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does anyone write poetry?

Sanity

my mind mocks me, teases me, tells me i did wrong
tells me i'm not strong enough to do what i do
a sub you call yourself -you can't handle pain.
"oh, but i can i reply
watch and see how much i can take in -
wait and see what i can endure."
these months are killing me slowly,
but i've brought my whole self to the field
to do battle for my sanity - every part of me
persona - dimension
has returned to support me
and fight through this madness that i've wrought.
i've decided to look out for myself after this.
this moment i've expected for so long
and still i find myself unprepared.
i don't think i'll find anyone else
worth this kind of strife or sacrifice.
i hope one day i'll hear "thank you for being you."
right now, i'm the only one
telling my mind what it needs to hear.
 
Child Of Winter (Funny How Every Ex Has A Nickname)

so alive and magical
so fraught with peril
so beautiful and wonderful to behold
your touch so faint
delicately pressed upon my face
like a snowflake before it melts
your essence so vast
so amazing how its always
out in the open
as if you know already
that no matter how many footprints,
and people marr your surface
you can always snow again
 
here's one that vaguely repeats itself

Magic from ages unknown
Ripping through our souls
Stretching out its might
Power of a thousand black holes
Roaring of fire
Escapes from your mind
Nothing will live
For one of your kind :
You've awakened the magic
And now you must pay
The magic is final -
Your breath dies with the day

Voices unheeded
Till the damage is done
Countless will die -
There can be only one
The field of the strong
The field of the brave
All you once knew
Lie in a mass grave
Voids spring from chaos
Hope fades away
The magic is final
Your breath dies with the day

Summon the shadow beast
Who reigns over the dead
Because of your destruction
He's always one ahead
Holding power you held
When first on the field
Stumbling and falling -
The ground will not yeild
Once you knew
But there is nothing to say
The magic is final
Your breath dies with the day.
 
rain

falling down
all around me
dancing in the sky
you hit the ground so hard
you bounce back
in denial
like the ride
should never have stopped
warm within my sanctuary
i watch you cascade,
torrent, lighten, cease
how i wish i could
step outside
and let you engulf me.
i could almost
drown in you.
 
harness

gather your thoughts
collect the images
feelings
emotions
wrap them around yourself
like armor
coalesce, cocoon your being
with every fiber
of energy
wear them openly
without fear
without hate
bring your core
to the surface
remembering values
life experiences
who you are
and what defines you -
never again will you
hide in shadows.
your core on the outside
the hardest shell to break -
because its your essence.
too late i learned this;
maybe too soon
i'm enacting it.
time will tell.
 
char

never again
will i torment myself.
this burden
too much
even for me
cracking
peeling
skin chars away
even my rage
is not enough
not since my ex wife
have i cried
not since mother
have i felt so alone
as i do tonight


*every time i read this, it brings tears to my eyes. crazy.
 
no catchy title :( - ode to vampires???

i catch a glimpse of moonlight
blood rising in my veins
and as i gaze into the night
the life within me drains

my eyes splinter into a thousand pieces
fragments of an immortal soul
in the distance, the churchbell
begins to toll

i wander the streets
without fear, without guilt
nobody knows me
until their worlds tilt

i grab the two nearest me
and to silence their screams
i breathe upon them midnight
and suffocate their dreams

their blood calls for lust
and its something i cannot hide
i take their lives for my sake
for me, they cannot deny

into light once more i step
my body again unbroken
and if they see me for who i am
they keep their thoughts unspoken
 
doppleganger

empty as the shadows
that lurk in dark corners
my memories a false guide
my mind a lost soul
i walk a hidden path
solitude my only guide
 
Don't anyone go jackin' my sheyit now:

Ol' Dog-

This ol’ dog, he always snarled at passin’ strangers.
His weary ol’ eyes saw folks as passin’ dangers.
His snap scared children, ol’ women, and park rangers.
But one day that all changed, the day she walked on by.

