Post a poem you wrote

On Reading a Piece of Doggerel Posted on a Board
In the Middle of the Wood

Inside the woods, solitary, depressed,
Following and followed by my death,
I came upon a poem awkwardly expressed,
Rambling, too cheerful, out of breath,
Extolling Nature's bounty and her care
For any soul like me who wandered there.
In dot matrix, this doggerel impressed
Itself on paper, innocent of form,
Of meter, rhyme, or sense or taste--
Innocent of evil, darkness, or the worm--
Yet so certain of its naive claims,
Its feeble art, its modest aims,
That, though I mocked this lowly poem,
Light was my step as I walked home.

My Chemistry Exam

Fuck, I should have studied.

Why study, student
When you can waste your precious
Time writing bad verse?

Great work!

david

:hi:

You hurt me. You laugh, you don't care,
HAHAHAHA! Is how you sound, sneering.
You stole my bike, you stole my life!
You don't care, you don't care.
Oh why God is life so painful?
You hear me cry, you see my tears,
You laugh, you don't care.
"Leave my goldfish alone!" I cry (to no avail)
You ignore me. You don't care.
You leave, and I am alone.

I'm so blue in Alabama
That I want to take a hamma
And whack myself about the neck and head.

An ee-lectronic jamma
For Rush Limbaugh's constant yamma
Is what I want here in the Land of Red.

Though stars fell, there's no glamma.
What we need is an Obama.
Or maybe I'll curl up and go to bed.

So, midst trauma and midst drama,
All I can say is "Damma
Buncha people with no brain inside their head".

Moors


Life flies through the door
Time stops on the moors
To stay a while
We all go ‘round on a turnstile
All we do is run
And have no fun
All we want is to stay
Until the end of day
Bu we have to go
For this is just a show
You say time flies
I say time dies
By the deadly glove
That kills all the hope and love
Life flies out the doors
And time sits idly on the moors


:hi:

(guess who?)

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Hess was a Nazi
And so are you.

Violets are blue,
Roses are red,
Because of you, half
of Iraq is now dead.

Big brother, checksigner
and compiler of my
yearly holidays
my urine tester
boiling fester
creativity molester
You cling to me with
a paisley noose
and dangle me from
the building top
with a double windsor knot
like the puppet I've become.

that's fantastic.

I wrote it as a submission to a "crappy poetry" contest. I got an honorable mention from the local lefty newsrag that ran the contest.

Seriously?

I was aiming for a beatnik-style live rap vibe to make people laugh.

The very last thing...
I did last night, the very first thing
this morning.

Was to stave the day
to find a way...
to keep the storm from forming.

From on a wood pile
with first rain stains....
a wise owl
lifts to space.

As he heads up
to find the sun...
there's gloomy in it's place.

We got some poets here! :toast:

Blast off! Rockets burn, speeding towards heaven
Astronauts fly, our dreams are their luggage
Higher, higher, up and up, there they go!
An old man sheds a tear,
We are all lost.

I remember Angie
running under a big sky
blond hair in the hot wind
laughing tears down her cheeks.

I didn't get the joke.
She and I were as aliens:
three houses and a universe apart.

How I wanted to be Angie--
happy house, white teeth,
clean feet, love.

Confidence and common sense
carrying her along to elation.

I wished to live in her skin
for one day
stealing all the hugs and kisses
meant only for her.

I'd sit next to her big dad
listen to him tell me big important things
I'd eat the dinner her mother made--
all love and vegetables.

I'd play with her sister
long hot summer days
slurping flavored ice
making engagement rings out of Ding Dong wrappers
whispering giggly secrets.

And at night, I would look out
the same bedroom window
at the same stars
the girl down the street could see.

But then,
as Angie,
I would know those stars loved looking at me, too.

On Beauty



I.


Beauty is the cruel, dread Goddess at night,

Strewing her moonlit path with captive stags,

Mutilated Actaeons in her wake.

For one glimpse of her naked, glowing form,

These died, ripped to shreds by their own black hounds.

What rude, unknowing eye shall pas o'er her

And not be blinded like some ancient sage

His senses rent, aware of dreams alone?

Like a wary Perseus I approach her,

Daring no more than to reflect her charms

In my enchanted mirror, like a shield

Held before me, lest I be turned to stone,

Transfixed by her pale, aweful loveliness.

No approach may ever be so subtle,

So breathless, so full of loath and yearning,

So laboured with the effort of restraint.

Behold Beauty emerging from a stream

With shoulders damp and palely glit'ning,

But do not think to look upon her eyes

For that is how a mortal is destroyed.


II.


Behold how quickly the mirror shatters!

My gaze is drawn upwards into her face

And I see the wounding eyes of Beauty,

That few saw and fewer lived to recall,

Yet live, a doubtful mercy to receive.

To see those eyes before me in my mind,

Those orbs of flashing light that do not fade

From sight, even when they are borne away.



III.


As though scales had fallen from my dim eyes,

I stared, viewing the world around me, new

With new vision, by Beauty's face transformed.

The earth, alive and touched with ancient love,

Effused the glow of power at its source,

And I could feel the glory of nature,

Warm and growing, enfolding my body,

My mind, and nurturing my very soul.

Here was the world that I had never known.

Here was the vision to many denied,

And the peace that passes understanding

All at once in the wake of Beauty's glance.

