s Emerald Isle
Steeped in history of pirates and wars
Peace now fills the Isle

I found my seaside sanctuary
My dream to live at the beach
With endless views of sea and sky
Windsong is the name

But this piece of island paradise
needs some renovations
Where “Island-time” slows the pace
My Windsong awaits

Morning songbirds among maritime oaks
Whispering palms in the breeze
Toes in the water, seagulls delight
Windsong’s worth the wait

In the evening I turn off all the lights
sunset colors fill the room
And then I feel like part of the sky
As Windsong heals my soul

Constellations so clear on the Isle
Stargazing on the deck
Moon-kissed glasses of Cabernet
Windsong sings goodnight
Click to expand...
Beautiful, takes me back to the beach where I grew up. Thank you
 

A Forgotten Dream​

Be not - be still,
breathe deep and walk back slowly

Avoid the sharp bright thoughts
that pierce the cherished fabric

Tattered flags of forgotten allegiance
melt and fade with the distant trees

Be wary
for there is no place to stand

No guiding star
to pilot through vulgar memory

Past the closing act
beyond the stage
and the mere dust.
 
Don't ask me to join you communicating in prose and in rhyme!
My goodness it would be such a waste of my valuable time!
I've entirely too much more important things to do, I'm telling you now.
So, pardon me as I exit without even taking a bow.

There was this incident while playing golf, just yesterday
When on the third hole, my second shot I was preparing to play.
From the trees off the fairway there was a resounding sneeze
And what happened afterwards brought me to my knees!

I, politely, said "Bless you!" and a reply came from the trees... "Thanks!"
That reply was followed with, "Today, you've been fighting the awful shanks!
Well, this voice from the trees knew my game had been in the tank.
In fact, the way I'd been playing just downright stank!!!

The voice continued, "I have some assistance if you would like my advice."
I told the voice any help for this old duffer would really be nice.
About that time, from out of the tree flew a large, very black crow.
That bird began to talk and here's how the conversation did go.

That old crow's beak was moving at warp speed as he tried to help my game.
He just stood there on the cart path... no fear at all... seeming so very tame.
"Now if I tried to fly with my left wing and right wing flapping at a different speed
I'd never get off the ground and instruction at flying would be my need."

"Your right arm is trying to overpower your left arm and it is causing you to shank.
If you move the arms at the same speed, I will be the one you will thank!
Drop a golf ball on the grass and pretend you are a bird just like me.
Act like both arms have to be in concert and you'll play this game with glee!"

With a sudden movement of his wings, the crow flew off and out of sight.
I walked to my next shot, shaking my head, wondering if the crow had been right.
Taking both arms back at the same speed as, by the crow, I'd been told
I moved through the ball, flawlessly, and watch as the white orb was holed.

So, as you can see my rhyming a prose is not what one might consider "poetry".
And, you can understand that reality in my rhyme often does escape me.
I'm headed back to the course to play another round and play my heart out
Hoping I see that old crow and, you can bet, my thanks to him I will shout!!!!
 
Lara said:
Windsong

Soon I’m bound for the Crystal Coast
Carolina’s Emerald Isle
Steeped in history of pirates and wars
Peace now fills the Isle

I found my seaside sanctuary
My dream to live at the beach
With endless views of sea and sky
Windsong is the name
Click to expand...
Reminds me of "I shall arise now and go to Innisfree".
 
Yes, I do write poetry:

When things go wrong, as they usually will,
And your daily road seems all uphill,
When funds are low and debts are high,
When you try to smile but can only cry,
And you really feel you'd like to quit…
Don't come to me, I don't give a s--t.
 
When a poem is written, it is really part of a person. If a person likes or dislikes it, it is the individual's perception. I write to help me cope with life, so I wrote this one to say to the literary critics, so what. Mind you, I have never been professionally analyzed to care about it though. That being said, to wit:

Analyze my Poetry

If you're analyzing my poetry,
It's of no consequence to me.
Blank verse, free verse, anapaest,
Too many forms, give it a rest!

Stress this word, unstress that word.
Too many rules, give it the bird!
Iambs, little lambs with fleece of snow,
Who really cares where the stress marks go.

Feminine rhyme, just for women.
Masculine rhyme, just for men.
Dactyls, teradactyls, trochees,
Eye rhyme, slant rhyme, if yous can sees.

Imagery, penned by a ghost.
Metrics, mix them in the Roast.
Rime Royal, simile, syntax,
All mixed in a box of cracker jacks!

Poetic license, I don't drive.
I leave the wheels to the wife.
Was Danny Deever ever hung?
Or was it merely cheek in toungue?

Blame my Pen as the poor poet.
Don't brand me, you can stow it.
So as for my pen to paper--
I'll dismiss the critics for later.

Fancy words, poetic diction.
Clashing words, internal friction.
Redundant meaning, explain the tone.
Can't understand, go eat a bone.

If you don't like the poems I write,
Go stuck your finger in the dyke.
Just a part of me to pass the time,
To get through life before I die!

I grip firm my poetic gun,
With a hair trigger just for fun.
So if you don't like my poetry---
I'll just shoot you--- metaphorically.
 
