Poetry Thread

tagging Finchinator

so if you want people to look and ask questions about your poetry and provide feedback, not rate it, I think you should be able to post it here with questions. For example, I could post a poem, and ask, "hey, what tone is this poem? melancholy?" and people could tell me. I could then see what led to this, and if it had the intended effects on the readers of the poem(s). Note this is not rating, because whether or not you like a certain piece of poetry is subjective. Be sure to ask questions if you have them, or if you just want feedback, say you just want feedback.

Hopefully this helps people!
 

Finchinator

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^approve of the above message

also, another one I just wrote

Dark glare from the night sky shades over the tan-white skin
Clouds of doubt dance into his mind at the pace of dramatic violin

Reflections look different when the mirror is his reality
Hindsight blurs the colors of each catastrophe

The picture was crystal clear in the frame
Capturing the spark, but not his flame

Alas, internal fires of passion combust into rubble
All of his hopes begin to bubble

And down they plummet, from eye to cheek
Society ruins the connotation of unique

Didn't know being different had a prison sentence
Having his own free-will led to repentance

Each day, another sign for conformity was crafted
His eccentricity constantly shafted

Light emanating from the sky at daybreak
Shined brightest on his flame of individuality that relented the societal outbreak
 

scorpdestroyer

it's a skorupi egg
is a Tiering Contributor Alumnusis a Top Contributor Alumnus
Writing poetry is one of my favourite things! I write as a hobby and I'm in a club in my school which focuses on poetry writing, and this thread really excites me, thanks so much finch for creating it because I never knew there were so many other poets on Smogon too o_o

Here's some of my stuff; I intend to drop off more poetry later on too :D I'd love any kind of feedback on these poems please, even if they don't seem constructive, and especially if they involve tearing my poem apart. I also included more specific feedback requests within the hide tags o.o

I tried getting going outgoing. You know,
taking control, like when you say, "hello
there, would you like a drink? Hello there,
would you like a drink? Oh would you
like a drink like a drink with like ice cubes
swimming and dipping and waiting for you
and I to drink up from the drink cup and"

I tried getting going outgoing. You know,
saying hello, like when you step in their door
to a familiar flash mob and your heart
races and traces your steps to webs you called up to
step in and lay it down in step one step up
step two walk up step three talk up but
on your trip down you trip up and step on
sticky webs and your less icky web fades
from unspun strings and stories.

I tried getting going outgoing. You know,
maybe to open my mind to open my door to
maybe meet a neighbour and another and
another and a stranger and another
and a stranger one than I will ever be
outside my door and think
maybe not what for
maybe now my eyes will stay out when I go home.

I tried getting going outgoing. You know,
but ended up forgetting and forgoing, then
letting regretting get in the setting I set
in here so, so many times.

oh i have sat in here so, so many times.



===end===

When I wrote this poem what I specifically had in mind was the sound of the poem, hence its more spoken word feel. nevertheless feedback about the way it reads would be great, specifically are some parts unclear / seem to have an awkward rhythm? looking in particular at the lines "like a drink like a drink with like ice cubes" and "sticky webs and your less icky web...". It wasn't specifically intended as a spoken word piece when I originally wrote it so it'd be nice to know if it reads well.


Under the order of tiles, lights and ceilings
Among the rats and the pipettes
The coated men hold papers
And table large sums of cash or quotients,
Of limits, results, and the lack thereof.
They hold the unfinished, perfect item.
Under the cap of a clear bottle,
It growls at the thought of changing the world.

The item turns more perfect, becomes two.
The cap goes off; the item travels like travelers do.
The bottle murks from the rapid exchange of dirty hands
And the bullet exchange of dirty paper.

But when the perfectest item travels
From the order of tiles and ceilings
To the order of guns and generals,
Where coats bleed into camouflage;
Where chemicals sing a special song,
And names on papers sound a different chime, --

There are no more pipettes or lights:
Inside their cave, it is too dark to see a ceiling.



===end===

My main concern with this one is: is it clear what the metaphor in the poem is?
Also, I'm a little iffy about the third stanza from "where coats..." to "... sound a different chime" -- I feel like the images aren't that good and may be a bit too direct.


I’ll look for you behind the barbed wire fence.
Outside the lawn I’ll sit here on my own,
And watch you do your lonely little dance.

I’ll every now and often throw a glance,
To wish to catch the same, (but hope I don’t).
I’ll look for you behind the barbed wire fence,

And you for me to catch your light pretense,
Then through the barbs to drift, (but hope I won’t),
And watch you do your lonely little dance --

Perhaps my mind has stepped its little prance,
To dare (but then I daren’t) meet this tango.
I’d look for you behind the barbed wire fence,

But look and look for changes in a trance;
Your grace exchanges with your all alone.
(I’d watch you do your lonely little dance) --

-- Perhaps I never dared to scrape my hands
On rough threads, and it’s too late to go:
(I’ll look for you behind the barbed wire fence,
And watch you do your lonely little dance.)



