The General Poetry Thread

[pan6467]

She sits alone
thinking of the love that has gone away
she should have known
A love doesn't last when there's nothing left to say

He drives down the road again he's all alone
Thinking where it all went wrong
why he couldn't stay
But it had to end for the truth was shown
And when there's no trust there's nothing left to say

Yes, love is beautiful when ya share
And the world is so much better when there's someone there to care
Yes, Love is wonderful when the trust is there
But when the trust dies and the world won't hear your heart's cries all ya see is loneliness everywhere

They tried to live the lie of the heart
They couldn't see they just were hurting one another
They didn't realize living a lie drove them further apart
They didn't want to be alone but knew deep down they coulldn't stay
together

Living the lies of love
Trying to hold together something that isn't there
Trying so hard to keep the heart tough
But then ya realize the heart has gone sour and there's nothing left
there


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By Philip Andrew Norris (Pan) on Thursday, August 15, 2002 - 02:30 am:
Remember when we were innocent
The love our hearts knew
No sins to repent
And all we felt was so real and so new

Can you remember those days when we saw our favourite KINK
And the music filled our soul and touched our heart
Ray's lyrics so deep and made ya think
And Dave never missing a lick played so energetic from the very start

Will your heart open up long enough to look back
When life was so pure and free
And for love none of us ever felt a lack
And the days seemed made for you and me

But then it all seemed to fall apart just as you grasped that last ring
Greed took over and the heart lost its way
And all you could hear was the money sing
God why couldn't the innocence stay

Now on a building ledge you stand waiting to jump
Your soul so infested with wanting new toys
And you know your wife is out on another drunk
Spending her days with a bottle and one of her newest boys

That boss you loved so dearly took all the money
Left you out in the cold
He's down on an Island with some sexy honey
And you realize your spirit you sold

I beg of your dear friend
On all that we once shared
That this is the beginning not the end
For you my friend I have always cared

Find your way to the past
Pick up those pieces of your heart
And in those shatters you'll see what matters is my love for you shall always last
And dear friend remember those innocent days and perhaps you can make a new start

Don't tell me your love is dead
For even in nature the cycle of life in full of rebirth
Don't tell me there's nothing to live for cause everything's already said
Cause life would never be the same without you on my Earth

So give me your hand
Whenever you fall down into the dirt
Together we'll take that stand
And when the end does come you can say you fought and lived through all of life's little hurt

[goateebird]

Poor direction sinks the humble kites, torn raging;
Rusty gun in dark water at night.

[RoboBlaster]

Before there were these things we call roadmaps, people had to draw in the ground with sticks.
Directions were the things you saw,
magnets were a trick.

I saw you the other day, standing there.
I looked at my watch to see what time it was and the only thing
I could think about was asphalt and wavy air.
Leaving was the simplest thing about the moment.

Places are defined by gray slop.
But that doesn't make it easy.

[Seer666]

Originally posted by pan6467
There's a hole in the atmosphere
And the glaciers are melting down
There's people running everywhre
And chaos in the town

There's a man living next to me
He's nowhere to be found
His wife has taken to gardening
And a strange smell comin from the ground

There's the beauty that I work with
She's very sweet it seems
But she's telling me every night she drinks a fifth
And then goes to the park naked and screams

Has the world totally gone crazy
Have we all lost our mind
Or could it be we need something cause we've become lazy
And now we are all one of a kind

There's the trusted principal
Who has never done wrong
Known his wife ever since she was a litle gal
But they found him at a gay bar wearing a sarong

The press tells us all we need
They hound and stalk for their story
And not for knowledge but for greed
But for a mistake i have yet to hear sorry

Now we all have chosen to live within our head
For the craziness is rotting society's very core
Me I shiver covered in my bed
Wondering if I ever locked my door

I meant this in some fun thought I'd give us some humour....... well there is humour in truth sometimes

It is a bit funny. But a bit sad on how true it rings....

[Jeff]

A couplet

The cheeseburger, fresh from the grill
I couldn't wait to experience the thrill
Of taking the first greasy bite
And washing it down with my Sprite
The key to a good burger is cheese
Good enough to bring you to your knees,
To pray to the burger gods for some more
Of the marvelous taste galore
Now, I eat it with no haste
To bask in the glorious taste
But, sadly, the burger is done
Nothing left, but a piece of the bun.

