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Posted Sat May 12th, 2007 12:18pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
Candle burns, candle bright,
Candle lights the darkest night,
Candle wax, candle hot,
Candle flame touch you must not,
Candle straight candle tall,
Candle by the morning small,
Candle out comes the day,
Candle smoke just floats away.

In this age of globalisation where everything is so near,
Why then am I struck in this traffic and going nowhere,
Trapped inside my car fed up beyond conviction,
What did I do in a former life to warrant this affliction?

My mind resorts to trivia to alleviate the tedious hell,
As I look for things to do inside my upholstered prison cell,
Window goes down window goes up, god I’m bored of that,
And as gaze the hard shoulder I notice a very dead cat,

My ‘Fruit of the forest’ air freshener does not smell of fruits any more,
And my neatly stacked heap of files has just slide onto the floor,
And as the traffic crawls forward just another inch,
My collar starts to tighten and my seat belt starts to pinch,

Did I need to make this journey or was it just bad luck,
I’ve just finished my last boiled sweet now there’s nothing left to suck,
All three lanes are chock-a-block and there’s nowhere to turn for miles,
And if I have to sit here much longer I’ll start to develop piles

As for the car radio every button I did press,
But what I end up listening too is anybodies guess,
Woman’s hour discussing the pros and cons of velvet drapes,
Or DJ ‘What’s his face’ throwing out some shapes,

Window goes down window stays down; I think I’ve broken the switch,
Oh dear it looks like rain and I’m slowly developing an itch,
I’ve picked my nose, bitten my nails and removed the wax from my ears,
In fact, it’s the best body spring clean I’ve had for many a years

In two hours I’ve travelled just two miles but I’ve worked out the meaning of life,
There’s no need to sit on a mountain to purge yourself of strife,
There’s no need for meditation or contemplation to prove you’re alive,
Just sit at junction 18 in the middle of the M25.

River fast, river deep,
Water cold my sole to keep,
Bridges edge sharp and high,
My last step before I die,
Grip the rail fingers tight,
Release begins my heavenly flight,
My head within a muddled roar,
But soon the peace of ever more,
Seagulls circle unaware,
Looking up I have no fear,
Darkness comes as come is must,
My ashes soon reverts to dust,
Angels come to take my hand,
To lead me to a better land,
Freedom beckons as I fall,
The water talks, I hear its call,
A single tear cloud my sight,
Disappears in the torrents might,
Cold on skin, face, and hair,
Goes the taste of life’s sweet air,
Water’s shroud wraps around,
Beneath the surface not a sound,
Silent scream, body still,
End of life, end of will,
Spirit gone empty shell,
Made in heaven sent to hell,
Water enters stops my breath,
I struggle not I welcome death,
Imprisoned mind set to be free,
Last day on earth I will ever see,
River fast, river deep,
Peace at last eternal sleep.

Don’t talk to me of man and gun,
How heroes stand and coward’s run,
Don’t talk to me of bombs that thud,
When hill and vale runs red with blood,
Don’t talk to me of lands and rights,
When bargaining down rifle sights,
Don’t talk to me of cannons roar,
When to me they all mean war.

Don’t talk to me of man and gold,
When people starve both young and old,
Don’t talk to me of planes and cars,
When people sleep beneath the stars,
Don’t talk to me of styles of hair,
When children walk with feet so bare,
Don’t talk to me of who shall lead,
When to me they all mean greed,

Don’t talk to me of speed and haste,
When industry spills toxic waste,
Don’t talk to me of how luck is dealt,
When polar caps begin to melt,
Don’t talk to me of pop star bands,
When people speak by using their hands,
Don’t talk to me of drugs you buy,
When to me it means someone will die,

Don’t talk to me of stocks and shares,
When one mistake can cost careers,
Don’t talk to me of merchandise,
When children labour for a bowl of rice,
Don’t talk to me of independence rule,
When ethnic cleansing is unjust and cruel,
Don’t talk to me of persecution,
When it leads to execution,

Don’t talk to me of race and creed,
When bone shatter and flesh does bleed,
Don’t talk to me of holy wars,
When innocence die for cause,
Don’t talk to me of religious ideal,
When bodies lay beneath piles of steel,
Don’t talk to me of self sacrifice,
When life is worth more than the roll of a dice,

But talk to me of family love,
Of your lord god and heaven above,
And talk to me of how to trust,
The confidence to share one’s crust,
And talk to me of peace on land,
With fellow man hand in hand,
And talk to me of how to cope,
When to me it all means hope.