===end===

are the brackets weird?
is the poem's message clear?


=====

Also I'll just rate some of the recent poems on this page (they're actually all just yours finch but okay). I wouldn't call myself a good editor or anything, but since we post poems here for feedback (I assume) I'll just do it anyway. I hope you don't mind and take it with a pinch of salt if you disagree with me o_o

Finchinator I like the images you present in most of the poems and the way you use words to describe emotions! I think what you could do to make your poetry better, though, is to make it (a) tighter and (b) a little less direct.

With (a), I feel like you use a lot of extra words that sort of spoil the rhythm of the poem, but don't really add meaning to it. Like in the Decent Humanity Gone Indecent one:

The “good guy” is actually just labeled as such because he does the least “bad”
We all cheat, steal, and lie
No, you may not believe me
But each and every day we find ourselves cheating ourselves
But each and every day we find ourselves stealing from ourselves
But each and every day we find ourselves lying to ourselves
I'm not sure if it's just because my style of poetry is different from yours, but I feel like it sounds better if you cut out unnecessary words, so:

The "good guy" label comes from the least bad.
We all cheat, steal, lie, no, you may not believe me.
But we find ourselves cheating ourselves,
stealing from ourselves, lying to ourselves,
each and every day.
Of course this isn't the only way to cut words but I do think making your poems more compact would help them read better.

Also another thing with the tightness is the consistency in your poem. I really like the images you present -- the play in "Click" and the bubble and tears in "Different" are my favourites out of the ones on this page. But I feel like you didn't develop them as much as they could have been developed -- it feels as if they were put there because they sound nice, then left aside and the poem just continues and moves on to another image. I already like these images a lot, and if you did a lot more with them your poems would be amazing, so consider extending the metaphor a bit more. Maybe for example in "Different", you could play with the bubbling, the tears, the hot fire and the clouds with an image of the water cycle -- so it not only keeps all these great images but also ties them all in and creates the sense of an inescapable cycle the character feels.

With (b), I feel as if some of your poems are telling me exactly what to feel. I find that poetry's beauty lies in how multiple and deep meanings can be crafted out of simple things, and being overly direct spoils that a bit, imo.

Societal norms craft moral codes like Legos craft children’s buildings
Ironically, the latter renders more accurate results than the former
Don’t do this, don’t do that – they say
No reason needed, no justification necessary – nope
Just how we /should/ act

I don’t see instructions being given to the children with the Legos
Yet those children all seem happy
I really like this image, but I feel like it kind of gets spoiled when you tell me "(cool image). oh and this is what the image is trying to tell you". This stanza presents the image of Lego buildings = moral codes in very direct way, and then becomes even more direct when it tells us exactly what the Lego bricks are meant to represent. If you replaced the underlined portion with something more subtle, it could read like:

Societal norms craft moral codes like Legos craft children’s buildings
Instructions aren't given to the children with the Legos
Yet those children all seem happy
And the Legos all seem accurate
To be honest, I still don't like the directness of the first line that much: I feel that it would be better if you simply talked about how Lego buildings are a role model that is commonly looked up to, and then hinted at societal norms and moral codes with the rest of the poem.

But yeah, I don't know how you'd feel about removing all those words, but for me it doesn't change the intended meaning of the stanza, and it makes it a lot more subtle, which I find reads better.

=======

so yeah, I hope the feedback I gave was at least a little bit constructive! I'm really sorry if I misinterpreted any of your poems or took out any of your original intentions from when I suggested edits to them; just take them with a pinch of salt because I'm not an experienced editor in any way. You should write more because you have lots of great ideas n_n


Please don't let this thread die because it's a great thread D:
 

Finchinator

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OU Leader
scorpdestroyer - first off, I love your poems and your general poetic sense. It's clear that you not only put a lot of thought into your post and writing, but you also have an analytic and poetic mindset that I respect and admire to some extent

As for your advice, I feel like it's in the eye of the beholder in most regards. While shortening that bit up would make it a bit more tight for the reader and, therefore, passing across the point very well, I feel like the personalized tone and parallel structure I established helps it flow a bit better and makes the writing a bit more relateable, which is why I wrote it the way I initially did. As to which way is better, I'm not entirely sure, but it's certainly in the eye of the beholder and I respect both ways/variants. Also, for the latter, I do agree that one was a bit wordy and probably could've been rephrased, but I also think that the potential of the metaphor in itself was limited and going to be awkward no matter how it was approached, but removing some helps minimize that.