He stepped down from his stoop, just to walk behind her.
His weary ol’ eyes were suddenly much kinder.
His heart grew full, step sprung, heck, luck helped him find her.
But he crossed the road, got hisself hit by a bus.
 
Mulletsoldier said:
I am mostly influenced by the Beat Generation, and even some of Camus' plays. People like Ginsberg and Kerouac have fascinating writings. I still enjoy Classical works, though; mostly Coleridge, Pope and Wordsworth. Need Witman in there as well!
Click to expand...

Kerouac, yes, Ginsberg, no. They both recognized IT, but Ginsberg chose to cry about it while Kerouac chose to smile even when sad.
 
Manimalia said:
Kerouac, yes, Ginsberg, no. They both recognized IT, but Ginsberg chose to cry about it while Kerouac chose to smile even when sad.
Click to expand...

I appreciate your objective comments as towards which poetry I can personally enjoy, lol.

That being said, Ginsberg described the environment of his time with a rawness and honesty which is hard to characterize as 'crying about it'. While Kerouac initially put forward the revolutionary Spontaneous Prose style, I feel it was Ginsberg who had a more inspiring application - Stream of Consciousness is much more applicable to poetry than prose, IMO.
 
Mulletsoldier said:
I appreciate your objective comments as towards which poetry I can personally enjoy, lol.

That being said, Ginsberg described the environment of his time with a rawness and honesty which is hard to characterize as 'crying about it'. While Kerouac initially put forward the revolutionary Spontaneous Prose style, I feel it was Ginsberg who had a more inspiring application - Stream of Consciousness is much more applicable to poetry than prose, IMO.
Click to expand...

You've done ya homework, brudda. But seriously, I know that Ginsberg was talented and had achieved substance. I guess I am kind of leery of him because he chose to not only express his dissatisfaction with society, but wail it out, in spite of the fact that it would change nothing for him and others. For to focus on what's wrong and not suggest what's right is counter-productive; it does not make one happy. It almost seemed like Ginsberg's writings were an SOS call to the unknown.

Kerouac, I used to think, "escaped" what was wrong, but there was/is no true escape. He merely dealt with it, and smiled along the way while doing it sometimes. He even tried to make others smile. He enjoyed a good mountain, a glass of wine, and a woman's touch even when he was sad. His words too stated a lot of what was/is wrong, but he recognized/showed the beauty among the madness as well. He didn't scream the message to the unknown. Instead, he waited to see if it'd take him when he died.

But both were great at what they did. I guess that's a long way of me saying I recognize that Ginsberg was special, but that I feel more like a brother to Kerouac. Blah blah blah. Sorry for soundin' like a jackass, Mullet. Liking Ginsberg is ok in my book, brougham.
 
suncloud said:
i really like Bukowski, but i just can't write like that.

that dog poem made me laugh. awesome.
Click to expand...

Thanks, suncloud. I try to write stuff that's funny. I wrote that hearing an old, soulful black man sing it in my head. Kind of like some delta blues. Y'all's stuff is good, too. Sad mostly, but good.
 
Manimalia said:
Thanks, suncloud. I try to write stuff that's funny. I wrote that hearing an old, soulful black man sing it in my head. Kind of like some delta blues. Y'all's stuff is good, too. Sad mostly, but good.
Click to expand...

lol. i'll post some happier stuff. i also wrote a fairly funny one that i titled "DR SEUSS GOES TO BONDAGE SCHOOL". somehow, i think the mods would delete this thread if i posted it though :)
 
Manimalia said:
You've done ya homework, brudda. But seriously, I know that Ginsberg was talented and had achieved substance. I guess I am kind of leery of him because he chose to not only express his dissatisfaction with society, but wail it out, in spite of the fact that it would change nothing for him and others. For to focus on what's wrong and not suggest what's right is counter-productive; it does not make one happy. It almost seemed like Ginsberg's writings were an SOS call to the unknown.

