Thread of Poetry

[Fuyujima]

Poetry has been one of the most popular forms of literature throughout human history. In ancient times, people even believed that poetry had the power to alter reality or cause natural disasters based on the power of verse. Nowadays we don't believe that anymore, but poetry remains an invaluable means for individuals to express their emotions and ideas.

I always read the Man'yōshū whenever I'm feeling sad because I can always find poems by people from all walks of life, many of them experiencing the same kind of emotions that I do. Not all of the poems are mopey, many of them are cheerful or playful, and an odd combination, such as the case of Ōtomo no Tabito, who praises drinking rice wine and scolds wise people who pretend to be above simple pleasures.

Far better, it seems,
than uttering pompous words
And looking wise,

To drink sake and weep drunken tears.
I know not how to name it, how to define it,
Ten thousand times precious
Is sake to me!

What are some of your favorite poems and have you written some yourself?

[Gopnikea]

I think this is a poem:

The death that follows,
Darkness slowly disappears,
Waiting for the light.

[The Rich Port]

I'm so goddamn bad at poetry it's not even funny.

I amaze myself at how I can be so good at prose and be so catastrophically, depressingly, awful at poetry.

I suppose it's the reason prose and poetry are separate. Methinks it requires two different skill sets.

[N7eternia]

Paige's haiku vanquishing spell:

The brutal winter
Gives way to flowers of spring
Ludlow is vanquished

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vP0bTYOfTvo

[Cupofchar]

I listened to a tune 'fireflies' by a band called 'dead captain'- i thought the lyrics were rather good

Fireflies

Silence broods,

The floating smoke,

Embers rise,

Your tears are ghosts

Drifting down your pale face,

They only pause to take a taste

Of your alabaster skin,

Your blood red lips sat quivering,

Shivering and compromised,

A picture postcard customised

With gothic fonts in gold,

Shimmering as the truth unfolds,

And all those memories that died

Rise high and hook their fingers in the sky

Like fire flies electrified.

Thunder calls,

The mourning rain,

Autumn sings

Its subtle pains,

Worries sink into the ground,

Dissipating drowning sounds,

A stream of thoughts running away,

The stale smells, a passageway,

Naive and oh so cavalier,

As shadows fall you disappear

Into those borrowed dreams

You stitched together from smithereens,

Worn out t-shirts and happenings,

A disregard for the finer things,

You always liked the phrase, ‘bring your own’,

You’re happiest when you roam alone,

Gliding over the cobblestones,

Staring up at the great unknown

As all those memories that died

Rise high and hook their fingers in the sky

Like fire flies electrified.

[Kowani]

I write. Or-wrote, rather.
It helped clear my head, when I needed to.
Plus, it helped practice my English.

[Respubliko de Libereco]

I used to write poetry & post it on NationStates. Some of it still lives on, as a reminder of the good old days, when the Writing Discussion Thread was active and there were still successful short story contests...

[Deacarsia]

Trees
By Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

[Kowani]

You cannot outrun death’s bony hand,
For he is faster than any man.
No coins of silver and gold,
can stop you from growing old.
Marble temples, cement walls,
Death is bothered, not at all.
The baby, in his cradle sleeping,
and the soldier, on the field bleeding,
The man in a suit, and the man on the street
Death’s blind eye, they cannot cheat.
The king, sitting on his throne,
falls to his kingdom of bone.
He is the shadow to life’s light,
at day’s death, comes night.

Figure I might as well drop one of my own.

[StupidsRUs]

A sonnet:
My lying box, you inspire me to write.
How I love the way you fly, snort and hop,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the lollipop.

Let me compare you to a strong ember?
You are more goofy and more nocturnal.
Humped frost nips the robins of December,
And wintertime has the smooth eternal.

How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I love your unhappy arms, legs and eyes.
Thinking of your living legs fills my days.
My love for you is the pumped exercise.

Now I must away with a happy heart,
Remember my long words whilst we're apart.