[r3ptile]

i open my windows

and lock the door

choose to acknowledge

but tend to ignore

forget where i'm goin'

end up where i am

organizationally challenged

with no cohesive plans

i nod my head slowly

and shrug it all off

with a crooked smile

and a nervous cough

attempt to remember

what exactly went down

i'm always arriving

and departing this town

[The5thCandidate]

Someone asked me to write them a poem, and I just couldn't think of anything at all. Eventually, I just started writing some nonesense and this came out:

I’m having trouble writing this.
I must have lost my touch.
It used to be so easy for me.
Now it’s just too much.

It wasn’t hard before.
I’m so confused now.
Where’s all my inspiration?
I’m beginning to wonder how?

It’s gone for good, he exclaimed.
Never again, will I write.
This poetry thing is over.
I’ve lost this fight.

What’s wrong with me now?
This is going nowhere fast.
I guess I better just quit.
This poem will be my last.

Wait, he thought, what’s this?
I’m working on my fifth paragraph.
I might be getting back.
I think I’m back on…AWWWW CRUD!!
What rhymes with paragraph?
Polygraph?
No good, I give up.

[wonderwench]

I slip between the sheets.
There is no moon tonight.
But I can always find your lips
In the dark.

[SinisterMotives]

Here's an excerpt from a long poem I wrote about ten years ago titled November. It ran for about twenty pages and was uneven in quality, so I'll just post the prologue and first chapter here.

Prologue

Midnight brings the running of the dogs,
And the pillars of my empire start to fall,
And dreams of untold splendor expire in the dust,
And moonlight paints cold shadows on the wall,

And, blue as dead November, turn
My fleet and racing thoughts
To a memory still vivid to this day:
Covered in vine, and slime, and moss,
A fallen tree in distant woods
Lies rotting for eternity.

Chapter One

Let the hateful season now begin.
How better spent the winter than
Among cowards and friends,
Laughing as the fire dies,
All hopefulness at an end,
And all my wasted days of prayer
Stained black with pride and sin?

May iron-fettered Chaos be unbound,
And the last vestige of order serve
As carrion for the hounds
Who cower from the dimming flame,
But ever circle 'round,
Aspiring to the mercy seat
Atop the sacred mound.

Let the bell for erstwhile sapience toll
Across the final twilit sky.
Let the sepruchral stone roll
Across the portal of light.
Let November take my soul.
Let the dogs piss on the fire
And scavenge among the coals.

[Edit: typographical error]

[SinisterMotives]

Here are a couple of excerpts from another one I started after I finished November. I worked on it off and on for years but never finished it.

from Part I

She began, as a stranger,
To tell me the lies
That give her a foothold
On men's empty hearts,
Where the pale, dusty sunset,
In guarded jealousy
Of the dryness of solitude,
Begrudges a gilt romantic dream.

from Part II

Raise your glasses high, my friends,
In fond remembrance
Of the wretched melancholy of
Love's last tearful embrace,
And drink, till neither a heavy sigh
Of heartsick longing remains
Nor imagination taunts thine heart
Will skilled renderings of her face.

[tosan]

High school English class 1967. It seems to be more appropriate every year...

TERRA FIRMA

It started as a barren vast
Where nothing grew and nothing passed
Its hills were black, its crevices wide
Where nothing lived and nothing died

Its purpose was to bear a child
Bedecked, beloved, bemused, beguiled
And although it had just been born
It created for itself the Almighty scorn

It ended as a barren vast
Where nothing grew and nothing passed
Its hills were black, its crevices wide
Where something lived and something died

[r3ptile]

my dearest love i beg of thee
rescue me from decline
desire becomes necessity
a broken jagged line
misplacing my intentions
breaking what i've found
learning losing lessons
life becomes profound

[bushidomaster]

a strange day
starting great
ending less than
as is always my way
i know not how to maintain happiness
so many challenges to its wellbeing
why do i feel as though i'm on the
end of some cruel joke
that sense of wicked anticipation
as though my head is on the block
but the axe has not fallen
why can't i have a complete day
their unhappiness breeds my discontent
too much at once
my head is on the block
but i know not my crime
only my danger
and moreso my fear
the anticipation
why does it always have to end like this
after so much opportunity
and so much joy
all collapses
all falls into that pit of despair
from which there is no hope of peace
for my head is on the block
and here comes the headman

[amonkie]

Great first piece! Thanks for sharing, and welcome to the Literature Thread!