You can take the man out of Norfolk but you can't take the Norfolk out of the man.

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Posted Sun May 13th, 2007 7:05am Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
I wrote a smidge during my teen years. All right, I wrote more than that. I'd gotten myself into creative writing classes. Three of them. So to get passable grades, I slimed many, many papers up with sentimental goo. Worked like a charm. Although I imagine the trees would be sad to discover just how rudely I had desecrated their corpses... Hmm.

Anyway, it is nicely surprising that even admist the deluge of tears and inner children and love and light, some pieces survived the classroom grading wars and even now are recalled with a sense of...hmm...fondness. And many of my classmates came up with some truly wonderful pieces that they kindly gave me copies of, so it really was worth it, I think. The poems never followed any sort of formula, though, none in those classes did. It was mostly a matter of expelling your insides onto the paper the night before the assignment was due, then rearranging the bits according to how it would sound while being read aloud to the class in the morning. And sometimes it worked out, despite everything. Happy times.

"Your's CLEAN!!!"
"I prayed to happened...but...where's my million dollars and horse!? Damn it!"

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Posted Sun May 13th, 2007 9:34pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
I wrote a lot over my summer break. It was strange because I'd never written poetry before, and I was unsure if what I was writing actually qualified as being "poetry". Better crack out The Ode Less Traveled to find out!

Come join me on the "Ode" thread. I'm commited to Stephen's process.

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Posted Mon May 14th, 2007 4:40pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
I write poetry! It's down in the contract they make you sign before you get your English degree.

I get into poetry duels with friends sometimes (the way you do). Insult, challenge, response, escalating difficulties of form.

I only just found out that _Ode Less Travelled_ has finally been released in the US. Can't wait to grab it. Now if _Moab_ would follow suit! Or has it? Am I badly behind the times?

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Posted Mon May 14th, 2007 5:56pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
I have written some poetry, but of all the things in the world that don't embarrass me, showing off my poetry is not one. I do really like poetry though - I love William Blake and Paul Eluard

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Posted Mon May 14th, 2007 7:32pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
I wrote a fair amount of garbage when I was in high school. I was also the editor (and sometimes sole "employee") of my high school's literary magazine. During my English degree in University, I took two poetry classes taught by a vicious woman named Chris Tysh. She really knew how to improve your skills, make you read scads of work you wouldn't have otherwise and most importantly, turn out more poems. Every week, people would read have their poems workshopped and critiqued; it was brutal. At the end, we'd have to turn in a manuscript that was formatted like a book and read a few of our works aloud. Thanks to Tysh, I now have about 50 poems that wouldn't have existed without her.

Now I'm much more of a prose writer, if anything, although I did do a few of the exercises from "Ode".

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Posted Fri Aug 31st, 2007 7:18pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
I wrote this today as I sat in my garden watching our loony cat rush about aimlessly. Hope it's not too awful!

"Oh Little White Cat!"

Oh little white cat look how you play,
Chasing the mice and your cares away.
Promise me please that you'll always stay,
I shall learn much from your feline ways.

You sit beside me head in your paws,
Cleaning your coat, stretching your claws.
Oh to have such a life as yours!
Thinking only of sport, knowing nothing of laws.

Oh little white cat look at you run!
Hither, thither, speed and fun.
Crouching stock still in the treacherous sun,
A flash as you fly at your prey - you have won!

I cherish the gifts you lay at my porch,
Before slinking off to further debauch.
I am part of this world lit by heaven's torch,
Neither greatest nor wisest in natures thoughts.

Oh little white cat you are more lucky than you know,
Unburdened as you are by the human mind's flow.
Perhaps by design you have chosen not to sow,
The seeds of thought that disturb us so?