Playing Rummy with a Hippo

I was challenged by a Hippo
To take a little dippo.
He said, "Let's have a little fun,
Try and beat me at some Rum".

How can a hippo play gin rummy?
He must think that I'm a dummy!
He can't even hold the cards to play.
I guess this will be my lucky day.

So I decided to take a dip
And outsmart this water hip.
I got whooped, game after game.
I started to think Mud was my name.

So I know this sounds preposterous,
Concerning a hippopotamus,
He was a card slicker of course--
Never play Rummy with a River Horse!
 
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ohioboy said:
Playing Rummy with a Hippo

I was challenged by a Hippo
To take a little dippo.
He said, "Let's have a little fun,
Try and beat me at some Rum".

How can a hippo play gin rummy?
He must think that I'm a dummy!
He can't even hold the cards to play.
I guess this will be my lucky day.

So I decided to take a dip
And outsmart this water hip.
I got whooped, game after game.
I started to think Mud was my name.

So I know this sounds preposterous,
Concerning a hippopotamus,
He was a card slicker if course--
Never play Rummy with a River Horse!
Click to expand...
Wow! It would be interesting to look inside your mind! hahaha!
 
win231 said:
Yes, I do write poetry:

When things go wrong, as they usually will,
And your daily road seems all uphill,
When funds are low and debts are high,
When you try to smile but can only cry,
And you really feel you'd like to quit…
Don't come to me, I don't give a s--t.
Click to expand...
"Your compassion overwhelms us all obviously, well done"!
(P.S. I've heard others claiming the same thing who were equally " good eggs" :) ).
 
Gaer said:
Here is one I wrote last night. It's prose, I guess. rhymes, you know.

Do men still breathe the wild air?

Do men exist not bridle bound?
who stand lone in morn's rise?
Men not meant to soft dispose
by yarded fence or women's cries?

What men assert this rebel stance?
Who fiery fights mundane?
revels boldly with abash
and strides in worldly reign

Who's hearty laugh , unbridled taunt
who's bond of word stands just?
who can't be shackled in restraint
for freedom is his lust.

Me who gouge the paths they walk
who's bearing merges large
He bends to none, he can't be girthed,
who greets his fate with charge?

Do men still breathe the wild air?
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Your poem here reminds me of this one, Abraham Lincoln's favorite poem.

https://www.bartleby.com/library/song/60.html
 
Gaer said:
Well, That's quite an honor. I've never heard of Willian Knox, but i thank you for the comparison.
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I saw that first stanza on a headstone once. This was before computer days. I searched for it in the library, it has stuck with me since.
 
Gaer said:
Come on, Jerryold and Gary O', and anyone else who writes poetry. Would you please post it here? This is a perfect time to write poetry! We would all love to read it!
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A long time ago, I'd say the early to middle 1970s, my Dad wrote us a letter. He had a fig tree, or maybe several fig trees, I don't know, but apparently, they were producing. Everything in his letter was about what they were doing with figs, and he wrote at least two full pages about figs; little or nothing else.

In response to his letter, I wrote the following poem and sent it to him. He never mentioned the poem, nor did he ever write about figs again. I don't think he appreciated it.


FIGS

I just got this rig that is designed to dig
And from the way it is made, I think it's a spade.

And for a reason to dig, I planted a fig.
I am sick in the head or my brain may be dead.

For what use is a fig whether little or big?
They aren't fit to eat - they are nothing like meat.

The only use for a fig are - to make a fig bar
I don't know how but can you feed figs to a cow?

No, cows won't eat figs unless they are pigs
And a pig of a cow's not a cow anyhow.

Woe upon me - I am standing in figs up to my knee.
But I wonder about wigs, can I make them from figs?

I guess I could learn if I had enough yearn
To eat figs that are fried, though I ani't never tried.

I won't eat stewed figs or boiled - clean figs or soiled
Or figs that are pickled in brine.

So, all I can say is this day is fine
Cause those figs are yours and not mine.
 
Yes I try and write some poetry, but when stuck , look online for help,
This is one of mine ........



I Am There For Him.....



His independence

taken by stroke;

he fights back

and I am there for him.



Near, aware,

anticipating his needs,

but reaching out

only as he calls.



Standing silently by

as he struggles

to regain all

that he has lost



Recognizing little steps,

slow walks, independent moves;

as days, months, and years pass,

on its own objective schedule.



I am the well spouse;

aware of his needs

while minding those

of my own.



Plans for tomorrow

are always ever-changing.

We concentrate on

today’s Aim Only .....
 
What is Love?

Ask me how to split an atom.
Ask me how a quasar forms.
I can explain magnetic waves.
I can tell you how a Star is born.

I can explain thermodynamics.
I can explain co-valent bonds.
I can age rocks with a simple touch.
I can transplant two hearts at once.

I can explain radiation belts.
I can formulate a theory of time.
I can explain specific gravity,
I can explain the speed of light.

Ask me how to carbon date.
Ask me to explain fusion.
Ask me how to code DNA.
Ask me to explain fission.

I've the greatest mind of all time.
So ask me much much more than this.
Ask me when will Christ return---
Just don't ask me what Love is?
 

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