Poems..and the...Just kidding.

[Erica6924]

mm This can be about poems you have written, or poems you like.. Or anything regarding poems in general.

I'll start.. I wrote this ages ago.

What is Love?
What is love according to me?
Love is whatever I want it to be,
It could be the stars
or the moon in the sky;
It could be the sun,
or a cloud passing by.
It could be a river
with a steady flow,
Or the whispering of the wind
when it begins to blow;
It could be a kiss
under the stars at night,
or the way you feel
when you're hugged real tight.
Love could be anything
you've ever dreamed;
That's what love is according to me.

Erica Jayne Spillers

Copyright ©2002 Erica Jayne Spillers

[Mosh_Mosh_Revolution]

It was about time something like this came along.

Here's a ballad I wrote for my creative writing course I'm taking.


“In The End”

The night thus far was quiet,
And everything seemed still.
I rubbed my hands down my gooseflesh arms
To ward away the chill.

Warm blood was pooled around me
It wouldn’t be too long
Until that multitude came to feed
In numbers, they are strong.

Leaning back against the wall
With wince and rugged sigh
I feel the tears burn on my cheeks
Of memories gone by.

The blood inside me freezes
When heard a moan drawn long
And in deadly chorus they repeat
Hellbound groans like a song.

Curse my group for leaving me!
Few weapons they’d supplied
I may have been contaminated
So logic they applied.

I heard the moans grow louder
Now they were in the house
Drawn here by the blood that covered me
I’m quiet as a mouse.

I check my arsenal now
Here gathered on the floor
Two knives and one half loaded pistol
They pound outside the door.

I’ve only got three bullets
I know this is the end
As the undead push right through the door
My mind I can not bend.

“Never add to their numbers”
Is what my captain said
And in this hopeless situation
Took a bullet to the head.


-Erin C. Bertsch

Not copyrighted, because I don't care. n_n


Aaaaand, haiku is fun because it's short.

Lift me up, darling,
One step closer to heaven
When I hold your hand.

-Erin C. Bertsch

Once again, not copyrighted, because I don't care.

[Original Sin]

In this place of broken dreams
where nothing is quite what it seems
I just can't seem to get away
So here I lay whilst I decay

Those tiny shards like fractured glass
My dreams they are, ne'er come to pass
Crimson drops fall to the floor
From severed wrists my heart doth pour

Ok, I dunno if it's really a poem or not. I just pulled that off the top of my head. Meh.

[Erica6924]

In this place of broken dreams
where nothing is quite what it seems
I just can't seem to get away
So here I lay whilst I decay

Those tiny shards like fractured glass
My dreams they are, ne'er come to pass
Crimson drops fall to the floor
From severed wrists my heart doth pour

Ok, I dunno if it's really a poem or not. I just pulled that off the top of my head. Meh.

actually anything can be a poem
a poem can be any group of words u throw together.. that rhyme or dont.. so on n so forth.

[sam]

Code: Select all

                       why
                   do  people
                  question me?
                  My       ideas
                              are
                             way
                         beyond
                         that
                       of a
                       five

                      year
                       old

[Fluffyumpkins]

Something in the way of things
Something that will quit and won't start
Something you know but can't stand
Can't know get along with
Like death
Riding on top of the car peering through the windshield for his cue
Something entirely fictitious and true
That creeps across your path hallowing your evil ways
Like they were yourself passing yourself not smiling
The dead guy you saw me talking to is your boss
I tried to put a spell on him but his spirit is illiterate

I know things you know and nothing you don't know
'cept I saw something in the way of things
Something grinning at me and I wanted to know, was it funny?
Was it so funny it followed me down the street
Greeting everybody like the good humor man
But an they got the taste of good humor but no ice cream
It was like dat
Me talking across people into the houses
And not seeing the beings crowding around me with ice picks
You could see them
But they looked like important Negroes on the way to your funeral
Looked like important jiggaboos on the way to your auction
And let them chant the number and use an ivory pointer to count your teeth
Remember Steppen Fetchit
Remember Steppen Fetchit how we laughed
An all your Sunday school images giving flesh and giggling
With the ice pick high off his head
Made ya laugh anyway

I can see something in the way of our selves
I can see something in the way of our selves
That's why I say the things I do, you know it
But its something else to you
Like that job
This morning when you got there and it was quiet
And the machines were yearning soft behind you
Yearning for that nigga to come and give up his life
Standin' there bein' dissed and broke and troubled

My mistake is I kept sayin' "that was proof that God didn't exist"
And you told me, "nah, it was proof that the devil do"
But still, its like I see something I hear things
I saw words in the white boy's lying rag
said he was gonna die poor and frustrated
That them dreams walk which you 'cross town
S'gonna die from over work
There's garbage on the street that's tellin' you you ain't shit
And you almost believe it
Broke and mistaken all the time
You know some of the words but they ain't the right ones
Your cable back on but ain't nothin' you can see
But I see something in the way of things
Something to make us stumble
Something get us drunk from noise and addicted to sadness
I see something and feel something stalking us
Like and ugly thing floating at our back calling us names
You see it and hear it too
But you say it got a right to exist just like you and if God made it
But then we got to argue
And the light gon' come down around us
Even though we remember where the (light or mic) is
Remember the Negro squinting at us through the cage
You seen what I see too?
The smile that ain't a smile but teeth flying against our necks
You see something too but can't call its name