Kerouac, I used to think, "escaped" what was wrong, but there was/is no true escape. He merely dealt with it, and smiled along the way while doing it sometimes. He even tried to make others smile. He enjoyed a good mountain, a glass of wine, and a woman's touch even when he was sad. His words too stated a lot of what was/is wrong, but he recognized/showed the beauty among the madness as well. He didn't scream the message to the unknown. Instead, he waited to see if it'd take him when he died.

But both were great at what they did. I guess that's a long way of me saying I recognize that Ginsberg was special, but that I feel more like a brother to Kerouac. Blah blah blah. Sorry for soundin' like a jackass, Mullet. Liking Ginsberg is ok in my book, brougham.
Click to expand...

I would counter what you have said here by merely stating that Ginsberg's writings were deliberate cathartical acts, rather than attempts at effectual change. I recognize your point about 'shouting to the unknown', but would also counter that such an approach was indicative of Ginsberg's spontaneous stream of consciousness as a whole.

I feel the purpose of poetry is description, rather than practical mediation. In his musings, Ginsberg sought to poetically manifest a 'Zeitgeist' of an emergent generation of what he felt were non-conformists. If you recall, the modus operandi of the Beat Generation was not necessarily a cohesive movement of intended social change, but rather a movement of a cathartical antiestablishmentarianism revealed - the Beatniks predated the age of effectual Cultural Revolution, though the generation proceeding very much synthesized this desire for non-conformity with some of the Bohemian principles of the San Francisco culture.

Actually, I would counter that Kerouac, Snyder, Ginsberg, and so on would resent being labelled as deliberate antiestablishmentarianists, as such organized coherence in a movement very much contradicted their emotional and spontaneous style! Especially Kerouac and Ginsberg, whose spiritual leanings very much influenced their mantra-like writing style. I feel viewed from this perspective, Ginsberg is seen as a descriptivist, rather than an ineffectual writer!
 
Mulletsoldier said:
I would counter what you have said here by merely stating that Ginsberg's writings were deliberate cathartical acts, rather than attempts at effectual change. I recognize your point about 'shouting to the unknown', but would also counter that such an approach was indicative of Ginsberg's spontaneous stream of consciousness as a whole.

I feel the purpose of poetry is description, rather than practical mediation. In his musings, Ginsberg sought to poetically manifest a 'Zeitgeist' of an emergent generation of what he felt were non-conformists. If you recall, the modus operandi of the Beat Generation was not necessarily a cohesive movement of intended social change, but rather a movement of a cathartical antiestablishmentarianism revealed - the Beatniks predated the age of effectual Cultural Revolution, though the generation proceeding very much synthesized this desire for non-conformity with some of the Bohemian principles of the San Francisco culture.

Actually, I would counter that Kerouac, Snyder, Ginsberg, and so on would resent being labelled as deliberate antiestablishmentarianists, as such organized coherence in a movement very much contradicted their emotional and spontaneous style! Especially Kerouac and Ginsberg, whose spiritual leanings very much influenced their mantra-like writing style. I feel viewed from this perspective, Ginsberg is seen as a descriptivist, rather than an ineffectual writer!
Click to expand...

Ginsberg, to me, certainly was an anti-so and so, but Kerouac was simply coastin'. Kerouac just chose to focus on the good as opposed to the bad of it all. But if you know anything of these two men, and I am sure you do, you know they were both not without problems. I just love how Kerouac showed appreciation to the beautiful/good things.

Give me a smile before a frown anyday, brother. Anywho, I really do respect your views on this. I'm just a simple man, so I have no real contention. I just call it like I see it, ya know?
 
Manimalia said:
Ginsberg, to me, certainly was an anti-so and so, but Kerouac was simply coastin'. Kerouac just chose to focus on the good as opposed to the bad of it all. But if you know anything of these two men, and I am sure you do, you know they were both not without problems. I just love how Kerouac showed appreciation to the beautiful/good things.

