Post your poems and cuplets here. Let me start:
To put loneliness to an end I made loneliness my friend
Not a very good cuplet to be proud of, but well, thats the first piece of poetry I managed to write.
Good ole American boys, with their American toys. Ones that're made from China, Pakistan, and Laos.
Good ole American stars, with their American cars. The parts that're from France, Germany, and Guam.
I love my Burmese shirt with the American Flag, that was knit and constructed in the heart of Baghdad. I love my old sitar that's from Bombay.
I love my runnin' shoes that hail from Greece and my army knife that was made from the swedes. I don't know what'd I do with out my American pride.
Good ole American food, that's made in several test tubes. Not sure I'm eating pork or liver stew.
Good ole American beer, with an aroma of steer. I love my Belgian brew that's from St. Lou.
I love the rock and roll of an emo band and the crunk ass beats of a rappin' gangbang and I...don't know what I'd do without reality shows.
I love American heroes like flava flav and the outing of a priest that's just turned gay and I...don't know what'd I'd do without American pride.
(What are some other reasons to get up in the morning and dust off ole glory? I think I have a few.)
Can you hoist your mugs to the war on drugs? If you smoke that grass, it'll knock you on your ass. If you toke that pot, you might get shot today.
Weed raped my father and stabbed my brother. Mocked my sister and slapped my mother. The reefer madness surely's not the way.
If sex is dirty and babies come from sex then babies must be dirty.
If babies are dirty and babies become adults then adults must be dirty.
If adults are dirty and adults live a life then life must be dirty.
If life is dirty and God gives life then God must be dirty.
If God is dirty and God created sex then a whole lot of people need to take a bath.
Dog and the tree
Dog barks and jumps up at tree but cannot climb because he has no hands So dog is a perpetual pogo thing-a-ma-jig The kids on the branch laugh but dog does not understand
The smell before I take a shower in the morning... is not a pleasant one for sure but it is man The man smell is there for a purpose... to annoy those who are totally against the whole thing More than annoy it gets them the people bothered to a point that man is nothing but zee schwein!
What an exclamation point! At the end of that last sentence It's there so that way you hurry at the end and get the most excitement in before it all ends
Chills race up my spine as the door opens Stepping out to feel the cool Volga air Touching my skin and running away as soon as it appears It's hiding out somewhere above the water When my back is turned it will sneak attack And again I'll think I should have brought my jacket But no matter the beauty of the greenery keeps me warm What's on the other side of the next bend in the river?
Warning EMO poem
Starry Morning Fish
City above the skyline
held up by bluish bricks
inhabited by all the lonely people
and in the square
is a pool of murky water
inhabited by starry-eyed fish
who swim in playful patterns
brighten my mornings
because nothing else will.
Actually I wasn't emo at the time; that's just how the poem wanted to turn out lol.
Piano and rooster
The piano is a music making device and the rooster is eating bits of food on the ground Such a waste of time Why can't the bird peck at the keys instead? Then there would be rooster music!
Most of this is vicadin/alcohol poetry =p
I think this one still needs a lot of work, but...
The fire, it fills.
It burns. It kills.
The fire rests atop my best friend's head.
The fire darkens the sky and burns my painting.
"No, no," I shout.
But despite my hate and my fear,
The night becomes clear.
My best friend, always with me,
Holds a telescope through which I can see.
The world, her name is June, finds her focus
When I hold her tight. All there is is us.
There's not a thing left out of screen.
Every bird, every lake,
And the birthday boy and the birthday girl,
They all get shot.
And when time seems to have slipped
Away, she will always be there to remind me of the pieces that have chipped.
So, shelter I give.
From the rain and the dust, I protect my box, my best friend.
"Why do you do this?" A man, today, asked.
"I wish to show my love for all things true." I said as I danced.
For my friend is not my friend
Because I am alone,
But because with her,
I complete the puzzle.
And without her,
I would burn.
I didn't make it!
I do a lot of writing actually. Here are the latest poems I've written.
Saints and Sinners
Am I a saint or a sinner? or maybe I am both. I walk the edge of light, I look both in and out. I can hear the devil's voice, which counters the saintly hymm. I welcome both day and night. I am friend to shadow and sun, for I am both sinner and saint. A saint without, and a sinner within.
Two Deer on a Hill
Two deer stand upon a hillside, beyond the campus edge. Pure, white tails held high, and black eyes open wide. They are a stones throw from the edge of civilization and yet they seem at home on that little hillside. Flanked on one side by a roaring river of cars, and on the other by a sea of asphalt. They sit in their oasis in a desert of concrete and steel. How are they so composed, surrounded by foreign turf? Maybe it's not so foreign anymore, or they are confused by what we've done to their green Earth. Or have they simply lost their way? If so, they aren't alone.
Neither God Nor Savior.
I'm no more God than I am a beggar. No more savior than a sin. So take me only as I am, and take a peek beneath my skin.
I've more than just one kryptonite. More than once I'll fail to please. Dissapointment is my only trade, And faltering, my expertise.
I can't always be your shoulder. Sometimes I can only share the tears. I may be strong, I may be fearless, but even the fearless have their fears.
The wind The wind bleu The strong wind bleu What is bleu?
I dunno why I just wrote that.
Anyway, your guys poems are great, 'cept for yours, Sovereign, it was a bit... um... different.
I'm thinking about joining the literary club in school, it's full of goth girls writing bad poetry. I can't stand poetry, and I figure I'll inject some testosterone into the group.
Ihaterednecks;4608618I'm thinking about joining the literary club in school, it's full of goth girls writing bad poetry. I can't stand poetry, and I figure I'll inject some testosterone into the group.
If I were you I'd turn my head and run the other direction... poetry is fairly decent though not for a lot of people. If there's bad poetry and has goth girls in it I think you better leave that club alone... or you might regret it.
OR just join for the heck of it.
I find it odd that I enjoy writing essays and narratives but I can't stand poetry. Never could.