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Posted Fri Aug 31st, 2007 11:56pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
i'm really bad with words. always have been.
i read the "ode less traveled" book and really enjoyed it because all the exercises were actually kind of hard for me.

i don't write poetry much, unless i'm totally in love and aching, or hyper and silly.
as in, today, i sang a goofy song about pregnancy at the top of my lungs to a coworker.

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Posted Sat Sep 1st, 2007 12:05am Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
Good work, just let it out there!

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Ernest Worthing


Posted Sat Sep 1st, 2007 3:48am Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
I love poetry, but I simply don't believe that I can write it. As informative as I found The Ode Less Travelled (why the contents of the book are not taught at school will always confuse me), I ended up thinking that at least one of the words in each line could be replaced with something more articulate when I tried to complete the exercises, which always resulted in me scambling through my dictionary to find some quaint new word or just something that I've forgotten about. The same thing always happens when I try to write music, too. I always find myself thinking that the rhythm, melody or chord progression could be so much better than it is, which stops me from ever finishing something properly...Perfectionism is utterly infuriating!

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Posted Sat Sep 1st, 2007 7:28am Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
Very guilty of poetry. Most of it rarely finds its way in front of anyone else other than myself though.

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Posted Sat Sep 1st, 2007 10:41am Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
I write what I call poetry, but the truth is, poetry for me is not only rhyming and verses with a precise number of syllables (though is what comes out from my mind). Some paragraphs of "Moab is...." for example, are pure poetry for me, and some phrases of "The importance of being Earnest". Poetry is for me something written that mooves somebody´s heart, that brings you to your knees, almost literally. And also a picture, a gesture, a moment, a precise word in a precise moment, even a smell, some music of course.
Anyway, Stephen is a master on that. Even some sketches from ABOFAL are pure poetry to my ears.
I´m longing to find "The ode...." to read it, hard to find in Spain, but I´m on my way!!
By the way, nice poem CEPalmer...
By the way, blackadder, I totally agree with your rules about poetry...and I love the Nike motto, so proper!!! X-D

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Posted Sat Sep 1st, 2007 12:43pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
I'm guilty of being a poesy-addict. I've been writing on and off since I was at University - when I was supposed to be studying history :-//

Some have told me to publish but I would hate to see my poor efforts subjected to the harsh critics' pen. Besides my work is totally out-of step with modern poetry in every way.

Most are deeply personal love poems but some are more general so here's a few poems I've written in the past few months.

I'm a bit old-fashioned in my themes and use a lot of sometimes obscure Classical imagery but I hope you like some of these:


I traversed along the shady walks
Mystical and strange they seemed.
Like a conclave of solemn priests:
Ancient Druids in grave debate
Wooden ministers pensive leaned
Whispering overhead, swaying
With spindly arms tight crossed
In some long-forgotten conference.
Oaken breasts protruded out
Into the path, as if they felt
The vigour of argument still.
Each breeze that moves them
Seems like the airy breath
Of now ancient bendection
Granted to all who pass by.
Their mossed robes snugly
Shrunk to their twisted forms
Half revealed at the waist.
Walking near I can almost hear
Ancient poesy, curse or spell
Once uttered in weighty tone
And hope their potency is lost
With their lore and strange gods.

Lycius' answer to Apollonius.

"Give me the dream
The dangerous dream.
Give me the delusion
Give me the deceit.

Lamia's coils hold me,
Sensually? for sure - I
Love her deadly grip:
I suffocate gladly.

Apollonius!! farewell.
Bear my heart in mind:
Love, not my reason
Survives my wounds."


Grey-tinged giant
Suspended on high;
Golden rings ever
Hover by thy side.
Bracelets of dust
Glistening in gold.

Heart of solid stone,
Vapours fill thy bulk.
Desolate, and cold,
Apollo's distant light
Touches too pale
Thy withered face.

In darkness spin thee
Eternally and serene;
Not deposed or fallen
But a Titan of the sky
Reigning o'er the dark
Empty cavern of Night.


Sequestered palace,
Mountain stronghold.
Bright repository
Of wisdom.

Refulgent in isolation,
A perpetual summer
Enshadows thee
With secrecy.

Mankind's great folly
Shatters all around
As, still secure
You sleep.