[lilia]

He thought himself a God
(A King of Poetry he was)
A sensitive man’s man,
Hero of prose and rant...
He saw himself the center of all things
(And all things circled him)
But he was an asshole to say the least
He hobnobbed with the best of them
The Beat Generation his pals,
Bukowski, Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg
And all the coffee house groupies
-all so available, smart and pretty-
He thought he was a ladies man,
His men friends tried to warn me
(He's an emotional serial killer they said)
I ignored them.

Said he began to write in high school
(back in ole Brooklyn)
So that he could get laid-
Just out of high school myself,
He wrote me a poem, called me his muse,
that's why I climbed into his bed-
He went through all the motions
but he never got me off-
I didn’t even know
what an orgasm was way back then,
but I played my part as best I knew
I liked his scruffy beard.
I swooned and swayed and worshiped him,
I lingered on his every word
(I fed his ego well)
He was my all talented God- My Everything!
He called me his savior from the "Kerouac Disease"
(But I couldn't save him)

He was older than my daddy
I was younger than his child
I was the poet's girlfriend
(An old man’s trophy arm piece)
I learned to keep my talents to myself,
Lest I threaten his Man Poet Throne
He said I wrote like a girly girl and that
What I needed was more rage
(That came along soon enough)
He said "just speak your mind and let
it all hang out"… eventually I did.
One day he died (just like that) but,
I had long since then said all my goodbyes…
All his cool friends came to grieve his loss
(Oh, what a bitch is "Death" not so cool at all)

While I marched in the streets pissed off as hell
I began to write rants filled with plenty of rage
And I thought he would be so proud of me now!
But this was all so very long ago…
I’ve come full circle since then,
And thanks to Rabbi Buddha Ginsberg,
I found my own Rimpoche…
I’ve learned how to stay still and shut off my head
I wish he (My Everything) had known how to do that...

[lilia]

Poem about Beatnik Sex

He thought himself a God
(A King of Poetry he was)
A sensitive man’s man,
Hero of prose and rant...
He saw himself the center of all things
(And all things circled him)
But he was an asshole to say the least
He hobnobbed with the best of them
The Beat Generation his pals,
Bukowski, Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg
And all the coffee house groupies
-all so available, smart and pretty-
He thought he was a ladies man,
His men friends tried to warn me
(He's an emotional serial killer they said)
I ignored them.

Said he began to write in high school
(back in ole Brooklyn)
So that he could get laid-
Just out of high school myself,
He wrote me a poem, called me his muse,
that's why I climbed into his bed-
He went through all the motions
but he never got me off-
I didn’t even know
what an orgasm was way back then,
but I played my part as best I knew
I liked his scruffy beard.
I swooned and swayed and worshiped him,
I lingered on his every word
(I fed his ego well)
He was my all talented God- My Everything!
He called me his savior from the "Kerouac Disease"
(But I couldn't save him)

He was older than my daddy
I was younger than his child
I was the poet's girlfriend
(An old man’s trophy arm piece)
I learned to keep my talents to myself,
Lest I threaten his Man Poet Throne
He said I wrote like a girly girl and that
What I needed was more rage
(That came along soon enough)
He said "just speak your mind and let
it all hang out"… eventually I did.
One day he died (just like that) but,
I had long since then said all my goodbyes…
All his cool friends came to grieve his loss
(Oh, what a bitch is "Death" not so cool at all)

While I marched in the streets pissed off as hell
I began to write rants filled with plenty of rage
And I thought he would be so proud of me now!
But this was all so very long ago…
I’ve come full circle since then,
And thanks to Rabbi Buddha Ginsberg,
I found my own Rimpoche…
I’ve learned how to stay still and shut off my head
I wish he (My Everything) had known how to do that...

[qweds]

Momma's Boy

And what
Would your mother say?

Oh.
She would buy it for me

Three kinds, and herself
One Granville Ale

[neonscreamer]

one i wrote about an ex-girlfriend...somewhat loosely based on the rhythm of a Tool song. (i won't specify which, though...)

anger, by TZ

Mention this to me.
Something we can finally believe.
We can watch the weather change.
Mention anything to me.
So we can watch the weather change.

