Discussion » Questions » Arts » How about some poetry?

How about some poetry?

Can you write me an original poem, or post your favorite poem here? Mine is "I Hear America Singing", by Walt Whitman.

Posted - July 9, 2016

Responses


  • Wanting Out of Sadness.

    To the pain of no meaning, no purpose,

    but the fatuous that we each must invent...

    To the comings and goings of pains of living,

    to the uselessness and futility of all endeavours

    in their ultimate transience,

    there is no answer,

    but simply and purely true acceptance.

    This is how it is.

    May the sun return,
    to thaw 
    my ice.
    May it bring again

    the flow, light and life,
    the savour of my joy of being.

    May I
    feel the cool energy   of  breathing in
    and warm relaxing  of  releasing out.
    Feel from far flung unknown distance
    Wishes of a warm arm,

    soft around me, around you,
    with offers of a cup of tea and chat
    .

      July 9, 2016 5:07 AM MDT
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  • 2515
    @Hartfire, thank you. Poetry touches my heart like music.
      July 9, 2016 5:37 AM MDT
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  • 2515
    @SantaLucia, thank you. William Blake is an amazing poet and artist.He influenced so many other poets, writers, and even movies. What a great talent he was! This poem is from a caged bird's viewpoint and yet you see a person captured by love.
      July 9, 2016 6:19 AM MDT
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  • 44614

    Years ago I could write a verse or two

    But as I get older I only see the purposeless of anything to write about.

    The more I think...the less meaning life has.

    Maybe I should stop thinking.

    I have already stopped loving.

    Or caring.

      July 9, 2016 8:02 AM MDT
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  • 3523

    Crimson flames tied through my ears, rollin' high and mighty traps
    Pounced with fire on flaming roads, usin' ideas as my maps
    We'll meet on edges, soon, " said I, proud 'neath heated brow ah
    But I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now

    Half-wracked prejudice leaped forth "Rip down all hate, " I screamed
    Lies that life is black and white spoke from my skull I dreamed
    Romantic facts of musketeers foundation deep, somehow
    Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now

    In a soldier's stance, I aimed my hand at the mongrel dogs who teach
    Fearing not that I'd become my enemy in the instant that I preach
    My pathway led by confusion boats mutiny from stern to bow
    Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now
    Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now

    Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats too noble to neglect
    Deceived me into thinkin', I had something to protect
    Good and bad, I define these terms quite clear, no doubt, somehow
    Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now

      July 9, 2016 3:21 PM MDT
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  • 3523

    Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

      July 9, 2016 3:23 PM MDT
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  • 22891

    sorry but im no good at poetry

      July 9, 2016 5:18 PM MDT
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  • I love this.

    I like the oddness of being older in youth, with its determined energy of knowing

    and younger in age with its faltering of not knowing.

    I can imagine it set to a blues or Cat Stevens rhythm

    or picking along with a guitar

    in a voice like Leonard Cohen's.

      July 9, 2016 5:35 PM MDT
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  • That's the only thing worse than boring bad art.

      July 9, 2016 5:39 PM MDT
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  • 2515
    @Bromide, lol!
      July 9, 2016 6:03 PM MDT
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  • 2515
    @Pearl, that's ok.
      July 9, 2016 6:03 PM MDT
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  • 2515
    Thank you! :-))
      July 9, 2016 6:04 PM MDT
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  • 2515
    @CallmeIsmael, indeed! Thanks!
      July 9, 2016 6:05 PM MDT
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  • 2515
    @CallmeIshmael2, Thanks! Very good!
      July 9, 2016 6:07 PM MDT
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  • 2515
    @element, you are in perfect time to create poetry. Especially dramatic poetry, like Shakespeare.
      July 9, 2016 6:09 PM MDT
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  • 46117

      July 9, 2016 10:57 PM MDT
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  • 46117

    funny you should mention Leonard Cohen.  I just posted him.

      July 9, 2016 10:59 PM MDT
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  • 3523

    Thanks Bob Dylan. 

      July 11, 2016 8:48 AM MDT
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  • That's poetry right there, E, I'd say.

      July 19, 2016 12:36 PM MDT
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  • "The pain of no meaning"
    I read this when you posted it.
    I still think about it.

      July 19, 2016 12:41 PM MDT
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  • Mud sucks mind.

    Go fearward.

    On mud this mind is built.

    Thought formations float the surface,

    likely at any wrong step to sink stuck.

    A field of ideas like tall reeds dense packed,

    seed-heads reaching skyward,

    tethered to stems in the mire.

    Black, wet, stagnant, oozing muck,

    sticky squelching, putrid belching, dragging down.

    Panic to escape.

    Seek a foot sized island,

    a dry stacked mesh of trampled reeds,

    the most rotten footing better than none at all.

    Something to make one step forward possible.

      July 20, 2016 2:36 AM MDT
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