The [Official] Poetry Thread

[X]

I've been meaning to start this thread all week, figured now is as good a time as any. I know there are several people on here that write poetry/lyrics, and this should be the place for everyone to share their work and to recieve feedback from the rest of us. If someone wants to move this to a non-spam section that's fine, but I figured the Bar Room would be most appropriate. I myself am constantly writing, so this will be a good place to share some of my work. I've been published a few times in a few different poetry collections, so I'll probably end up sharing those particular poems as well.

I'll start off with something I wrote a few nights ago.


Blinded again by her pastel skin
Her eyes too solemn, her shadow too thin
Curled in my arms she laughs and than cries
I try not to smile at the beauty of her eyes

Break through this silence, unravel it's seams!
Scream for an advocate in liquefied dreams
You are my fire, my thoughts to compress
Dance in the pyre, my monosyllabic mess

Wrote that while thinking about the first girl I ever really fell in love with. Any thoughts?

Come on guys, let's show our serious side and I hope to see everyone who writes poetry/lyrics to contribute this thread. Let's prove that just because we like wrestling, doesn't mean we're meatheads.

 

[Profit]

I wrote this during a shit time in my life, kinda long but oh well..

He feels the sun, warm and bright
Shine upon, his tightly shut eyes
He rolls to the side, embracing the sleep
The calming serenity it brings, he'd like to keep

His alarm startles him, as the beeping fills his ears
His mind collects itself, as his blissful dream clears
He begins to sit up, ever so slowly and with hesitation
He's hit hard in the chest, with the sheer realization

That the happiness he felt, in his ignorance while not awake
Is taken away from him, he knows now what he felt was fake
Reality sets in, the pain and frustration no longer hidden
To feel anything but sadness, he knows is forbidden

His life is horrible and painful, as bad as it gets
He escapes the emptiness, in his pack of cigarrettes
He reaches over, takes hold of what could be the answer
Smoking he knows could save him, could end things with cancer

But alas, it's just a hope, nothing more and nothing less
Just a relief and an escape, from his everyday stress
He gets out of bed, and steps onto the floor
He reaches toward his bearou, and opens the drawer

While he dresses himself, he thinks of a way
To end his suffering, and to end it today
Just when he gives up, a thought intrudes his mind
It's perfect! He knew with some thought, a way out he'd find

He heads out into the woods, secluded and deep
No one would find him, his body nature would keep
A smile graces his face, for the first time in years
He's okay with what he has to do, as his eyes fill with tears

He takes the gun from his pocket, rests it against his head
He pulls the trigger, with a loud pop, he is now dead
His now lifeless body falls to the earth below
Now that he's gone, would anyone even know?

With open arms, he's ready to greet death
He's happy that he's now taken his last breathe
Heaven or hell, it doesn't matter where he goes
Anythings better than this, death over life he has chose

And so ends his story, rather sad but rather true
If you walked a day in his shoes, this too could be you
Because a life of suffering and pain, is nothing to covet
When you can't ever be happy, you just have to say fuck it

 

[Razor]

Blinded again by her pastel skin
Her eyes too solemn, her shadow too thin
Curled in my arms she laughs and than cries
I try not to smile at the beauty of her eyes

Break through this silence, unravel it's seams!
Scream for an advocate in liquefied dreams
You are my fire, my thoughts to compress
Dance in the pyre, my monosyllabic mess

Wrote that while thinking about the first girl I ever really fell in love with. Any thoughts?

Come on guys, let's show our serious side and I hope to see everyone who writes poetry/lyrics to contribute this thread. Let's prove that just because we like wrestling, doesn't mean we're meatheads.

I like it, yo. The word "monosyllabic" strikes me as odd though. Like it doesn't fit somehow.

I'm more of an abstract prose guy, i think. Lots of poetic narrations that will be either first or third person, depending on how it strikes me. Metaphors gallore, as well. It's my secret passion, considering I'm an engineer and all. Fucking Calculus 1010100101. I swear.

