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Poetry


Mikiesboy

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I know life is a great teacher

Though sometimes the lessons feel hard

We can leave gardens untended

they grow wild then, but to stay strong,

the irises need dividing

 

There is a rhythm here, but no rhyme. Each line has 8 syllables. I'm not a huge fan of punctuation, but it is used in the 4th line to interrupt the rhythm of the poem. To get your attention, to show you the point of the message. The last comma also frames the final line.

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i think this is a great idea!
i was able to read these on my phone earlier

i tried some of the lessons, not all my efforts were successful, lol! and some was like really hard work and it made me very frustrated
what it did do was heighten my appreciation for poetry
i've known tim for a long time, and he's let me in on his process so it's not like i didn't appreciate it 
but these lessons drove home how much of himself (or any poet) pours into those few verses that make the final edit
 

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  • 2 weeks later...

 

Gone

Gone. A breath taken, unknowingly the last. 

Gone. In one heartbeat, the role of mourners cast. 

Twenty-five, thirty-three. Another year they will never see. 

Gone. Teardrops will fall, rolling slowly, pouring fast.

Gone. We march onward, memories become the past. 

 

Edited by kbois
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On 9/2/2020 at 6:17 PM, kbois said:

 

Gone

Gone. A breath taken, unknowingly the last. 

Gone. In one heartbeat, the role of mourners cast. 

Twenty-five, thirty-three. Another year they will never see. 

Gone. Teardrops will fall, rolling slowly, pouring fast.

Gone. We march onward, memories become the past. 

 

i want you to know that this is very far from sh*t.  It's rather sophisticated in the use of rhyme, the repeated words are effective and broken up with with brilliant middle line.

I like it. Nicely done.

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53 minutes ago, Mikiesboy said:

i want you to know that this is very far from sh*t.  It's rather sophisticated in the use of rhyme, the repeated words are effective and broken up with with brilliant middle line.

I like it. Nicely done.

Thank you tim.

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On 9/2/2020 at 6:17 PM, kbois said:

 

Gone

Gone. A breath taken, unknowingly the last. 

Gone. In one heartbeat, the role of mourners cast. 

Twenty-five, thirty-three. Another year they will never see. 

Gone. Teardrops will fall, rolling slowly, pouring fast.

Gone. We march onward, memories become the past. 

 

I can’t vouch for its technical aspects, but it’s well put together and smooth to read. 

Sad topic, but the words do make me think and ponder. 

:thumbup: 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Hi everyone. I'm new to this particular forum. I've been writing stories for 50 years and have tossed in the occasional poem when I thought the subject could be covered succinctly enough. However unlike most of the poetry on here, I've never (since forced to in HS and college) written anything rhyming or with any particular rhythm patterns. Perhaps it's just me but it feels too restrictive, the word I wished to use was always too long, or too short. 

What made me think of poetry is the other day my boyfriend was watching me sleep and I woke up and asked him why. He told me that when I slept he could see the child I used to be. So that led me to write him a love poem. I thought that line was going to be in the poem but it never made it, other words crowded it out.

I thought I had a question in here but now that I've gotten this far, I can't seem to locate the question. I guess I could post it but it might not quite make the cut, it's for sure not making it into any poetry anthologies unless they're erotic in nature.

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15 hours ago, Ryan Jones said:

Hi everyone. I'm new to this particular forum. I've been writing stories for 50 years and have tossed in the occasional poem when I thought the subject could be covered succinctly enough. However unlike most of the poetry on here, I've never (since forced to in HS and college) written anything rhyming or with any particular rhythm patterns. Perhaps it's just me but it feels too restrictive, the word I wished to use was always too long, or too short. 

What made me think of poetry is the other day my boyfriend was watching me sleep and I woke up and asked him why. He told me that when I slept he could see the child I used to be. So that led me to write him a love poem. I thought that line was going to be in the poem but it never made it, other words crowded it out.

I thought I had a question in here but now that I've gotten this far, I can't seem to locate the question. I guess I could post it but it might not quite make the cut, it's for sure not making it into any poetry anthologies unless they're erotic in nature.

hello Ryan! That's the way of poetry, at least to me. Poetry more than prose is who you are and how you feel. You can write and post erotic poems, just tag them properly and just put a little warning on them.  i write poems about my Husband so why not? If you want to share but not in public yet, you're welcome to pm me if you'd like me to read it. 