Thanks for the feedback and sorry for the slow/lame response - I've been super busy irl graduating & other things, but will get back to this and hopefully writing more in the near future!_!
 

scorpdestroyer

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Thanks for the compliment finch :]

I recently found myself in a social situation with no close friends while already feeling exhausted by the day's happenings, so being the introvert i am I proceeded to sit in a corner and write a bit.

I tried writing a haiku:
Night full of crossed limbs
behind unfamiliar parts
and parties, I sit.


And here's another short one in a style that I'm liking more and more. The challenge of trying to write something that sounds good, flows, and trying to enjamb it in a way that gives every line double meaning is really growing on me. Not sure how this attempt turned out because I dont think the meaning is discernible now but I'll just put it here anyway.
We contend with chaos
to piece together peace
after piece of mind I buried
in a land I ask
you lend me ears
after years we mine the barren land we
wander through for centuries, we
wonder if a boom will come,
if the sound or shock could kill and
whom it will.


Again, any kind of feedback would be cool :toast:
 
I wrote this last night. I'd appreciate some criticism of it.

I walked this way before, but where
The sun was painted
On the ebony, there's nothing there.

The strange lights and I have since found
Common ground.
We pass by, airsickly.

Light step on the garden
Path, floating in a sea of walls.
Breathe in, seep out.

Two eyes to see and nothing else.
Leave the rest, and in so doing
Make my illness health.


Here are my thoughts on some of yours, scorpdestroyer

Barbed Wire - Really like this one. Good iambic pentameter. The first line is engaging, and I like the use of "I'll sit here on my own", and even "lawn", because the result of these phrases that locate the poem is a pretty bleak, almost absurdist feeling. A lot of the lines have really nice cadence to them. I'm a fan of the short bracketed phrases - the way the voice contradicts itself immediately and repeatedly makes me think of a pair in dialectic/counterpoint - echoing the dance, which reminds me heavily of Yeats's The Cat And The Moon (was your poem influenced by this one? haha)

I would say that the parts I'm less keen on are the description of the dance as "little", which gives me an unwelcome feeling of secondhand embarrassment for whoever's being talked about; the use of "prance", which just sticks out to me, and also the reference to "tango", because "tango" the way I say it is a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed one, which confuses the meter.

Haiku - especially like the phrase "parts and parties" and how it's enjambed, not much else to say on that one, I'd probably like the poem more if it was less obvious somehow, but again could be our different styles coming into conflict.

The worst things about poetry - "piece together peace / after piece of mind" is slightly tacky to me, however the abruptness of the last line, just three syllables, and rhyming with the line before (which also has a nice alliteration) is very nice.
 

DEG

The night belongs to you
is a Community Contributoris a Forum Moderator Alumnusis a Tiering Contributor Alumnusis a Smogon Media Contributor Alumnus
n_n Not letting this die.
Here are some poems I wrote lately, feedback is highly appreciated!


Excuse me if this poem
Sounds personal but I hope
You can relate to you who are broken
Instead of just putting your neck between a rope


Your heart might be aching like mine
Your lungs might be collapsing like mine
Your mouth might be craving a cup of wine
Your hands giving signs can’t count past nine
Do you also hear these voices that haunt you?
These silent screams torturing your body
Do you know them? Have you gone through?
I’m nobody, I’m somebody
Please help me identify myself,
I’m crying, sobbing and screaming,
You that saved yourself,
Can you tell me what’s dreaming?


I’ll just stand on the top of that mountain,
Maybe the wind will be strong enough and push me,
I was never courageous enough to put my hand in the water fountain,
How will I be able to jump and set my soul and body free?


Allow me to spit blood and merge it with tears,
It’s going to look better with ink,
Going back through all these years,
I realize I only think and drink.


And I’m sorry if this poem is in disorder,
Just blame the voices, and thoughts that controls…
Listen, Listen, Listen! Order, Order, Order!
Ahh! The holes in my spirit are wider, control my soul
Let me write one more letter,
Maybe I’ll feel worse or better,
And I’m sorry for not being good enough,
And I’m sorry if I turn to snuff,
And I’m sorry if I use alcohol to kill the voices,
And I’m sorry for all the reckless choices,
And I’m sorry for everything I have ever done,
Said, or even thinking about a gun,
I’m the only one that say sorry around,
So don’t just scream “I’m sorry about your damn luck”
Or whisper “I’m sorry for what you’re going through”
I’m sorry for being offensive, hiding my wounds,
Walking down the street, will I be struck by a truck?
Luck is just a game I’ve lost, so let me say my final adieu
And the next time you sit by the rhine drinking wine,
Watch the flow closely you might see a dead fish,
And just remember the last words of mine,
Look up to the sky and listen to my last wish,

I’ve got my cross ready,
Take me to you already.

Sit here beside me and let’s paint the canvas of life,
And trace the lines that separate us from death,
Listen to the sound of the knife on the wood and the fife,
Not to the screams and cries that torment us with their breaths.