Ima throw one out about Addiction. It's long, as most of anything I write is. And probably severely, horribly bad. I spoiler tagged it, because I'm cool like that.

Spoiler: Razorback's Prose

The twisting corridors,
The writhing shadows.

I got here somehow,
For some reason I've long forgotten.

I was trying to figure something out,
To maybe find an answer,
To maybe help someone.

I used to frequent these halls,
I used to know them like the back of my hand,
But not anymore.

That twist didn't used to be here.
That turn was definitely never there.

The real trick is that there is no ceiling to this maze,
I can get out by simply climbing the walls.

But one risks the chance of being up there forever,
Refusing to get down and live life head on,
Refusing to find a path through the maze that seems neverending.

I can drink some potion that will make me forget,
And make climbing the walls seem a reasonable proposition.

I can smoke something that will make me indifferent,
Laughing in the face of of the dark as I climb the wall.

I can shoot something into my veins to simply fly that high,
But the fall back down would kill me for sure.

I can use some powder to make me fly,
Sort of like whatever the hell Peter Pan used.
But I don't know how to use that stuff,
I'd end up slamming into a wall.

It seems rather harmless to get above it all for a bit,
To fly high in the sky,
One would think that you could map out a plan from that height.

But that's rarely the case.

I'm not gonna lie,
Some of those temptations were too powerful to resist.

Back in my early days and now, in my college days.

But this is when I throw the bottle to the ground,
This is when I grind that "something" under my boot,
This is when I break the needle against the wall,
This is when I mix the powder with the dirt at my feet.

I reject those temptations as false promises,
Those brief moments of happiness as empty.

I resign myself to the dark, twisting corridors of this maze,
The path out of which is clowdy at best.

But when I see the exit,
When I make my grand escape,
I know it will be all the better.

I know that you will be standing there,
Cheering me on,
Arms spread wide.

And I will come running,
Finally the winner in this years long journey to the end.

 

[Y 2 Jake]

You're shit out of luck xfear. I can't find my cannibalism poem anywhere.

 

[killcenanow]

This won me an awkward peotry contest in high school junior year

Shallow moonlit horizon
Should I pay the toll
Swim white castle swim
For I know your breathe
You cannot hold
Drowning in shakes
and sun burnt fries
Not quite my favorite
birthday surprise

This next one won me an awkward peotry contest in high school Senior year


Vibrant isn't the way to describe cheese!
I don't care what kind of pasta sauce you are
You won't convince me to trust you with my sausage
Dinner table paranoia starts to creep.
If you think your getting the last slice of pizza,
You got a fork to the groin coming.

I was surprised to win with such violence but if you read into it, its about a guy so obsessed with his pizza he begins hating anyone else who eats it and the pizza for letting others eat it as though there were a relationship between man and food.

Hopefully this isn't limited to love poetry as this last one of mine for now is quiet the love gone wrong poem called...
Violent Epiphany

Draining you of life
Much like you’ve done to me
You’re bleeding to death
The way I want it to be
You get to die soon
Consider yourself lucky
I’ve been dying so slow
Death sleeps beside me

Don’t breathe a word of apology
I won’t forgive your mental sodomy
Our love once filled with beauty
Consider this your eulogy
Paint a picture, life in full detail
Blood stains on a white wall
Life’s trust we horribly fail
Into death’s grip we will fall

Revenge is so sweet
Like the taste of your blood
Sucking down on your
Hateful crimson liquid
Your time has expired
You can no longer be
I’ll give you no reason
The way you’ve always done me

Flat is the line of your life
And my grip on reality
I see the edge of our world
There is nothing, nothing
I stand over your corpse
No guilt not a care
Forever torture in hell
I’m coming, I’ll find you there

 

[X]

Good stuff Razor, I really dug your work there and hope to see more from you. I specifically really liked the Addiction poem, the Peter Pan was great.