A euphoria seized my wond'ring heart

That rapidly beat with deepest rapture-

Here was Heaven in the place of my birth.

So my eyes had seen, so my heart believed.

Who dares to defy a vision divine?

Who supposes that happiness shall fade?

There is no happy dream that does not wake

Into a world that seems somehow less real.


IV.


With heavy step I came away from there,

At once forgetful of the recent past,

Only certain that the vision I had

Was true, and that I had seen her-Beauty.

Cruel Beauty! That either kills or deserts.

She knows that I will seek her out again,

The bright goddess, who offers such visions

It is worth death to behold her glory.

And should I ever gaze again upon her form-

May I never tear my glad eyes away!

I am red, raw, tender and sore
I want him to smooth it down
make everything better.

I'm dirty and worn
I need him to soothe me
till I can sleep again.

Coming to rely on him
as balm,
penicillin,
breath,
happened lifetimes ago---
and I still need it.

And he's still good for it.

The Valley Low

I gazed into the valley low
and wondered how it feels to go
where birds sing gaily in the trees,
the feeling I will never know.

Oh how I long to feel the ease
of the cool but gentle breeze,
instead I try to ponder out
the answer to these mysteries.

I often feel the need to shout
because I have to live without
what other people have; but doubt,
I will ever cease to pout.

of Robert Frosts "Walking Though Woods on a Snowy Evening" :7

:kick:

I submitted that one as a joke to poetry.com awhile back and received several letters & emails informing me first that their review board had selected it for inclusion in their annual compilation of the best of the best (along with a solicitation to purchase the book for $50 or so), then later that it had been selected to be read at their yearly symposium, and though I wasnt eligible to attend, I could purchase that collection as well for another $50 or so. Just in case anyone was retaining a shred of credence in the credibility of these rackets.

Three days after a good rain,
weeding in the corner
where Curly lies.
The winter grass comes out
easy as clumps of green hair
from crumbling cake.
The claim of each on earth
done, into the compost it goes
to turn itself over slowly,
effortlessly, to earth again.

Glassy cuts onto the stone
Much unheard,most untouched.
Many passes to the road,
devised to ponder on what is what.
Fragments of nightmares left unseen.
many voices from another dream.
In foam of glossy myths;
Numbers gone into blackness.
Numbness in whole of self.
Fire in deeps, no one is for keeps.
Not one puzzles over,
what is not infrount or behind.
Diffrent feelings from another mind.
Beneath is wonder, on top is questions.
Circles of whispers is gone.
Hopes rise in spite of nothing.
Vengeance is going up, killing for
the site of lust.
Alot gone in the winds of hunger.
Eyes see no sight of you,
untill the speechless games that hold
against you drops beneath the milky rocks
of pain.

Written for a college creative writing course, in which the professor asked for a "perfect" sonnet -

Assignment – English 114

I have to write a sonnet by next week,
Adhering strictly to poetic form.
I have a feeling I am up the creek
Without a paddle, in a raging storm.
I’ve never written poetry like this –
Just idle stuff; a limerick or two.
What topic should I touch on? Love’s first kiss?
A broken heart? A touch of Asian flu?
I never realized this would be so hard.
The Shakespeares of the world just make it sing.
Of course, I never claimed to be a bard -
Or maybe poetry’s just not my thing.
(Yet in the course of trying to get done
I find the process starting to be fun).

LIGHTNING BUGS



Warm springtime dusk-- Just right
for barefoot-running through
the back-yard grass so cool
and tickly; fresh and nice--
The flashes happen suddenly,
hidden at the corner of an
unsuspecting eye--
Now stop! Stand still;
don't breathe or blink,
for they may see and fly,
unseen, away!
Now over there! Up in the trees!
As night sneaks up to cool the breeze;
a Flash! and Flash!
Before you know you're darting
here and there across
the night-dark grassy lawn,
hands snatching at
a million zillion flecks
of winking yellow light--
You reach, and catch!
Your Mason jar is full
of blinking midnight
magic-lantern fire!
So, giggling, off you go to bed--
You keep your jar safe by your head--
You drowse to sleep, and smiling, dream
of whirring through the night on wings of
sprinkly, starry, winking, twinkly light.

Copyright © 2001-2005 Steven A. Hessler
All Rights Reserved

The heat of summer
is what I dream of today,
blasted by the cold.

Written 7 years ago. I wrote little poetry and this remains my favourite from a brief phase.

Demarcated air
Bright, dark, crisp-edged nothing shafts
Window-sliced sunlight.

i write other stuff, but i like these

slow stumbling tree
perfect purity and form
hollow haunting bark
white withers these trying times
this instant in time alive

***

flying forceful change
colours crack controlling time
everywhere regret
lying living like love can
oh they fall fast toward gone ground

My Filthy Abscess

My filthy abscess is a joy.
I pick it like a pet.
And when I bite my pustules off,
My parents take me to the vet.

The bile flows continuously,
Pus and lymph abound, indeed!
I nibble at my dingy sores
With unmitigated greed.

I hope one day to be a doctor,
That, when a patient visits me,
I can fiddle with his lesions
And chew his corns with glee.

(NOT written by me, but by a high school friend)

Party hardy
Rock n Roll
Drink a keg
smoke a bowl
love is blind
sex is heaven
we're the class of '97!!!