Oh! Use every color to draw life!
Don’t leave the canvas lifeless
Even if it causes you pain more than a knife,
Don’t be the victim, be the witness.

And with your smile create a new life,
Don’t go by the flow you’re not an alewife,
Be the change that everybody craves.

Sit here beside me and let’s paint the canvas of life,
Forget the pain for a second and sleep to the sound of the fife,
The waves may crash on our canvas but that will not send us back to the graves.

Tick Tock this is the sound of the clock,
That keeps on resonating in my ears,
Time sitting in the corner in a stance of stalk,
I have never felt safe for the past years,
I’m a prey to everything that exists,
Time, Love, Money, Anxiety,
They keep attacking me cutting my wrists,
And I can’t merge with society,
Because my demons they keep on tying me to the walls,
Consuming my motivation, my heart slowly,
Tick Tock this is the sound of the clock while I walk in these halls,
I wish I could shine in the future, or live in the past lonely,
But I’m stuck between these two worlds,
Opening cursed gifts, how can we call it the present?
Dying slowly, time is sending me now to the netherworld,
Maybe love can save me from this descent.
What am I even thinking…
Love? And from when does that exist nowadays?
It is the reason that our ship is sinking,
The reason that I’m in a malaise,
The reason my heart aches every night starring at that bottle of alcohol,
The reason my brain craves some liquor instead of sleep,
The reason I’m crying blood instead of water while I crawl,
The reason I’ve sunken down too deep.
But what if I had money?
Would I be able to find love?
No, no! I wouldn’t be able to call her honey,
Because money buys a one night session, not truelove.
It’s funny how money rule this world,
Without money, our species wouldn’t work,
They would tear each other’s limbs to create their own dreamworld
Without money, there would be no clerk,
We would visit to buy something from,
Without money, we would have to do everything without help,
But some people live in a world where they don’t have an income,
They wander the streets not knowing clerks while they yelp.
But we are all tied with strings being played by Anxiety,
It enjoys seeing us suffer,
It hates sobriety,
And it transforms people to alcoholics or snuffers…
My hands refuse to move,
We’re running out of time,
My words are a way to prove,
So are my rhymes.
Tick Tock this is the sound of the clock,
That ticks and creates chaos among humans,
I don’t run like them, I walk,
I open my arms and fall to your warmth,
Oh there’s no words that match your charm,
Dear Father, save my life before it turns to ruins.
 
I like this thread (you're all great :o).

e: I'll also post some terrible poems birthed by me to revive this beautiful thread.

to be a poet is to cry at injustice
to be a poet is to marvel beauty
to be a poet is to capture life itself
and hold it in your hand
truly it is great to be a poet
but
often to be a poet
you must marvel at injustice
you must decry beauty
you must let go of life itself
and free the world you hold in your hand
a poet is many things
easy to pin down, they are however
not


what is to live?
i've heard some cry
"to live for a moment
is the only way!"
yet others say
"to live for day
is the only way!"
but I think
it is better to say
"to live for others
this is the better way!"


i want to say something witty
to say that you are pretty
but words scarce do justice
to a person so taking
unfinished this poem therefore shall stay
a testament to
your inexpressable beauty
 
Last edited:

Finchinator

-OUTL
is a Tournament Directoris a Top Social Media Contributoris a Community Leaderis a Community Contributoris a Smogon Discord Contributoris a Top Tiering Contributoris a Contributor to Smogonis a Top Smogon Media Contributoris a Top Dedicated Tournament Hostis a Senior Staff Member Alumnusis a Battle Simulator Moderator Alumnusis a Past WCoP Championis the defending OU Circuit Championis a Two-Time Former Old Generation Tournament Circuit Champion
OU Leader
Dim lit cavern, half-past three
Annular opening, coated in dew
A single drop descends from the perimeter

Monday Tuesday, Wednesday Thursday
Pages turn, small hand races
Chapters finish, clocks tick

Inevitable dreaded future impends
Racing against time, fighting with the sun
Rays of closure shine down

Dim lit cavern, half past three
Annular opening, coated in dew
A single drop plummets downwards

Friday Saturday, Sunday fresh-clay
Chapter's over, clock hand strikes
Time to mold the future

Metaphorical bullshit aside
The time must come for departure
And entrance into a new beginning

Dim lit cavern, half past three
Annular opening, coated in dew
The ground is moist, the future is the present.

About going to college in the coming days, bit of a touchy subject for me currently.
 

DEG

The night belongs to you
is a Community Contributoris a Forum Moderator Alumnusis a Tiering Contributor Alumnusis a Smogon Media Contributor Alumnus
Yay resurrected.
Feedback maybe?

