Do You Write Poetry?

[Nam]

I used to write a lot but the past 10 years not so much. Here's a simple one of mine (simple as in: not controversial):

an imperfection of art (based on a dream of an ex-girlfriend)

a dream can show you lies
sorrowful good-byes
  from the woman you wish to forget
it can show you happiness
gentle waves of bliss
  yet seemingly poorly lit

still ..

it's worth to note
in each thought rote
  this woman you wish to forget
is that gentle wave of bliss
that shows you happiness
  and makes your heart offset

and ..

I know it could be true
this woman who is you
  is the one who holds my heart
a ring upon a finger
a soul that could linger
  an imperfection of art

I ..

could believe in this dream
an impossible scheme
  for you to marry me
yet there's more than you and I
in each tear that is cried
  from every touch that we breathe

still ..

a dream can show you lies
a glisten in one's eye
  a soul that seems offset
each beat of my heart
that won't stop 'til it starts
  from the woman I wish to forget



David Garrett Arnold
January 16 2009

-Nam

[Harmonie]

No, I am afraid I can't write poetry.
I have no talent for it, can't you see?

...I can do a little rhyming, I guess. The above rhyme actually came to me very naturally (whether that requires any talent whatsoever or not I would not know. >.<), but I've rarely ever tried to actually string a real poem together. The last time I did it was probably 10th grade, where we made a couple for an assignment. lol Even those were nothing close to the level of what you posted!

Thank you for sharing it with us. =)

[Ecurb Noselrub]

I do not write poetry
I do not milk a honey bee
I do not like green eggs and ham
I do not like them, Nam you am.

[joeactor]

I do a bit of poetry over at Joe's Dump...

Here's a couple:

Seventeens
a poem by Joe J Thomas

cat and humidifier
cars outside

get up to pee at 1:17

neck pain
strange dream

sparks in my brain at 3:17

rising from the deep
work thoughts
reflection
respond to the world

stretching at 4:17


The Kruelest Fruit
a poem by Joe J Thomas

Oh! Tiny orange, how you mock me!
Once the peel is gone, all is empty.

Bitter and pithy; the agony complete.
A broken promise of taste so sweet.

They hide you in baked goods, cookies and pies.
Drench you in sugar and chocolate to cover the lies.

But they cannot conceal the ultimate truth.
Oh! Kumquat you are most certainly the kruelest fruit.

[Nam]

Here's a more controversial poem of mine. Ironically, it's mostly controversial with non-Christians.

99 bottles of love on the wall (NSFW)

Sorry but you are not allowed to view spoiler contents.

-Nam

[xSilverPhinx]

I don't write poetry but I like to rhyme (the more sing-songy the better, IMO).

Fortunately for you folks I won't be sharing anything, though.   

[Nam]

I'm bored. Here's another poem:

I love and always love

I have saved my breath
hold it in my hand
and wash it upon
my chest   and
there's more than thought
in each
ashed step
I take forward

I've been in sensual ease
oceans have filled my lungs
and no more than flight
could make more strenuous
in my veins that
seem perturbed

touched lips that haven't touched
hands felt that haven't felt
eyes looked upon eyes
yet
only in backward glances
and broken grass
upon feet that are cold
from the wind that
blows gently forth
and away

sporadic motions
succumb depth that extends
beyond the reach of my
hands
and there's light
shining down
from the obelisk that seems empty
yet filled with hope
and life


I drive too many miles
on dirt roads
that are paved in cement

I feel affliction
pale skin
and I watch her sleep
she's there
in my thoughts
and she's there
always in sensual flowers
jovial smirks
and tiny marks left
by the dagger in which
she holds to my chest

my heart beats
further away from me
farther
away from me
then I ever imagined

and she's there
standing
in front of me
wiping the tear
that shed for
the love I had
that seems to have faded
only in the thought
of not taking
that soft breath
she breathes on my neck


I think more and no more
and always ever more of her

wilted leaves lay in front
of me
I am stoic
torn
broken   from
what I know and I wish to know

my affection still holds strong
for she is always
in my heart held within my soul

