LibriumArcana.Games

By poetry I mean real poetry. That means rhythm, metre. Freestyle symbolism is not poetry - it's freestyle symbolism, it's prose. (Start a seperate thread for that - just to keep the two isolated for efficiency reasons.) If you've written poetry, meant to be read aloud at a rhythm - post yours here, and discuss them.

Here are a couple of my self-favourite works, how about yours?

The Hunting Tide

As the young hunter then brings home
The evening’s meal raw,
And as the moon shines silvery-chrome,
He rips it with his claw;
This is the tide of strength and pride,
As hunters seek you out,
Discreetly you must try to hide,
For death is still in doubt.

As those young hunters wish you meat,
You know the end is near –
For you’ll no longer be discreet,
A sound you make – they hear;
You cannot run, nor can you hide,
Round corners dangers lurk:
There is nobody on your side,
As you hide in the murk.

As time then moves and tide then flows,
You flee; you know your foe,
Right then you hear the sound of crows –
You look down and you know:
So green’s the lawn in lights of dawn
As clouds and sun appear,
Your foes then charge, loud sounds the horn –
And round you they draw near.

From my Potter Variations, this one based on Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Kubla Khan

INCLUDES HBP SPOILERS!

For Hogwarts-school he, Albus, ran
(The Witchcraft School of Wizardry):
Where elves cooked meals in the pan;
Where stairwells trapped a stumbling man;
Where there was much to see:
A great big forest for a ground,
With centaurs living all around;
A hospital with drugs and pills;
A great entrapping willow tree:
Right up in England’s northern hills
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But O! Those forests green we took for granted
Have been reveal’d as nothing but a cover!
A savage place! Not holy but enchanted
For Albus Dumbledore had been then ranted
By many whom we know are demon-lovers.
And then to kill him making us all seethe,
Whilst Albus is unable but to breathe…!
By Avada Kedavra he was cursed,
Until the lively spirit from him burst;
He died without a knowledgeable trail,
Against the Dark he knows that we’ll now fail.
He will remain dead; he won’t live – for ever!
O, when he took a sail then by the river…
With Harry neär, rowing in slow motion, {ran,
While death-consumers through the school-halls
And raced up stairs as quickly as one can –
Especially the maker of the potion!
Amid this turmoil Harry knew from far,
That this damned battle will not end the war.
The shadow of the death of pleasure
Ending with a land of graves,
Agony could not be measured
As he fared a goodbye wave;
For Voldemort that day’d devise
To stare at death with laughing eyes.

A demon with a wand at hand
In reäl life he saw:
He was the one whose name’s not said,
And Harry on the ground he laid –
Screeching with a Crucioed pain.
Could I revive within myself
His pain that lasted long?
To such a depth ‘twould kill me
That to think of deeds so wrong…
O! I would stop the fire from flare,
The day rethought – not played with dice!
And all who saw would stare right there,
And all should cry: “Beware! Beware!
The Dragon sleeps within his lair!â€Â

Once was a man named Robocop.
Having a gun, he blew off his top.
There was blood everywhere,
and man did he swear.
Then his life did stop.

Robert Walper wrote:Once was a man named Robocop.
Having a gun, he blew off his top.
There was blood everywhere,
and man did he swear.
Then his life did stop.

Line 4 is missing a syllable, no?

3) there | was | blood | ev- | -ry | where
4) and | man | did | he | swear

Also, line 5 should have the rhythm of lines 1 & 2. That is, if this is a limerick.

As for content, it's a nice joke about suicidal Robocops :), but how could one who blew off his head swear?

Good job, though!

Robert Walper wrote:Once was a man named Robocop.
Having a gun, he blew off his top.
There was blood everywhere,
and man did he swear.
And then his life it did stop.

Fixed it for you.

I'd suggest:

Once there was a man - Robocop.
With a gun, off he blew his own top.
There was blood everywhere,
And, my God, did he swear!
So right then, his old life - it did stop.

That makes the lines flow, no stops, and all stresses are on the right part of the word. Previously, for instance, it was "haVING". So this is my suggestion.

Ah, what the hell. I'm not quite happy with this one (seems to me that it's lacking something) but it's the first poem I've written since primary school that I haven't been mortally embarassed by:

A star fell from heaven...