Her Night
She came to me with tears in her eyes
And blood on her wrist,
I couldn’t stand hearing her cries,
While she told me she didn’t want to exist,
She used a thousand words just to explain,
That this life isn’t her journey,
She’s tired of her demons controlling her again and again,
They turn around and around giving her worries.
She invited me to a cup of liqueur,
Just one, help me drown away my demons she said,
And I did, I just wanted to help her,
But they never left her, she bled and bled,
She cried the whole night,
Telling me how she’s been feeling dead,
She no longer knew the color white,
It was splattered with red,
I had no word to express my feelings,
I took her between my arms,
And starred at the ceiling,
And we drowned in the alcohol charm,
Her demons were trying to rescue us,
She said, they haven’t finished the torture,
And without any fuss,
They infiltrated me and made a disorder,
My chest was empty,
But her sad expressions filled it every time,
They were the tempter,
And she was the victim of the crime,
I was just a witness,
Her arms, her tears, her lips, her cries,
And the atmosphere’s grimness,
All around me were present until the sunrise,
She whispered me it’s okay if I feel pain,
At least I feel alive,
So when you’re ready to cut that vein,
Take my arm also maybe I will know how it feels to be alive,
As I kept her arms between mine,
I cried and told her that’s now what it is to be alive,
Pain won’t help you not even a glass of wine,
Darling, don’t deprive,
Yourself from life.
And now I know that I was right,
Because back then at least you were alive.


I love her, I hate her.
I haven’t talked you for a long time,
But your image is in my mind like a portrait on a wall,
Like a face on a dime,
I try to forget you, useless, I’m stuck in a downfall,
I want to erase you but your name crawls in my skin,
Your beautiful smile haunts my heart,
Just like a beautiful sin,
You played it smart,
Caught me in your webs,
Gave me your love and affection for some days,
And left me hanging on a thread,
While you went far away and disappeared in the haze.
My love is a chamber full of your pictures,
And alcohol on the table,
Full of figures and strictures,
Torturing me and reminding me how I’m unable,

To experience something as amazing as love.


Also does anyone here listen to Spoken Poetry? Try out Hotel Books imo, Cam Smith is amazing.
That's one
 
Yay resurrected.
Feedback maybe?

Her Night
She came to me with tears in her eyes
And blood on her wrist,
I couldn’t stand hearing her cries,
While she told me she didn’t want to exist,
She used a thousand words just to explain,
That this life isn’t her journey,
She’s tired of her demons controlling her again and again,
They turn around and around giving her worries.
She invited me to a cup of liqueur,
Just one, help me drown away my demons she said,
And I did, I just wanted to help her,
But they never left her, she bled and bled,
She cried the whole night,
Telling me how she’s been feeling dead,
She no longer knew the color white,
It was splattered with red,
I had no word to express my feelings,
I took her between my arms,
And starred at the ceiling,
And we drowned in the alcohol charm,
Her demons were trying to rescue us,
She said, they haven’t finished the torture,
And without any fuss,
They infiltrated me and made a disorder,
My chest was empty,
But her sad expressions filled it every time,
They were the tempter,
And she was the victim of the crime,
I was just a witness,
Her arms, her tears, her lips, her cries,
And the atmosphere’s grimness,
All around me were present until the sunrise,
She whispered me it’s okay if I feel pain,
At least I feel alive,
So when you’re ready to cut that vein,
Take my arm also maybe I will know how it feels to be alive,
As I kept her arms between mine,
I cried and told her that’s now what it is to be alive,
Pain won’t help you not even a glass of wine,
Darling, don’t deprive,
Yourself from life.
And now I know that I was right,
Because back then at least you were alive.


I love her, I hate her.
I haven’t talked you for a long time,
But your image is in my mind like a portrait on a wall,
Like a face on a dime,
I try to forget you, useless, I’m stuck in a downfall,
I want to erase you but your name crawls in my skin,
Your beautiful smile haunts my heart,
Just like a beautiful sin,
You played it smart,
Caught me in your webs,
Gave me your love and affection for some days,
And left me hanging on a thread,
While you went far away and disappeared in the haze.
My love is a chamber full of your pictures,
And alcohol on the table,
Full of figures and strictures,
Torturing me and reminding me how I’m unable,
To experience something as amazing as love.


Also does anyone here listen to Spoken Poetry? Try out Hotel Books imo, Cam Smith is amazing.
That's one
I love the first one! It's very sobering and haunting.
 
Two of my poems with very different styles - dunno which one I'm better at.

I await that skeletal grasp and the moving moving of the ebony door,
In and out without a second’s pause.
That moment - that moment will come any year now, at least
In the next eighty or so,
With all of its alluring unease.

Plants and animals do it, and they don’t seem to care,
But I am aware, I am aware. So I only wear
An embracing smile; an amusing method of proving to myself
That I have it all together.
But my complexion hides my complex,
That only unfurls in writing, as if this poem
Were a will; I will it to be.

There’s no comfort to be had - the dead can’t consolidate me.
In nothing, they can do nothing: they won’t feel love or pain or anguish or lust or love
or anything at all.
And I won’t feel any of that too - neither will you.
Each experience we have is our last,
and so I lambast to air and wind - heck, not even that.

And I can’t make my mind up -
Are the clocks moving too fast or too slow? They work in seconds, minutes, hours,
And I have many of those.
Though soon I’ll have none.
And with every strike of the clock’s hand, I clock in that it hands
me down to the gaping maw of the truly uncertain,
The greatest horror of them all.

I haven’t lived enough yet - I’m only seventeen, you see.
Now I’m seventy-three, and I haven’t lived enough yet, or honestly at all.
There’s so much ahead, in my head, but I can’t head there - it’s not for me.
My time has passed away - I told you that it would.
And time has passed away - as my ninety-year-old self wheezes and stumbles,
like an old man ‘ought to,
Into that skeletal grasp that I can’t quite grasp. But it’s grasped me.

--

I went through a period of time where I couldn't stop thinking about death (I'm still terrified of it, but I kinda just ignore it now), and so I wanted to bottle it up into this severely angsty poem. I'm very proud of the final stanza :)


Who knows whose nose will smell the rose?
Will pluck its juicy tender.
Or cloves of clovers, some of those,
To fix, to catch, to lend her.

Or wait with weight for a better man,
A man that’ll actually tend her.
And bait the bate where jealousy began,
Sickened and sorry they render.

They’ll believe and bereave with hearts to heave,
To drop in anguished splendor.
And weave their peeve that they’ll relieve
By blaming another gender.

--

This poem's to all the fuckboys out there <3. This is obviously much lighter in tone and takes on a much more lyrical style. I love wordplay a ton and so have fun cranking out poems like these.
 

DEG

The night belongs to you
is a Community Contributoris a Forum Moderator Alumnusis a Tiering Contributor Alumnusis a Smogon Media Contributor Alumnus
Since no one going to do that, I'll keep the thread active with my my opinion.

Eagle4's "How Unfulfilling Would It Be?" poem really hits the darkest part of the brain, the thing that we humans fear the most Death. He has experienced such thoughts on multiple occasions and translated that trouble spirit with words. Fantastic poem showing two sides of death, the known and the unknown. We as humans know that being dead means that we will cease existent in this word so we won't be able to feel our humans feeling which is perfectly written there. Adding that the final stanza is really great and brings that notion of time passing fast in such a big world. In my opinion it just lacks more despair notion but that might be just me as I'm truly attached to darker tones.

Eagle4's "To React to a Rose" is written with a few words yet says a lot. Great wordplay and meaning behind the poem, I really liked it.
 
I would rate poems. But personally, I don't trust my opinion as being worth much. So I just give out likes. :toast:
 
I would rate poems. But personally, I don't trust my opinion as being worth much. So I just give out likes. :toast:

it's all subjective, helping out the author by just giving your opinion lets them know what people think of their stuff and whether the "intended" goal was achieved, so yea it is worth something!
 

KM

slayification
is a Community Contributoris a Tiering Contributor
i haven't written poetry in a minute but i'm in the mood so i'll whip something up

gonna warn you ahead of time that this poem is very gay and maybe incomprehensible to a lot of you. sorry.

ON DATING AND SEX:
do not let this be empty

not like the last one
or the last one or the last one or the last one
from the waiting to the notifications to the small talk and the slick
all i know about you is your age your weight and the shape of your dick
and i know i should be over it
i know i should embrace this new age where we're replacing embracing
but sometimes i want my heart racing

sometimes i wish for glory holes and handkerchiefs and secrets but i don't but i do i just
sometimes i want to bathe in the light of polaris while you serenade me in polari fairest of the fairies please i just want
something
to
happen

something other than another night of wondering if maybe i should take that offer of hundreds of dollars to have sex because tattoos are expensive and don't pay for themselves
because i'm not a hopeless romantic
i hope

i want to fuck for fun
i want to monetize my youth
i want to be genuinely excited about the latest offer i've gotten to smoke weed and "cuddle" but i'm just
not

my uber driver offered to jack me off as he drove me to a gay social event
he tried to be subtle
but i said no
no thanks
he said he thought i was straight because i was quiet
maybe i'm not cut out for this omi-palone shit
it's harder than it looks

but being hard isn't enough
you have to get the right angle too
otherwise it'll look an inch shorter than it actually is and no one wants that
 

