The Poetry Post

i write rap... since the lyrics by themselves kinda look like poetry...could i post sum of those??

also...
Roses are red,
I have a phone,
Nobody texts me,
Forever alone D"":

 

omg that is really good. with your permission, i would like to change some of the words (to make it rhyme) put a beat behind it and turn it into a rap. please consider this and yes i will give you credit for writing the original piece.

 

sure, if you want to haha. thats actually really cool.

 

yay! thank you! *hugs* this is honestly really good. you should write more!

 

ok well i finished it. i'll probs post tomorrow.

but here is somethong I wrote...

this person took me away, left me in a haze,
wondering what I'd do if they left,
well the next day she was gone, what I did... you could probably guess.
i grieved and moaned, I called her phone asking for another chance, that night I took her out to dance and well... it started off popping everbody was rocking... except for her, I asked what was wrong was it the song? anyway, she left. I felt so alone so I went home, but forgot me keys at the club... I wrote this on the spot didn't take a lot of thought... yep, im a nub

 

Sure, why not? ^^ Rap is a form of poetry, in my opinion. So are song lyrics, though we already have a thread for those.

Also, eeee, such wonderful poetry, everyone! I love eet. And I want more. Keep up the excellent work!

 

sorry i couldn't post it today :/ but im really lazy.
so i will post the chorus to 'One Shot Two Shot' by Eminem,

one shot two shots three shots four shots,
all I hear is gunshots this is where the fun stops,
bodies drop, hit the floor, music's off, party stops,
everybody hits the door,
somebodies lickin' shots off.

 

Edgar Allan Poe

​

The Raven


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

 

This poem isn't mine, but it spoke volumes to me when I read it...

Mirror
Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

 

Not by me but I like it
When you're feeling down and blue,
And life is being cruel to you,
Just remember you're not on your own,
I'm always there you're never alone,
You might not be able to see my face,
As hard as you look around the place,
But close your eye's and think of me,
And before you know it there will be me,
Keep me in the midst of your mind,
And life will seem easier I think you'll find,
So when life gets to dark to bare,
Just close your eye's and I will be there.

 

I like it. ^^ Do you have the author's name?

 

Bacon​

​

Roses are Red,​

Bacon is also Red,​

Poem are hard,​

Bacon!​

​

by, Ryan Rugenus ​

​

 

Here is one by me!
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Ryan's poem is dodgy,
Mine is too.

 

In Saint_shadow's "Broken" where you use the word mear it is cool because im thinking mirror and you take it to mear. nice work

There are some really nice lines in this. I love the line "we shared the sweet and taste of lime". Your language difference adds, for instance "for his life I turned blind". It's very poetic... there are afterthoughts.

Wow! You guys are some great writers. Very impressive. I'll be reading this for awhile. Ever think about making it into a book?
I'll post something later. Thanks for sharing.

 

BREATH POST, BREATH. I've got another! I've fallen in love with flowers, so i'm going to share a poem with you all.


I weep,
Lonley without Our wonderful Violets,
Ever so lonley, indeed...
Fire,
burning Lovely patches,
Of our Wonderful roses,
Eternally i Rot,
Saddened with no beauty
But just an empty pot...

Wonder who will see my secret message

 

It would be good to hear this spoken aloud. I wonder how you would read it...
The title leads me to believe there are omissions and something further is meant.
Strength in this...

 

I forgot about my poem but I will probably write another one and post.