So, I'm A Poet Too.

Well, I've always written poems, but I am currently in the mood to write some more. I don't think I've ever shared any of mine with any person from ZU. Today, I shall break that trend. And please, please give me construction criticism. I feel I really need it.

Flicker, Flame, flicker.
From the wax,
to the wicker.
Only your endurance
will save you in this time.
(A time composed of needle work
and thread so fine.)
But struggle as you might,
you'll one day reach an end.
And angels once in leisure flight
will thy Lord send.
For we, as in all who inhabit this great earth,
have a marked date
with an unknown fate.

Aha! A beautifully composed poem about the transient nature of the mortal coil. I commend you, Comrade. You're definitely full of possibilities, so, as they say, let yourself go. More will come in time. Be sure to throw in obscure variables of thought to prevent becoming stale, though. I think that's my problem.

Originally Posted by Comrade

Flicker, Flame, flicker.
From the wax,
to the wicker.
Only your endurance
will save you in this time.
(A time composed of needle work
and thread so fine.)
But struggle as you might,
you'll one day reach an end.
And angels once in leisure flight
will thy Lord send.
For we, as in all who inhabit this great earth,
have a marked date
with an unknown fate.

Hmm...As for constructive criticism, most of it is great, but I think the line "will thy Lord send" seems a bit...brief in comparison to others and how the words are arrange? Perhaps it would be better if you added an adjective, like "thy Lord swiftly send?" Also, the use of the word time so close to another usage might be best rectified by changing it to another word, like "save you in this life." It doesn't rhyme exactly, but it sounds close. Lastly, it would sound better to me if the last line was "to an unknown fate."

Otherwise, bravo.

Thanks for the criticism, Shade. I'm not going to edit it here, but I assure you, everything you tell me, I am using for my future poetry and overall knowledge.

Another one:

what i really want to do
is hug the rain.
scoop handfuls of the stuff;
give each drop a name.
and so what if people stare;
jump in puddles without a care.
because even if you fly,
growing up is just a way
to say:
i will die.

Originally Posted by Comrade

Another one:

what i really want to do
is hug the rain.
scoop handfuls of the stuff;
give each drop a name.
and so what if people stare;
jump in puddles without a care.
because even if you fly,
growing up is just a way
to say:
i will die.

...Hmm...This is a wonderful poem. I love how it stands defiantly in the face of what is called "maturity" and deconstructs its worth by showing we'd be happier if we thought more like the child a lot of us have left behind. Putting up a front usually amounts to pride, and taking wonder in the world around us is a humbling experience. I applaud this one as well.

You sir, win the prize.

It's pretty much an anti-growing up poem.

Thank you for the complements.

Mkay. Wrote this one like five minutes ago, then made some changes before I posted it; like I always do:

Music a bee does
whenever he makes a buzz.

But if he sings
with a heart forlorn,
never will there be
a more violent storm.

Which is why,
only when it is done,
will you see him sit,
and begin to hum

To the tune
of the moon.

Third stanza's the weakest. Any help on it would be greatly appreciated.

Wow....Im no poet and I suck at making poems. You have a talent theres nothing really to say bad about it maybe um change your rhyme sceem? In most of them you did that so Like I said your a good Poet and you have a talent. Sorry about not giving you enought construction criticism if any at all.

Good God I'm high.
I step upon mountains.
They are anthills.
The sky is a ceiling
to which no attention is paid.
I breathe in the air.
Take in the scenery of the day.
And I love life
more than life
could ever know.

I wrote this one during the summer:

Behind every great song, there is a woman.
The inspiration.
The muse.
The one whose beauty the writer will use
to achieve the piece's potential.
The one who can take a working man's hand
and make it gentle.
The one who can take a residential emotion,
infect the world, and cause commotion.
The one with a dialect of soft spoken words
and warm communication.
When the man is out,
she is the one fawning over the sheets of paper.
Writing into it with her soul, her sentences reeling.
Behind every great song, there is a woman.
Behind every woman, there is a man kneeling.


And another from the summer:

This is my song.
In one hundred years
it will be gone.
And I don't mind
because life is such.
But of these melodies,
people expect too much.
They want hits.
They need numbers.
They must feel it within themselves.
But when I listen to this song,
all these thoughts leave.
For all I expect from my song,
is that it live and breathe.

Originally Posted by Comrade

This is my song.
In one hundred years
it will be gone.
And I don't mind
because life is such.
But of these melodies,
people expect too much.
They want hits.
They need numbers.
They must feel it within themselves.
But when I listen to this song,
all these thoughts leave.
For all I expect from my song,
is that it live and breathe.

I really enjoyed this one. I like all your other ones, too, but this one really takes the cake! I like the fist part the best- the carfree attitude that a song is a song and nothing more to anybody except the one wh wrote it, becuase it is special to them. And that is why people should truly write music. So they have a story behind it and can tell others about it. But mostly to content themselves on a peice of their life- only it's written down for the world to see.

Perfect.

I was reading through an attempted journal I had and found this poem of mine:

Sometimes you make your world
out of something hard
just so it doesn't break on you.
And other times you use glass
just to get a good view of the action.

I don't know. I like it a lot for some reason.