Descending comfortably.
I can see the meaning in your eyes.
And watch the weather change.
Desperate to conceive.
Everything we don't see.
We can watch the weather change.

Surrender this feeling.
Tell the truth.
We can see it anyway.
We watch the weather change.

Sleep now, breathe in.
Watch it go away.
We watch the weather change.
Mention anything to me.
We can watch the weather change.

Controlling me.
Decisions to forfeit and do as you see fit.
I watch it all change.
Come back to me.
Mention anything.
We can watch the weather change.

Sweet surrender.
Something unlike anything.
We see it coming down.
And watch the weather change.

And we can see it as it goes.
We can watch the weather change.

[ophelia783]

My poetry's not that great, and pretty sporadic, but what the heck?

Starting Over

Starting over
Doesn't mean
Putting back the pieces
or
Wishing it never happened.
It doesn't mean
Tearing out you heart
or
Purging your soul.

Starting over
means
Moving on, and letting go.
It means
Letting your heart mend
and
Setting your soul free.

Starting over
means
Allowing yourself the title of 'me'
Instead of being half of an 'us'.
It means being able to
Laugh too loud
Flirt too much
and
Taking off all masks.

Until this is realized,
You will always be tethered to the past,
and
You will never grow your wings
to
fly.

[neonscreamer]

i likes it, i likes it a lot.

very good...and true as well.

[ophelia783]

Thanx, T-bob!

[neonscreamer]

welcome c-bob!

(i thought i knew who you were...now i'm positive.)

[ophelia783]

Colour me impressed!
What gave it away?

[neonscreamer]

it was the t-bob, mostly...

sent you a PM, checkit, womang!

[ophelia783]

I see....................

[Fiver]

The past walks by me today,
smiles, and wishes me well
the brief conversation we
have is sad , nice ,breaks my heart
and is somehow full of hope
a block later , another unreleated past
walks by, and as I nod a hello
the past has a look on it's face
like it wants to kill me
and this makes me laugh
and truth is stranger then fiction
as that past has killed somebody
in thier past
and maybe this should scare me
except I know that past will
never be as unafraid as I am
if that makes any sense
and love is kicking at my heels
a different topic all togeather
except that specific love is also
from the past,
and maybe on this one I am
a little spooked, and I do not
know why, but I have been smileing
for two whole days, and life is wonderful,
even if pain is enivitable

(please exuse any spelling errors)

[cellophanedeity]

This will be my first time posting poetry here. I'd love some feedback. Thanks!

Thursday Afternoon

She pulls on her shirt
and moves the needle to play.
She says the scratching and pops
make her feel real
and it's hard to argue with reality
even if it's only in your head

Watching the vinyl lines go by
she asks him if he believes in God
and he can't quite say what's on his mind
so he watches her hips sway
and she's golden in the afternoon sunlight
filtered through nicotine stained curtains

He calls her baby
tells her she's beautiful
and she believes him today.


4am

And I woke up
to the sound of you
falling asleep across the city
I couldn't fall back to sleep
no matter how my eyes pleaded with my body
There was no choice any more.
And thighs,
stretchmarked and scarred
from a period when change met with resistance, and inevetably won out,
kept fingertips warm
at home
as mind wandered
and stomach lurched
to the sway of an organic pendelum.
I fell asleep
as you woke up
thinking of me.

[amonkie]

Welcome! This line " and it's hard to argue with reality/ even if it's only in your head" really stuck out for me. Thanks for sharing!

[TheWalkinDude]

Cellophanedeity, those were both absolutely fantastic. Thanks for sharing those, and I hope you'll be putting more on in the future.

[cellophanedeity]

Thankyou so much for the positive feedback! I'll post more soon, I promise.

[amonkie]

I'm looking forward to it Cellophanedeity

[cellophanedeity]

More from me! (I don't like this as much. If anyone could fix it up, I'd appreciate it!)