As for using the word monosyllabic....it just fits into the whole illiteration thing and really rolls off the tongue nicely in that last line.

Let me go grab my poetry book, I'll throw out another one in a little bit.

 

[Murfish]

I thought this was going to be a thread for the analysis of poetry.

 

[X]

I thought this was going to be a thread for the analysis of poetry.

It's a thread to post poetry in. You can post poetry from other famous poets as well, in fact I'll post a gem from Jack Kerouac right now.

How To Meditate

---lights out---
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
I hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance---Healing
all my sicknesses----erasing all----not
even the shred of a "I-hope-you" or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes---and
with joy you realize for the first time
"Thinking's just like not thinking---
So I don't have to think
any
more"

Go on Murf...analyze away.

 

[TSG]

I am troubled immeasurably...
By Jim Morrison
I am Troubled Immeasurably..."

I am troubled
Immeasurably
By your eyes
I am struck
By the feather
of your soft
Reply
The sound of glass
Speaks quick
Disdain
And conceals
What your eyes fight
To explain

And here is one that I wrote myself.

sunlight
star-filled night
no limits
reach far heights
summer lust
summer love
walk on the wild side
fly like a dove
a beautiful thing
a beautiful high
where angels go
where dreams lie
stairway to the heavens
stairway to the stars
its where we all want to go
we all want to go far

 

[Murfish]

Alright, here's one of my favorite poems from one of my favorite poets.

‘TERENCE, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, ’tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship ’tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.’

Why, if ’tis dancing you would be,
There’s brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world’s not.
And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past:
The mischief is that ’twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.

Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure,
I’d face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
’Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul’s stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.

There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all the springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
—I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.

A.E. Housman

 

[Razor]

Good stuff Razor, I really dug your work there and hope to see more from you. I specifically really liked the Addiction poem, the Peter Pan was great.

Thanks.

As for using the word monosyllabic....it just fits into the whole illiteration thing and really rolls off the tongue nicely in that last line.

I see what ya mean. I read it out loud a few times this go around, and it sounded loads better. I guess my inner monologue just couldn't do it justice.


Here's another one, homes. I wrote it just a month or so ago, on one of the very boring nights that have become to embody my summer vacation. Self-reflection is the theme, it would seem.

You're sitting alone,
staring at the sky.

Wondering exactly how old the stars are,
Pondering exactly how much we don't matter in the scheme of things.

You want that one great answer,
That one great reason,
That one great idea that will give you your reason for being.

It's taking a little too long,
And you're starting to get distracted,
Those stars look so....so....real.

You start to take stock of your life.

You've spent the past year pushing away any attempt,
Any hint of someone being close to you.

You've spent the past year trying to put your past behind you,
But it keeps creeping up at the most critical of junctures.

You've spent the past year trying to reclaim who you are,
After so many years of negativity and disaster have shaped your soul.

This past month you've closed doors,
While tentatively peaking through a few others.

This past week you've been trying to explain,
But the words just won't form in your head.

Just yesterday you were trying to show that you have a soul,
But sometimes it hides.....
Refusing general admittance.

You look back at the stars.
They look so majestic,
They, the only constant in a millennia of wars.

What have they got that makes them so untouchable?
What have they got that you don't have?

Simply?
..Time.

 

[X]

I'm really diggin' your work Razor, keep 'em coming man. Everybody feel free to come in and toss out your 2 cents, be it positive or negative feedback, it's all good.

Here's a poem I wrote when a few years back about a mushroom trip I had.

Chaos surrounds the young man's clouded mind
His hand reaches out for itself to no avail
Mindless creations pounded out by the minute
Veins arisen with treacherous psilocybin
Eyes watering with paranoid hallucinations
Fireapple red explosions delude from the mouth
Leaving behind 6 goot piles of ashes
The remainder of joyful memories and cannabis sativa
A small ripple that cuts off all of reality