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My Poetry
Hey guys,

Last year I really began to get into poetry, and I've written quite a number since then. I got inspired to write ever since I studied Walt Whitman for Literature in school, and now I've written my own works that are of course inspired by his deep, complex and meaningful pieces.

They use a lot of different styles, and some even employ multiple styles. But regardless of style each one tells a particular story, so I thought I'd make a person thread for me to post them. I'll discuss what they talk about and/or what they mean in a spoiler as well, if you're interested to know more. Let me know what you think! Big Grin

I'll post them occasionally in no particular order, so enjoy.


Blackened by their sharpened scythes,
Did the Archangels sit.
Torn a hole through space and time,
Forever did they meet.

To Counsel nigh where no man tread,
For the world they sought.
Left alone on the brink of death,
Was the fate of man they wrought.

Worlds apart but Order in all,
Together in harmony, never in sole.
They worshipped the brave but fought for the cowardly,
Never to be their own.

Trapped in their realm of diluted Torment,
From the eyes they sought.
Singled out in times of distress,
Their story thus told forevermore.

Peril sat and watched the transgression,
Wept through tears of endless joy.
They spoke in tongues that foreshadowed the days,
And the darkness for which they bought.

Yet not all was lost through the broken abyss,
Such for man and Angel lastly learnt to live apart.
As they were blackened by their sharpened scythes,
The Archangels, did they lie.

LONG explanation ( ;p) :
Back in high school, we used to back poetry up with a popular tune that suits it to make it more lively and so that the students could memorize it better. Then we would sing it like a play on stage, reminds me of Emily Dickinson's, There is no Frigate Like a Book.

There is no Frigate like a Book (1286)

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human Soul –

This was the tune I remembered that was put on this poem:

Hmm that's an interesting way of looking at it. I'd never often thought about poetry that way (except for when I write song lyrics, of course... that of which I'm not extremely good at, ironically, seeing as I still write poetry...).
That's an interesting perspective though. I wonder if it can be applied to any of my works quite easily.

On that note, here's another poem of mine. Enjoy :3

Fields of Time

Darkened skies abode in the Fields of Time,
Harvested like an apple of an everyday chain,
I, too, saw in these fields,
A portion of my future, or past, wherever it may lie,
Either one was lost in an echo,
Drifting aimlessly like a broken dream.

Sullen hearts and blonde-haired maidens,
Like a yellow boat on a sky-torn sea,
Broken away ever were the waves of permission,
Permission to seek, to see, to be seen,
Underlying one's true motives,
Wallowing like a hapless hatchling a long way from home.

Then, a word with two different meanings,
Like black and white, so coarse but so frail,
Only one and only one other,
A sentimental sentinel,
Faceless outside, but inside remarkable,
If only to see remnants, to thus be blind.

Resurrected from an empty grave,
A blackhearted soul to administer,
Pain and longing, a feeling of displacement,
Drunken lies, rambled in the eves or wry,
I only saw death,
Darkened skies abode in the Fields of Time.

Oh I like these sweetie! <3

I myself write Poetry every now and again, short stories and such;

In my Creole English and Standard, Spanish, Portuguese and Japanese.

I gonna have to share one these days;

but I find yours got a sort of depth, that I tend to skirt, and your word play is nice and eloquent Big Grin

Clearly the cogs in your clock are well oil and time is telling on tic toc, tip top shape Smile

Keep it up sweetie!
I luh de vibe enuh! Sheep

[Image: Bhq8UAkIUAEuRRT.jpg]

Ahaha aw stop it you Pinklove

I do try haha Tongue but apparently a lot of my work is appraised by those I read it to, so I keep writing out of passion. A lot of my poems that I've written so far I just sort of put my feelings onto paper, and word them in a poetic way. That being said not all of them have explanations, so they can be quite open to interpretation.
Other poems of mine however do have a certain topic whether it be fiction/non-fiction so of course they would have an explanation there, but even still sometimes they might not.

Here's another one I'm digging out of the archives, and by archives I mean this is a piece I wrote for Literature two years ago, so I've already archived all my secondary school work haha. This is when I slowly started to get an interest in poetry, especially after it was the one thing I seemed to excel in in Literature.

I was tasked to write a poem about WW1 that is based off of other soldiers' poems that we had studied, so it had to be in the style of a soldier who'd written a poem about WW1 (or something along those lines... if you get what I mean haha. I can't remember the specific guidelines. In simple it was about WW1).

Raise The Flag

The wasteland lies bare, churned,
Eaten up through shells, gas,
As the ground and bodies burned.
Here I sat, face to face with my past.

Bullets rang and canisters threw,
Bombs and blood, all scattered.
Dust and debris, always anew,
Other than us ourselves, massacred.