From the inferno
Of sad yesterday's,
From ashes will
Come truth.

If nothing remains
On destruction's eve
Still you keep

From thy slumber
Awake and now see
The purpose
Given thee.

Centuries of quiet
Not been in vain,
We cry out
For help.

Poem written in the style of Chaucer

Whan that Ay thinke of thine eyne
And dotte vpon thy rvbie lipes,
Whan that Ay marvelle vpon thy haire
That glovvest fine as moltenne golde
Mine hearte does burne so feerce
To dalle and lolle vpon eache one
Untille my hotte desir be whette
Ever woulde be Ay in Cvpides debt.

Whan that Ay feele thy breaste,
And compasse thine softe armes,
Ay so longe to 'brace thee stille
That 'twixt vs never comme a parte.
Whan that Ay heare thy dvlcette tongve
Tinckle cleare on mine own eares
Aye wishe t'corke all mankinde's paire
That none may ever sqvvake in compare.

The Wicker Man

Tower of wood,
Crucible of faith,
Sacrificial altar,
You stand high

For the season
For the failure
Of Ceres art...

Yearning for panic...
Superstitous lore
To stir the old,
Frenzied zeal.

Where to find,
How to entice
An offering pure:
One untainted
By Hymen's toil?

Deadly trap is set
The victim summoned;
All must co-operate
To appease the gods.

Temptation employed
Testing his great faith
Cannot crack his resolve.
Venus has failed...

In disbelief and terror
He follows the dance.
We lure him to the rocks
With a festival intent
Only to unmask, at last
And lead the virgin
To our horrible purpose.

Odysseus and Penelope

Far away from home
To cursed Troy's walls
I sailed to black war;
Many young Trojans
I slayed, many men
And comrades fell
So I could return
And see you again.

But the gods are stern
And many traps laid,
Springes to catch and
Hold me from my love.
Nor the oblivious Lotus
Nor huge Cyclops loath
Could check my course
To home and heart.

Enchantresses toyed
With my desires; Sirens
Sang their sweetest song
Yet my ears and eyes
Were forever closed
To such tempting bait.
Your charms snare me
More than any Goddess.

Through many storms
I directed my sail,
But no wave could
Ever damp my zeal.
Nor hunger nor thirst
Fulfil my one desire
To gorge on your face
Or drink in your eyes.

Do you for your part
Keep faith with me?
Do you work hard
To stall the jealous
And lascivious wooers
That no doubt mass
In military formation
Around your doors?

Do you spin and weave
An illusion of their hopes
Yet in your heart remain
My true and loyal wife?
What tests, what more
Trials must I endure
Before I see you again?


You stalk me like an assassin,
Deadly, always hitting the mark.
You gun me down with a look;
A sniper with deep blue eyes.

You kill me with a smile,
Cut me to fragments
With a turn of the head
And a toss of your hair.

Your voice slays me
Like a piercing blast
Of hot searing lead
Poured in my ears:
A wonderful death.

I'm always in the sights,
A willing stationary target.
I love that killer blow
That strikes me down.

Life in the deep ocean.

Skirting along the bottom,
Blinded, and cold, I slither:
Finned and scaled I glide
Looking for prey: I starve.

Cannot reach the surface,
Cannot feel any warmth
Rippling along my back:
Light flickers too far above.

Out of sight and sound
I meander for days below.
Eyes darkened, heart cold,
I suffer the bends for you.

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Posted Sat Sep 1st, 2007 2:15pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
Hye Saturn, OMG!!!...clap, clap, clap, hats off!
Ok, I will never post again any of my poems so naive I feel!! (just kidding, but feeling really small tiny tiny right now, indeed!!)
Well, I have no idea, just a beginner writing from my heart, but I love the scenes and characteres you use to create feelings and build...."atmospheres". ¿?
Thanks for posting all those!!

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melian lenno


Posted Sat Sep 15th, 2007 8:11pm Post subject: Poetry - anyone here guilty of it?
While studing russian classic poetry at school, I used to try to write something... I still find my poetry to be horrible. Unfortunately my, so to say, poems were written in style one or another famous poet had, but the ideas I put into that poems were common.

I ashamed greatly for my imitative poetry

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