Angel, did you hurt yourself
When you fell from Paradise
Into the seething Saturday Night
That took you by surprise

Immaculate you wander
Through the darkened city Streets
With neon in you hair
And roses at your feet
You were looking for a good time
And you never meant to stray
But the whiskey turned your head
And you got caught up in the sway

[Author's note: there really should be another bit here like at the start, but I've yet to come up with something I'm happy with]

At 3am you stumble
Through the lightening city streets
With whiskey on your breath
And blisters on your feet
And I see your halo's broken
You lost your wings along the way
And it's a long walk back to heaven
In the cold light of day

The Morrigan wrote:<snip>

At 3am you stumble
Through the lightening city streets
With whiskey on your breath
And blisters on your feet
And I see your halo's broken
You lost your wings along the way
And it's a long walk back to heaven
In the cold light of day

I really like this bit Morrigan. when you decide you're happy with it, i'd like to know what you change....

Decided to give a more serious one a shot.

Jasmine, Jasmine, my only love,
you made my heart soar like a dove.
On this Earth there couldn't be,
one like you I wanted for me.

Through my eyes I saw your face,
when I did my heart did race.
In my arms I wanted you dear,
losing you brought many a tear.

During my pain I solemnly vowed,
loving again is never allowed.
Feelings and emotions I will suppress,
the solitude spirit I now shall impress.

Distant and uncaring I've chosen to be,
the concept of two is no longer for me.
Power and strength is that of the one,
efforts of seeking another is done.

For the one with Tearstained Cheeks

There are so many things that one can do
I feel real bad that I did what I did to you
I really hadn’t meant to
But even so it still shows through
There are simply some things
That feel like they’d clip my wings
I know I’d told you before why I want to wait
But you make me wonder if it’s already too late

You’re always so sweet
In this world someone like that is truly a treat
But the ones that went sour
Left a stain that I have yet to scour
That said I can’t rush through
It takes some time to make things their original hue
You know what I mean am sure
Since you’ve been there before with her

You know who she is with her smile
So cold and calculated like a crocodile
She hurt you so much
That you thought you could never touch
Never touch your heart again
Without the agony and pain
Causing you to cry and crumble
Making someone so strong fall and stumble

Forgive me my friend that I spoke
But I couldn’t hold it inside when I awoke
Since I’ve realized too late
What it means at this rate
And I’m sorry that I didn’t speak sooner
But I hadn’t realized then, on my honor
Else I might have pointed out more often
But would that have made it soften?

The words I said were honest
But I feel like such a pest
Since I feel like I’ve hurt you
Without really meaning to
You know I hold you near
As all my friends I consider dear
So do not shed another tear
Feelings are never really clear

So no matter what I said
I do care
Deep down inside
I really do
That’s why I don’t want to hurt you

[/i]

NIGHT'S BLISS

A sky of red, with trees there, it to hide,
And winds of might blow round me all the night;
This is the nature in which I reside –
The natural feeling gives me most delight.
To stand behind a window and to feel
The winds of joy blow through a frame of bliss
Is more that one believes today is real,
Just lis’ning to the wind’s most silent kiss.
One cannot try to state the pleasure nightly
Felt by those whose deep sense of awe is there,
When you are bound to nature and so tightly
With your eyes at silent night you stare.
While friends of mine don’t see the nightly world
Of tender, calm sensations; idle acts;
My motions and emotions are all swirled,
And mystify the world, obscuring facts –
Then I can see the worth of life, its sake,
The actuál euphoria and joy:
Conventionalities, watching them break,
As if the horse had never entered Troy.
You are united with yourself once more,
When sensing chill of winds rise up your back,
You know, though, that in this state there’s no gore,
For harmony you have and will not lack.
Remember that the night’s a home for this,
And day will make this vanquish down to nought;
Remember now the wind’s soft, subtle hiss,
And let your idle dreams come from this thought.

Not to be a killjoy, but shouldn't this be in Fiction?

Stofsk wrote:Not to be a killjoy, but shouldn't this be in Fiction?

i don't think anyone's read them when they get posted there..and at least here it's a continues flow of different pieces...

Stofsk wrote:Not to be a killjoy, but shouldn't this be in Fiction?

Not quite, as poetry would qualify as a "art" rather than fiction.

I just made this up:

The haiku bores me,
little tiny poem form:
eighteen syllables.

I thought it was sixteen syllables, not eighteen?

i can't help but wonder
with every day that's passed
just how much longer can
something like this last?
the alternative is frightening
being alone
but it's too late, i think
as i hang up the phone.
every day that passes
brings more things to light
it leaves me open
waiting for the fight.
for every tear i've yet to shed
there is something more
and it lets me wonder
what else is yet in store
it's such a terror
and i feel desire to run through the door
as i wonder
how much more will happen before i hit the floor.

Elheru Aran wrote:I thought it was sixteen syllables, not eighteen?

It's actually seventeen, but seventeen has three syllables, so it won't work.