Firing to the last man; the last bullet,
Even wounded men; tossing grenades and firing blank shots,
From the pistols in their belt,
Lasting til’ they bled out amidst the reddened moss.

Rain fire, boys! The bleak excerpt from the charge,
But enough to keep us alive,
Enough, even for our scarred hearts,
For our minds were not alike.

The battle, merely won,
The enemy in fall,
But us as well, fell by the ton.
Not just bodies, but minds as well.

Raise the flag; Upon a new victory, this day.
Raise the flag; The sun rises, a new dawn.
Raise the flag; The last shot, from a stray,
And the light I see clearly, as my life is drawn.
Here's a deep one I wrote just last night. Enjoy Smile


Rang in the night,
Thus did I hear you call,
To surround myself with force,
Left me out of control,
'Ere in this path hath thou driven me,
To the lies of deceit unto my last breath,
Never did thou leave me sole,
As you wanted it, I couldn't have,
Watched me run dry, e'er more luscious to you,
The suffering you led, too manipulative for I,
Followed as I did I dared no question,
Thy mind alike thought it best for me,
Yet darkness only is what pursued me,
Gratitude and emotion did I never render,
Why should I thank you,
Hark against this night of yours,
Ne'er did I see your light,
Thou only bred darkness for thy denizens within,
Thought you did that I too was one of them,
Forgotten only did you remember who I actually was,
My life is sole, I shalt ne'er do thy desires,
Thy evil deeds, thy menace,
Thou lead me astray, only to ruin,
Ruin my own life, corrupt its dreams,
E're more could I look you in the eye,
For I knew what it is thou wanted,
Darkness only crept from those shadows,
Ne'er would I submit to you.

Basically the poem speaks about independence, and that life, particularly the lives of today's youth, is being 'over-controlled' by most parents/family. Of course, that's just my opinion written into figurative literature.

The narrator speaks about various experiences with his family in which they've attempted to "get him" to do things that he has otherwise not planned on doing in his life. He is mature enough to make his own decisions yet those older than him "know what's best" for him and want to do everything they can to help him achieve his dreams, yet to him they're only getting in the way. He's doing what they want, not what he wants, and thus he is tired of having others "control" his life. He knows exactly what he wants and how he will get it, but with constant interference/little independence he cannot easily achieve those dreams.
As a result he will not submit to their own desires/plans for him. Whether privately or publicly, he will dismiss whatever it is that they want of him, as it's his life and they shouldn't have the right to control it.
More poetry for the meddling mind! And this stuff's a little different..

I've based these following poems on songs with the same name, so their explanations will be pretty obvious based on the song's lyrics and/or general mood. I'll put a link to each song under each poem (so as to save spamming the thread with chunky embedded videos). Enjoy! :3 xx

Some Kind of Magic

Gazing longingly into your eyes,
I could tell you why,
I saw more than just the soul in front of me.
It was a spark behind that mind of yours,
And the fire inside mine that made it set off so.
You played the heart,
I played the ace,
Together we were a full house,
That'd fallen deep inside.
We couldn't shake this even if we tried,
No stopping the life we were to share.
It was like some kind of magic,
Had stepped into my heart,
And held out its hand,
To reach yours.

A Race Against Time

The struggle it faded,
As the light I shaded,
I drove all night,
In a race against time.

Darkness left behind me,
Yet I knew it followed free,
Cruising in the night,
In its race against time.

Speed had changed its game,
For I gave it a new flame,
And the crows it vastly shined,
In their race against time.

The car itself was a strobe light,
Amidst the blurs around my flight,
The illusion it made kept me fine,
Rolling in my race against time.

P.S; does anyone recognize the little melodic idea repeated in the intro at 0:17 - 0:32? I swear I've heard it somewhere before...

All Alone

Whilst you dragged and drank behind those lies,
Ignoring me with those rocks you smoked,
I could barely see you through the mist,
I'd almost forgotten what you looked like,
Were it not for the door from which you sat idly by,
I'd never have moved on to be better off all alone.

i love poetry. i think it's good that you write it and post it here.

i admit i haven't properly read these yet. i have to be in the right type of mood to read poetry, i can't do it just any time. but i have my eye on this thread and i intend to read this at the right moment.

PS. Walt Whitman is one of the worst ''poets'' ever in existence. his work is so tedious and such a long-winded nonsense, that i can't get through a page of it without becoming frustrated. i have read his Leaves of Grass, and it took a tremendous effort on my part just to finish the mere 180 pages. it felt like my neurons were fried after i'd finished it. that is not what poetry feels like.

my poetic sensibilities were built up on Baudelaire, Lorca, Rimbaud, Verlaine, and Musset, to name a few. Whitman is proletarian compared to them.
''Do I look civilized to you?''

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