Please feel free to post here if you wish ... these lot put up with my work and they are still here.  If you feel like a chat please come into the Drop in Centre, fondly known as the DiC.  :) 

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Okay, I'll go ahead and post the poem here. Looking at the user interface I don't see any way to "Tag". I've never used whatever interface this is to post messages.

Insatiable

The early morning sun wakes me and, as I've done
almost every day since you've been here, I turn
to look at you, still asleep beside me. The light
embraces your long blond hair as it fans out on the
pillow, framing your face in a glowing halo of gold.

I can't resist and I lightly brush my fingertips
across your cheek, feeling your breath warm and
moist against my palm. I marvel as always at
your innocent expression, wondering where you are
in your dreams. You stir lazily, yawning, and now
the cherub is gone. It's its place is a horny angel,
clear blue eyes matching the lust in my own.

I feel your arms come up around my neck and pull
me down on top, not waiting to see if my body
is responding, you know that I'm always ready.
You take hold of me and, opening your legs, fold
yourself up to guide me in, starting the long slow
dance of love. The sensations are overwhelming,
surrounded by your near 100 degree heat on the
inside and a far hotter feeling of passion outside.

Your legs wrap tightly around me, drawing me in
deeper, not wanting me to pull out, even for
a second. But retreat is the last thing on my
mind. I want to feel you totally surrender your body
and soul to me, as I have long since done to you.

"Faster" I hear you moan, working up to your own
orgasmic peak. Your muscles grip me like a second
mouth, daring me to hold anything back, demanding
that I do it to you harder and I comply, the bed
creaking beneath us as movements become a blur.

Your motions become even more frenzied and I see
your mouth open in a silent scream. I can feel the
warm sticky wetness between us and this finally
sends me over the edge as I fill you up, covering
your mouth roughly with mine to steal your breath away.

Finally my motions slow, coherent thought returns and
I can feel you relax. Slowly you open those blue eyes,
look up at me and say "Do it again..and again..and again"

 

I'm not really a poet, per se. I generally write stories, of the erotic and not erotic variety. It's just occasionally something comes in my head that doesn't seem to be a story, something that won't have the necessary length. Then it becomes the type of writing you see above. Once the places reopen in my area I'm pretty certain I'll take it to open mic and read it to the crowd, they have separate gay nights once a month. I'll drag the boyfriend with me so I can embarrass him by obviously reading it directly to him.

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23 minutes ago, Ryan Jones said:

I'm not really a poet, per se. I generally write stories, of the erotic and not erotic variety. It's just occasionally something comes in my head that doesn't seem to be a story, something that won't have the necessary length. Then it becomes the type of writing you see above. Once the places reopen in my area I'm pretty certain I'll take it to open mic and read it to the crowd, they have separate gay nights once a month. I'll drag the boyfriend with me so I can embarrass him by obviously reading it directly to him.

I like how you’ve written this poem. You tell a story, and tell it so well it’s brought to life. Oh, and it flows very nicely to, which is always a plus when reading, especially when it’s poetry.  :) 

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  • 11 months later...

So, it's been a while since the poetry muse has slapped me upside the head, but.....

Walking the dogs tonight I was treated to a gorgeous sunset. The colors were reminiscent of gemstones and precious metals. The words were all jumbled up in my head, but here's what they morphed into:

 

Daylight's Graceful Death

 

I watch the sky

Rays slowly fade

As day faces death

 

One final gasp 

Light's final breath

Exhaling colors

 

Precious gems

Priceless metals

The sky is ablaze

 

Pink quartz, rose gold 

Pearl and opal clouds 

Aquamarine skies

 

An amber sun

Turns ruby red

Kisses sapphire waves

 

Garnet and gold

Fading quickly

Obsidian spreads

 

Diamond lit stars 

Appear one by one

In the onyx sky

 

Day is no more

Now yesterday 

Night takes a deep breath

 

I watch the sky

Darkness beckons

A new night is born 

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41 minutes ago, Reader1810 said:

@kbois I like this poem very much because it allowed me to see what you saw. Your descriptors were well chosen and I especially liked the title of your poem.

Nicely done! :)  

Thanks Reader!

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