I love and always love
you




David Garrett Arnold
May 30 2006

-Nam

[joeactor]

... an A-Moose-ing poem to start your week...
http://www.joesdump.com/2016/03/21/i-wanna-be-a-moose/

I Wanna Be A Moose

poetry by Joe J Thomas

I wanna be a moose
And wander through the woods
I'd munch on marshy grasses
And do what mooses should
With my moose wife at my side
A couple kids in tow
We'd amble in the forest
Until the evening glow
The lure of lights would call us
To visit your backyard
To nibble at your gardens
Without the slightest regard
After a dip into the pool
Your kitchen is our aim
There's leftovers in the fridge
And a dog that we can blame
In the morning you awake
To find us in your den
The families are asleep
All the mooses and the men
I see you standing on the stairs
And give a moosey "Hello!"
But you don't speak our language
So out the door we go
Back to the woods with kids behind
Reluctantly we leave
But don't despair; we will return
Some other summer's eve

[Nam]

A friend just challenged me to write a poem in less than a minute. It probably sucks (just wrote it a few minutes ago, haven't read it myself yet) and wrote this in 36 seconds (I can type 120 wpm).  So...I haven't really written anything in 2-3 months. It was challenging. It probably does suck. Anyway....here it is:

Hello

it could be less true
any thought, any remembrance
of echoes faltering clouds,
rain even tumbling down--
a gesture of a waved hand,
small child streaking by.

could be less of everything more--
a whisper heard through a broken door, or
just a smile etching itself on a palm
against a face smiling too.

what wonders of ocean pull.
seasons changing with every breath.
summer, winter, spring, and autumn's fall
gently sinking within soulful heart;
nothing more could be said for
"hello" and "goodbye",
busy streets in foggy discourse--

yet it's the palm to cheek,
the butterfly so weak
that allow eyes to meet
between the sand.

it's the whispering bliss
the gentle kiss;
beating of heart--
the goodbye turning into an...



Hello.


David Garrett Arnold
April 09 2016

-Nam

[Ecurb Noselrub]

That's actually quite nice, Nam.

[Nam]

Just wrote this, just now. As an aside: I really do not write that often anymore. Who knows how long this'll last. I used to belt out 100 poems a month but the last time that happened regularly was 9-10 years ago.

Anyway, just wrote this a minute ago:

i just wanna write

i wanna write, say something disguised in simple imagery.
watch the sky turn blue then purple then...rain...
oh, the rain: it pours beneath the ebb
feet whispering on top of gentle sand.

the lake pulls the ocean closer still.
past egression, becoming regressed with
every abated breath.

i wanna write, say something meaningfully apt.
watch the sky turn white, bright like a star falling;
pieces of earth wretched and wrung--
quelling the nuances of yesterday's song.

the ocean engulfs the plateau of bated breadth.
listening to cicadas dream of cyprus,  willow, and ash.
eyes faltering within eyes; verity whetted in lips.
i just want to write...

about you.

David Garrett Arnold
April 11 2016

-Nam

[joeactor]

Nam: I think your past poetic work has really prepped you for stream of consciousness types of poetry.
Quite nice indeed.

[Magdalena]

I don't write poetry. 
Most of the time I have a hard time understanding what the poet is trying to say. I try, and I try, but I just can't seem to connect the words and say, "Oh! I see!"
--I don't see. 

This is what I see when I read a poem:


It's so frustrating.

[Sandra Craft]

I don't write poetry. 
Most of the time I have a hard time understanding what the poet is trying to say. I try, and I try, but I just can't seem to connect the words and say, "Oh! I see!"
--I don't see. 

This is what I see when I read a poem:


It's so frustrating.

Heh.  I have the exact same problem most of the time.  Late in high school I discovered Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost and thought things had changed for me because I could understand what they were going on about, but they turned out to be a pair of flukes.  Forty plus years later, they're still the only poets I can understand.

[Magdalena]

^^^
I'm so glad to hear that I'm not the only one.
Can I sit next to you, right now? I'm sure Nam is going to post another one, soon, and I don't want to be the only one doing this while he reads it: