Tag Archives: poetry

Mushroom

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants – (1350)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants – 
At Evening, it is not
At Morning, in a Truffled Hut
It stopopon a Spot

As if it tarried always
And yet it’s whole Career
Is shorter than a Snake’s Delay – 
And fleeter than a Tare –

’Tis Vegetation’s Juggler – 
The Germ of Alibi – 
Doth like a Bubble antedate
And like a Bubble, hie – 

I feel as if the Grass was pleased
To have it intermit – 
This surreptitious Scion
Of Summer’s circumspect.

Had Nature any supple Face
Or could she one contemn – 
Had Nature an Apostate – 
That Mushroom – it is Him!

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Proxy

THE REAL ME

I‘ll leave for a while but I don’t know for how long or where?
My fill-in will take over while I’m not there
She doesn’t laugh as often and her eyes aren’t quite as dark
Please be patient with her if she seems aloof to you
Her demeanour is serious and her social skills aren’t great
Instead of partying, she’d rather sit home and contemplate  

Before you judge her and tell her she’s not fun
Remember she has a lot to do and she wants to get it done
I loathe coming back from trips like this, to undo her damage
I think she’s worse each time I leave (and it’s getting hard to manage)
This time, before I left, I wrote down traits of the real me
The things I am, the things I’m not, the things I long to be
So here it goes, written down in prose, my personality:

Loves to laugh, to dress with class, though simplicity is a need
learning to dance, longs for romance, and to smile is to succeed
A personal critic can lean towards cynic, perfectionist if you will
Has a sharp mind, should ignore it sometimes, listening is my skill

Nonconforming- music-adoring- perpetual little child
Loves dirty jokes and happy folks, and longs to just go wild
A leader of men, skilled with a pen, who finds it hard to bend
Blessed with a soul not much self-control can be anyone’s friend

My fill-in does not meet the requirements of this list
Inside her mind you’ll find only a trace of me exists
Sorry I had to go, I don’t know how long I will be
But please be patient with her!

Sincerely, The Real Me

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Tame

Every night, at 2 a.m. I go smoke on the balcony
Everything is frozen and foggy
I look around and the world is standing still.
Every night, at 2.05 a.m. a black dog arrives
He stops, stretches a bit, looks at me and then leaves
Between 2.05 and 2.10, I question my purpose in life
Sometimes I try to remember the past and I see the fog surrounding me
At other times, I try to be brave imagining the future
I tell myself: don’t worry, something will arrive.

At 2.10 a.m. a trolleybus passes
And that is the weirdest thing
Not my inconsistent memory
Not the shadow of the dog
Not my habit of smoking at night when it is incredibly cold and white
A trolleybus at night at 2.10 a.m. is the weirdest thing
Because there are no night trolleybuses in this city
There are only night buses
It is as if you expect a dog and you meet a wolf
It is something strange about my expectations.

As if I expect myself to be a wild horse when I am just a deer looking for shelter
Every night at the same hour
I dissolve into to landscape and I question my hopes
From the height of my balcony.
After the trolleybus passes at the same hour every cold night
I start questioning my present
I became a bit savage
I talk about poetry and art all the time and I stopped carrying about anything else
I am sometimes joyful.

And at other times stiff, grumpy and sad
I cannot bend down anymore in front of life
And from this island in the snow that became my shelter
I observe time passing
At the same hour every night.

Laura Livia Grigore Paintings and Adventures

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Almost

For a brief moment,

Entangled in your daily torture,

You almost had me

I wait for the affliction in my head to cease

But it never does

Not yet

 

False speech drowns my mind

Caught in your network of lies,

I almost believed you

It causes me such gutless maiming,

And heartless stabbing of my soul

Somehow it’s better that way

 

There are instances,

Fragile and insecure opportunities,

When I almost told you

Emotive secrets chained to my heart

You’re not ready to hear them

Nor am I to voice them

 

In times such as these

Trapped in the pain

Listening to your hollow words

Whispering my untold memories

I begin to realize,

I’ve almost had enough.

~ by Pixel-Demon (Kathryn) via DevianArt

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Longing

I’m homesick for a home that hasn’t yet been built
That has no foundation
Except for the tears that I’ve spilled
A home where my dreams start to breathe
And my wild things can dance
And twirl in the wind
And believe in romance
My heart aches for a place that’s been only a whisper
A thought I haven’t had but can clearly remember…

— Deanne Tiffany

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I’m Letting You Go (Again)

I’ve lost count of how many times I let you go—
and forgot how many times
you found your way
back to me.

And every time you come back,
you leave again—
and then,
I have to let you go…again.

You’re like a balloon I unleash into the sky
and somehow,
you keep floating back to the ground—
to my ground.

They say the essence of love
is to let the person you love go.
They say if you love them,
let them be.

And while I agree with this insane notion,
I must admit it’s challenging—
it’s tough
to see you go,
and it’s tough to see you come back.

I wish you would either disappear
or perchance—stay.
But having to deal with both
is like having a bullet ricochet in my soul.

And now that you’re here again,
I can already feel the loss coming.
I can foresee your back turning
and your shadow fading.

I can foresee myself
letting you go—again,
and having to deal with the reality
that I have no choice.

I have to accept the fact
that there is no reason
or logic
to our so-called love story.

I’m letting you go, again.
I’m unleashing you into the sky
one last time.

However
I wish you’d lose your way back to me.

If coming back means
I’ll have to let you go again,
perhaps it’s wiser,
better,
less painful,
if you’d just stay where you are.

I’m letting you go, again
because—
do I have a choice?

If I can’t keep you with me,
the least I can do
is let you be free,
without me.

And if you come back
and do not find me here—
know that now I’m the one
who needs to disappear,
because…
I can’t deal with letting you go,
again.

Author: Elyane Youssef

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Disobey

How to Write Bad Poetry:

Start with: SCISSORS

Scissors are very good cutting your prose

into pieces (as well as fending off mobs of real poets).

It works better if you start with

some imagery, such as simile

because if everything is there

in the first place that makes it like

a childhood craft project:

mindlessly cutting and pasting

fragments of thoughts,

searching for meaning.

(a cliché by the way works well,

And may I mention

Add some tension

through predictable rhyme

how simply (time, climb, rhyme! no wait….) sublime!

Don’t even try to count syllables, meter is forbidden. Ridiculously longer lines

Followed with

Short lines

For a

few lines

Really annoy people.

Choose whatever pet peeves

are in season, which leaves

Random

Words

Distributed

Across

The

Page

or web speak (LO and bad spelling,

Rules of Punctuation; whats that

It sounds as useful as putting

St*pid stanzas in my work.

I CALL IT FREE VERSE,

HATER!!

Don’t forget to sprinkle drama liberally:

 

Spellcheck wounds my page,

Like razor blades

cause they’re made

For cutting things ‒ duh.

I can hear my page sigh

I wish I could die

The world is black like my

black boots thigh-high

 

Create rhyme even if it’s grammatically incorrect!!!!11eleventy-1!!

Do you think they’ll notice?

Who created the rules, does anyone know?

Hi-ho, philosophical contemplations below

with my rhetorical questions!

(Is that a Pretense of Pretension?

unseen irony?! OH, NOES!

I did that last climax so fast

I forgot to close my brackets!

 

End with:

TWO FORKS.

Chances are it’ll give most people the shits (bad pun!)

but the forks don’t help with swallowing bad poetry. (and again!)

Chances are your worst critics will call it quits!

Instead, they will stick the forks into their eyes go postal, have suspended computer privileges and will only have rubber safety utensils from there on in.

That way you’ll never know how bad your poetry really was…

Shame, really.

Storage Note: Best kept bottled up in an air tight container as Bad Poetry Stinks.

(found this among my old documents)

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Rhyme

I believe the king of rhyme is Theodor Seuss Geisel otherwise known as Dr. Seuss. Reading his works is like drinking champagne or a cocktail. Because it goes smoothly the effect doesn’t hit home at first sip until much, much later when you realize how potent actually the message is. You know what they say…bubbly gets you drunk quicker.

I used to do it in high school for pocket money, writing poems, mostly for lovesick teenagers trying to woo their crushes. I find that rhyming is the easiest form of poetry. Every one can rhyme. But not everyone can rhyme meaningfully. And in such playful manner without losing the essence intent implication and substance of the point you want to come across. And that’s where Dr. Seuss genius excels. I am not a fan but I’m impressed. And I give credit where credit is due. Here’s an example:

OH, THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

You have brains in your head.

You have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself

Any direction you choose.

You’re on your own. And 

you know what you know.

And YOU are the guy who’ll

decide where to go.

You’ll get mixed up,

of course, as you already know.

You’ll get mixed up with

many strange birds as you go.

So be sure when you step.

Step with care and great

tact and remember that

Life’s A Great Balancing Act.

And will you succeed?

Yes! You will, indeed!

(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

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Grainy

I feel like a fish out of water, a bird in the sea

But in the mirror is a girl who looks just like me

She goes through each day like she did before

Suddenly she just isn’t content anymore.

 

Each day is so fake, words are so hollow

She takes all this in, but it’s hard to swallow

Who is she, this girl that I see?

We look so alike, but how can this be?

 

I’m a horse in the city, a dog in a cage

A little girl in a body that’s three times my age

That’s not me in the mirror, no not at all

This girl hangs her head low, I held mine up tall.

 

How did I get so out of place

I want to look in the mirror and see my real face.

I want to hold my head high, I want to see;

There’s a girl looking back, but… she isn’t me.

 

(from a stranger I don’t recall the name)

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Spicy

goodbye was my freaking words I said to you

and now here you’re back for round two

you ask what more do I want from life

well… I can guarantee it’s not to be your wife!

you know what? I so don’t want to hear you cry anymore!

 

I don’t understand how you can be so in love with me when I’m just life’s wh*re

shut up! I so do not f**kin care

shut up! It’s your fault, you weren’t even there

you want me to lie and say I love you?

f*ck off dude coz we’re through!

~found poetry

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Traditional

I do believe that I am suffering from a mild case of slight peculiarity
This I do find greatly distressing.
Indeed, far from being vaguely odd,
It merely tars me with the same characteristics as that of the mundane multitude,
Whom are the normality.

A greater insult I could not possibly fathom.
Do not, I beg you, take this as an offence.
It’s merely that I had always reveled in the delightful assurance that I was what they call, “unique”, “individual, “abnormal”.

But to learn that this solid truth which I once held so dear is no more than a fallacy?
That is an incredible blow!
How can I ever again look down on the popular masses?
How can I ever again look the truly strange in the eye?
Is there even a faint glimmer of hope?

Alas, my last resort.
I shall endeavour to be what people refer to as
“dull”, “boring” “ordinary”
Yet this prospect fills me with much intense excitement!

Oh, and it is a struggle to contain!
However, contain it I must. So, as not to shatter the illusion;
The thin veil that separates me from the sheeps of the world.

Please welcome the incredible,
The amazing,
The most utterly wonderful,
Brand spanking new,
Conventional me!

~ found treasure

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