Ain't it too bad y'all said
Ain't it too bad, such a nice boy always kind to his motha
Always say good morning to everybody on his way to work
But that last time before he got locked up and hurt, real bad
I seen him walkin' toward his house and he wasn't smiling
And he didn't even say hello
But I knew he'd seen something
Something in the way of things that it worked on him like it do in will
And he kept marching faster and faster away from us
And never even muttered a word
Then the next day he was gone
You wanna know what
You wanna know what I'm talkin' about
Sayin' "I seen something in the way of things"
And how the boys face looked that day just before they took him away
The is? in that face and remember now, remember all them other faces
And all the many places you've seen him or the sister with his child
Wandering up the street
Remember what you seen in your own mirror and didn't for a second recognize
The face, your own face
Straining to get out from behind the glass
Open your mouth like you was gon' say somethin'
Close your eyes and remember what you saw and what it made you feel like
Now, don't you see something else
Something cold and ugly
Not invisible but blended with the shadow criss-crossing the old man
Squatting by the drug store at the corner
With is head resting uneasily on his folded arms
And the boy that smiled and the girl he went with

And in my eyes too
A waving craziness splitting them into the jet stream of a black bird
Wit his ass on fire
Or the solomNOTness of where we go to know we gonna be happy

I seen something
I SEEN something
And you seen it too
You seen it too
You just can't call it's name name name name name name name

[Erica6924]

i never named this poem but i wrote it when i was in like... 9th grade..

I love you with all my heart and soul
I pray to god that u never let me go
I hope thatwe are always together
Today tomorrow, always and forever

[Original Sin]

Dear God,

Fuck you


How's that?

[dancing queen iu]

In this place of broken dreams
where nothing is quite what it seems
I just can't seem to get away
So here I lay whilst I decay

Those tiny shards like fractured glass
My dreams they are, ne'er come to pass
Crimson drops fall to the floor
From severed wrists my heart doth pour

Ok, I dunno if it's really a poem or not. I just pulled that off the top of my head. Meh.

actually anything can be a poem
a poem can be any group of words u throw together.. that rhyme or dont.. so on n so forth.

yeah but just remember

just because you call it a poem doesn't mean it's still not retarded

[Original Sin]

Taste in poetry is just as varied as taste in anything else, food, cars, women, or sexual preference in general, if you will. One's junk is another's treasure.
Personally, I don't care much for poetry. I prefer prose.

[SoDeepPolaris]

I dislike alot of poetry that comes from highschool and depressed kids because
A) alot of them feel the need to use rhyme schemes which makes it atrociously bad, sometimes even goes as far to sound like a Mother Goose poem or something of the nature

B) they write it about cutting their wrists and how nobody loves them and blah blah noose of darkness strangles my soul blah...it's the most boring stuff to read after you've read, say, one of them.

C) They almost always sound the same. And people give them praise for shitty writing because, I don't know, maybe they're afraid the "writer" will cut themselves? Well, suicide might be a prevention of a bad literary career.

It's fine and cool for them to write poetry if they need to get something off their chest, but it's quite another to post it on the internet and expect it to be as good as a Robert Frost poem.

Oh well, my opinion...

I don't really feel the need to post my work on here at the moment, but I'll post one of my favorite poems for everyone:

Dulce Et Decorum Est
by Wilfred Owen

"Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori."

[Original Sin]

I agree with you for the most part. That...thing I posted above, as I said, wasn't really an honest attempt, and the 'slitting wrists' thing I added wasn't about cutting myself, it was metaphorical. I do see what you're saying though.
The bests poems I've written use either a very loose rhyme scheme, or have none at all. Overdoing the rhyme scheme, to me anyway, is a horrible thing. If it flows, it doesn't have to rhyme. And a poem has to flow.

[Erica6924]

My dads bday is tomorrow... and since i havent really written anything else... i thought about writing something for him..but i just havent. So, this'll do.


Ode to my dad


You'd pick me up if i fell down
and hold me if id cry
You told me that itd be okay
the pain would soon pass by

You filled me with laughter, love and joy
hugs, kisses and kindness
who could that person be
who's the one behind this

Dad its you who's directed me
From the beginning till now
Dont worry i'll be okay
for its you who's showed me how

When in doubt i'll look to you
even though you're no longer here
For in my heart is where you'll be
I have put you there

I'll cherish you forever
Everyone will see
God has done this for a reason
So you can watch over me

If anyone asks how i became who i am today
I'll simply look to them
and proudly i will say

My dad is the one who's raised me
hes the one whos shown me how
He is the reason
I am who i am now.


~Written by
Erica Spillers


In Loving Memory.
Michael K Spillers 4/07/1958 - 5/27/2004

[Erica6924]

Okay.. So i wrote this earlier after i posted my last one

and okay i'm done posting for a while.. sorry heh.

It seems like just yesterday you were laughing
I was laughing too
It seems like just yesterday you smiled
I smiled back at you

It seems like just yesterday you said how proud you were
I couldn't help but grin
It seems like just yesterday you fought your hardest
I was praying that you'd win

It seems like just yesterday you lost that battle
And no longer could you stay
It broke my heart to see you go
I miss you everyday

You did it all on your own
Even though it was hard to do
No matter how tough things got
You'd put me before you

Happy Birthday dad, I love you
I hope that you will see
I am going to make you proud
For, it's you who has guided me.

As I sit here and write this
I think of everything you've done
You may think that you have lost
But I think that you have won

[sam]

My tears fall from my eyes
like the holy water from the grail
from the depths of my soul no one has dared venture to.
My soul is freed as it runs down my body
and as my holy water lands on the crossroads of lives
like an uncountable number of blades of discouragement.
My life is freed.





SO DEEP!!!
(actually we used it as an intro that we'd say whenever this one kid would walk into a class in high school. Still, fuckin great.)