I walk by you
Toes getting wet
From the puddles on the ground
From the rain that is beginning to end
And for one moment our souls connect
And tell us not to look
Not to see
Not to touch
And I don’t know why

You walk by me
Fingers too warm in gloves
Knit by someone who loves you
And for one moment our souls connect
And you know who I am
And you want to say
And you want to touch
And you don’t know why

[cellophanedeity]

Thoughts of you
flood through dams in my head
and the way you smell
when you're warm
And the way the light
reflects off your shoulders
when the moon shines through the window
and the way your chest tastes
and feels under my lips
and your sweet breath
moist against my neck
is flowing through me

My body has memorized your fingerprints
each groove and dip
touching the skin on my back
light enough that I can barely feel
the way the calluses from playing too long
scratch just a little
and send lightning up my spine

As rain falls through leaves
Sky sweet rumbling outside
I’m so happy to finally drown in you

[amonkie]

As rain falls through leaves
Sky sweet rumbling outside
I’m so happy to finally drown in you


That is such a great summary of the poem, Cellophanedeity - although I'm not sure what you meant by "fixing" the first one... what is it about it that you don't like?

[cellophanedeity]

By fixing I mean "if you have any constructive criticisms, then I'll gladly take them!"

I'm glad you liked them.

[eMOTIONal20]

I was hesitant on posting these, because I don't believe they are very well written. However, they are a reflection of me and my past, so I figured if I want people to get to know me, I might as well go ahead and share.

First some backround: I do not have a very pleasant relationship with my mother, and I even have a hard time calling it a "relationship" sometimes. So this first one was written from my own perspective of my my past. The second is written from my mother's perspective, and only as a mere guess as to what she might feel like today. Writing these has given me a whole new outlook on how I should be approaching my "relationship" with my mother.

So... here it goes...

“The Daughter”
These words and walls
Of cringing anger turning into a ball
Deep inside of my soul
Ripping at my insides with its wretched shambles of her, taking its toll

She pushes me out without a care
Leaving me naked and bare
For the rest of my life
You leave me to pick up the pieces of my life

With your hatred for him
I’ve become this love of a person
With so much trust to gain
You restrict and control until you my heart you have slain

If ever it was right
For me to cry every night
Please give me a clue
As to why I deserved this abandonment from you

Slamming my door to shut out your lies
Makes it even harder for me to love you
As the years of your power add up
I become this social outcast
Untaught and dealing with the dead hand of the past.

I am a daughter whose struggles show plainly and behaviors have lost many
I am who I am.
Forgive me
For I have no idea how to apologize.



“The Mother”
I am the one who gave her away
With every second of each passing day
She grows up with my manipulating sinister glare
And I cry myself to sleep, because all I can do is compare

Her future with mine
Only makes me sigh
I could never comply
With her needs, her wants
For I was never taught…
How to teach these qualities she now bares.

This is not a gift fro me
I must admit these superficial aspects
“The Perfect Daughter”
Never existed
Even though in the end, I didn’t care.

I am the mother who stays
Unhappy inside staring at my own daughter’s somber gaze
I have failed at this: the only thing I had the chance to do right.
All I can do is struggle with the controlling personality fights.

I am who I am.
Forgive me.
For I have no idea how to apologize.

[amonkie]

Emotional20 - thanks for sharing this with us - your attempt to see things through your mother's eyes shows much depth, and you will learn much from attempting to doing so. The writing is a little rough in places where it feels you sacrificed feeling to get words to rhyme. However, the feelings you have ring through loud and clear - and I feel that is the most important part of writing. The first will come with time, practice, and building skill, but that is all meaningless if your heart is not foremost in your writing. Welcome to Tilted Literature, I really look forward to anything else you might post here

[zz0011]

Red ripe strawberry:
luscious, succulent, juicy.
Tart, but oh: sweet! I
bite, savouring, to etch the
flavor forever in my mind.

3 july 2004

[zz0011]

Now I understand:
The pieces missing from my heart --
Discarded by your hand.

You're so black and white
Until I'm black and blue.
Searing. (Colors my world.)

But I don't give a damn.
I'll take the crumbs of self-respect
You've left, and try to be a man.

Now I'm falling out of time.
No reason left, barely a rhyme.
Lost my soul. Losing my mind.

(10/15/2000)
~ 11-08-2003

[zz0011]

One solitary
salty tear follows my cheek,
making its way from
eye to mouth to tongue and back
again, all be cause of you.

Spring 1999