Give me a smile before a frown anyday, brother. Anywho, I really do respect your views on this. I'm just a simple man, so I have no real contention. I just call it like I see it, ya know?
Click to expand...

Definitely. Kerouac actively despised being labelled as part of the Beat Generation and Ginsbering, in fact, denied being the leader of any coherent movement several times. They most differently have separate outlooks through which they express themselves!
 
Hair on the Man

Man goes up the mountain
Fufils rights on the fountain
Collects much on the grass
Makes stains on curled brass
 
A complex misdistribution of many things

The golden buttons of Magic jelly beans
Talk nonsense with nothing I can dream
Remind us of the arts that fell
Cannot comprehend the simple smell

The likeness shows the individual
The merchant make the beans
To sell them at a large fair
The golden buttons are his machine
 
MonkeyOompahhs

MoneyOompahhs are of the genus homosapien
They like to dance like little aliens

They come from the middle of the earth
They wear glasses on their shirts

They like to read quadratic equations
They like to eat lots of tomatoes

They have fur on their chest
They can’t comprehend why people get dressed

MonkeyOompahhs are common to find
They live right next to you, sitting down, reading Stars Wars, Star Trek, and any other of this kind
 
Del Diablo Del Mars

In the last woods of the Appalachian Mountains
He lives the creature of darkness
A black mast of simple dances
Close to the horses of Del Marco Nieves

Como, like a different planet like mars
The guards protect the Diablo from the other gnarrs
The ground is brown and plain with no life
Dark pea colored men dance around the Diablo, rife

To explain this thing in itself
Como, like red on fire with three horns fed
The horns dance around on a circle in its head
The circle make a dance out of his bed

The Diablo of mars controls the fate of all the land
The grasses make prayers to him in sand
Como, like a temple of Babylon grand
The horses make prayers to him bland

“Do not enter my bowels
legs speak out vowels
farm is led with black fowls
Die whence you hear my howl”
 
The Four Feats of Barnabee

This is an epic poem in the making
I’m thinking how long I should be baking
Probally four days of serious taking
The concepts I’m about to tell are not for the faint of heart

This man, “he be name” Barnabee
Like a fountain of claws attacking male pig
He was sexless, neither man nor woman
In common terms he was like a donkey

This donkey-man-pig was similar to a chimera
Except he had the brains of two bottlenose dolphins and Albert Einstein combined
 
I have, at last glance, 400 poems, spoken word, and songs ... don't know if many on the board would relate to most of them ... if it weren't for young stupidity which caused run-ins with the law in my early teen years, I may have gotten something major out of my writing talent.

I may post a few of my later works but I'm self concious about most of them...
 
hardknock said:
I have, at last glance, 400 poems, spoken word, and songs ... don't know if many on the board would relate to most of them ... if it weren't for young stupidity which caused run-ins with the law in my early teen years, I may have gotten something major out of my writing talent.

I may post a few of my later works but I'm self concious about most of them...
Click to expand...

dude, i posted some stuff and people hated on it, but i didnt care,cause my poetry is perfect.

long live ur spoken word
 
my best friends sis, is always trying to post crappy raps n my facebook lol, so i had to show her whos boss,....

sorry I dont concur, nor attest,
but detest,
yo' rhymes are those of hypocracy,
the rising smoke of a burning democracy,
heading down with quick plan of reciprocity,
but in denial of true menotany,
overpowering those of small minded in society,
but what a minute!!!!!
as i got a little story fo' you,
Of a girl who's tools were dull, and a mind with no clue,
her ambition was halfhearted,
her mind distorted,
its even a wonder why her rhythmic ideas were not aborted,
yet her voice is heard, and then quickly subsided,
her words forgotten, as if herself was blinded,
yo' no match for the best,
pick up yo' suitcase and go,
cuz, in the ubiquitous end,
you just can't modafukin' flow.

srry if this sounds a lil to "rappy",... as i had to stay within the lines to show her that her rhyming skills suck
 
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