Finchinator

-OUTL
is a Tournament Directoris a Top Social Media Contributoris a Community Leaderis a Community Contributoris a Smogon Discord Contributoris a Top Tiering Contributoris a Contributor to Smogonis a Top Smogon Media Contributoris a Top Dedicated Tournament Hostis a Senior Staff Member Alumnusis a Battle Simulator Moderator Alumnusis a Past WCoP Championis the defending OU Circuit Championis a Two-Time Former Old Generation Tournament Circuit Champion
OU Leader
Bit of a poem on social anxiety and some recent issues in my life

Dim tinted pink clouds sag overhead with a glow of anger
The contrast with the black, night sky gave off a disheartening vibe

Flashing blue and red in the distance, but pure darkness dominated the forefront of the picture
Each and every mistake they made painting a lone stroke with the brush of regret

Isolated in a bed of frustration I, myself, sat, staring into the distant glow of yellow from the hall
Wondering what could have been and what should have been had I flirted with the grey area

The comfort zone, the black and white of life, depicting my interactions
While they all mix the two colors like life is simply a game, I cannot

Dark clouds sag overhead with a glow of anger
The disheartening vibe has turned into a reality
 

DEG

The night belongs to you
is a Community Contributoris a Forum Moderator Alumnusis a Tiering Contributor Alumnusis a Smogon Media Contributor Alumnus
This is pretty much something new I tried. It's close to story telling and takes on another sensitive death. Feedback is appreciated! :)

In the valley through the shadow of death,
A little house resided between the trees,
The surroundings were calm with no breath,
And the door was locked with lost keys,
A little house with cracked windows,
Allowing a peek to the inside,
Looks like a place destined for a widow,
Which the memory of her being the bride,
Still haunts her every night,
When she's sitting beside the curtains,
Drowning her thoughts, and write,
About her hurting,
Alone, but not lonely,
Her servant keeps her company,
She puts her hands on these portraits slowly,
Just to hide the pain that leads the symphony,
Her mistress screams silently to scare away her demons,
But she doesn't know that these creatures are attracted to agony,
She searches and searches for reasons,
But she never found any, she pushed away vanity,
And decided that she wanted to join the deceased,
So at night when her servant was asleep,
Under the mattress she had hidden a bottle of alcohol and pills,
Ink on a paper she wrote a letter and hid it under a leap,
Cut her veins, shared a last drink and had a thrill,
In the morning the servant found out the truth and now lived in,
Darkness she was alone but not lonely because in the
End you were here looking through the cracked window, she saw you and smiled.
 

Finchinator

-OUTL
is a Tournament Directoris a Top Social Media Contributoris a Community Leaderis a Community Contributoris a Smogon Discord Contributoris a Top Tiering Contributoris a Contributor to Smogonis a Top Smogon Media Contributoris a Top Dedicated Tournament Hostis a Senior Staff Member Alumnusis a Battle Simulator Moderator Alumnusis a Past WCoP Championis the defending OU Circuit Championis a Two-Time Former Old Generation Tournament Circuit Champion
OU Leader
Bestowed upon a shaky foundation lied a dim lit candle
Incapable of emanating light

Years and years elapsed, only for the candle's small glow to deteriorate
Any genuine form of interaction sent my brain to hibernate

Pages of the calendar continuously flipped
The illumination of the candle stripped
Life went along the lines of the same old manuscript

June '15 commenced like any other
But it soon incorporated the dazzling presence of another

Each day provoked a spark
The candle began to lighten the dark

I grew attached to this new everyday norm
Felt as if I had untapped my true form
Possibilities radiated around like I was in the middle of a Mensa swarm

Wasn't my brightest decision to let the times get under my skin
Felt the burning wrath of committing a mortal sin

The beauty of the past morphed into the terror of the present
Spitting out a single word left my mouth burning with resent

It all crashed, reality caught up, and I was fading
The darkness of life, once again, was pervading

Bestowed upon a once solidified foundation lied a dim lit candle
Incapable of emanating light it once did
Incapable of functioning like a normal fucking human being
 
Heylo! This is one of mine.
He ran upon the rooftops
With a crazed smile on his face
His gloved hand, grasping the handle
Of a long, sharp, deadly blade
"Hush-a-hush," he spoke no one around
He then spotted his new charge
A mother, carrying a female infant
He jumped down and back, the blade now bloody
"Hahahaha, the exhiliration of it
To take a life without great strife,"
Speaking to himself once again
Then continuing on, under the blood-lit moon
He took 5 more lives to-night, before 1
A bystander, a store-grocer clark
A priest (He enjoyed that one especially)
Then two elderly, head offed and impaled
Licking his blade clean, his mouth bloody
His eyes wide, sharp and hungry
He couldn't believe his infernal luck
A clergyman (he knew), In plaincloths.
Deciding to relish the sound of blood
He suddenly looked behind him
"Shush, shush now. Shushers!"
Again, to no one visible
The killer approached the man
He was a foot taller than the clergyman
"Friend, where might be the fields
I need a dark place to keep mine gold."
He was greeted by the smile of a boy
Like a child looking up at am adult
"Oh, sir, I know not this place
I am new, perhaps newer than you,"
The killer's eyes shook wildly
He saw this boy and saw an angel
So he helped the boy get to the church
Then he saw that smile again
"Mister, may God have mercy on your soul,"
He thought, 'What is this?!"
"And on mine," and the boy brandished a knife
Then, when the hoods were off, he saw
It was an assassin, worshippers of Hashish
Yet what stroke him was that this boy
This boy still had a smile
Then, he too showed a smile
"Ah, a killer as well? Marvelous!
A kindred soul, perhaps you are?
Tell me, how do you shut out the voices?"
The boy shook.his head and looked dumb
"Voices?" he asked, the knife poised to strike.
"The voices from hell! They beg me to joi. them.
I talk and kill to shut them out, for awhile
How about you, boy?, Surely you-"
"I don't hear no voices, mister."
Flabbergasted, the killer was.
"What?! How is that so? You must-
Oh, I see. Then be one of my voices!"
It only took 5 seconds, the duel ended
The knife stuck on the killers heart
The boy smiled, "It is alright now mister,
You can not hear them now, yes?"
He smiled, then laughed, and sighed
Blood ran down his mouth, but it was his
"I know why you don't hear the voices.
It is because you have never taken an inoccent life,"
"You do not belong to hell, boy.
Thank.you.... The voices.... stopped."
He breathed his last.
The boy disappeared, never seen again.
 
Ii can only post one at a time so here:
He encourages and nurtures
Like his own kin, every learner
His life is his lesson plan
His life is his student's material
Teach, sleep, teach some more
This routine continues on and on
Yet his students never know what's in store
For they never wanted to
Spontaneous, happy-go lucky, crazy
That's what this teacher is
No mood with him could ever be bad
No one with him has ever been sad
He says things like: Life is unfair
But if that's the case, fight what's there!
And some like: I've failed more than you, class,
I learned from them, and left them in the past.
He's not perfect, nor a saint
He slips, falls down, makes mistakes
But that just means he's very human
Not invincible, not like Superman.
It was a few days ago, that he said this thing:
Class, if you were to be in great danger
I would always save you, again and again.
That is my duty to you, as a teacher.
He looked as happy as always
But the atmosphere became solemn
Then, he broke it with a loud: Anyway!
The day progressed, happy like everyday
Then, something no one expected
Something grave had happened
One of his class was found on a building top
Poised and ready, aiming to jump.
He arrived, and for the very first time
We saw his smile turn upside down
He talked to the firemen, that held a tarp
Then he ran up the building, at superhuman speed.
We never noticed it, he took the megaphone
And we heard everything they said
"My student, I taught you, this is dangerous.
Come down now, it's time for bed."
"No! They will keep insulting me if I live
I know not anymore, what is worth living for
I hate all this life has to give!
So let me end this pain, teacher..."
"You hate everything of this life?
Do you really believe in that?
You hate me, you friends, your class?
The fun we had, when you laughed with us?"
"Don't you remember my teachings?
Me scolding you, the insanity we shared?
I cannot let you say to me, you hate life,
because without you, this would not be my class."
We heard crying, it was our classmate.
"Teacher, why do you keep this up?
You have other students than me,
Why, why are you so-so persistent?"
"Why, is what you ask? Because of one reason:
I am your teacher. I will rather die than see
My class not graduate together
Their bonds left in shreds,"
Our teacher, put a hand in her shoulder
And we saw that smile again
"Life is harsh, and we are weak right now
But you have infinite potential to be strong."
"Now, let me ask you: Is this your revenge?
To the people who bullied you?
Will you let them taste the satisfaction
That they pushed you to this action?"
"Do you get it now? This is what life is.
Experience the good, bad, pain, and pleasure
Take every path you can take
Spit in life's face, then continue on,"
Everything went quiet then.
"A lesson now, teacher? Really?"
She said with a smile on her face.
"This is the best time for this lesson."
"If you still intend to jump, then let me go
Let's jump together, right now."
He was serious, we know he was
His smile plastered, unwavered.
Then they both leaped of the building
Time slowed, then they spoke
"My student, feel the exhiliration of the fall
Take in every sensation of it all!"
They were not headed for the tarp
Or so what we thought.
He pushed his student to its grasp
Before they made contact.
The last words were
"My class, you've made me proud
Enough for me to say aloud.
Shine, like the shining starts you are."
"Teacher!" What our classmate shouted.
"I have already said it to you all
If you are ever in danger
I will save you, as your teacher."
That was the last thing we heard
Or the last thing we would hear
From that smiling teacher
Who lived his life, who loved
 

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