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OK i'm starting this llittle topic thing-a-ma-bob because I was reading about the poets of this site. So start your poetry jam! Posts: 5 | From: Texas | Registered: Mar 2006
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Thank you, Konfuzed! For those of you who understand spanish, here's one I wrote a couple of months ago: El artista
Me convertí en una marea. Vos fuiste el pintor de almas sentado a la orilla del mar.
Fue por ti que ocurrió mi metamorfosis. Me encantaba ver como, casi sin esfuerzo, pintaste en mí risas, colores, y hasta mi olor a sal.
¡Qué inevitable fue tomarte mientras dormías y llevarte mar adentro para tenerte más cerca!
Y de pronto, ¡Qué intoxicantes tus pinturas, que me impulsaban a regresarte porque no las soportaba!
Vos, siempre inconsciente de la marea baja que prefería verte de lejos; y más aún a la marea alta que subía porque anhelaba rozarte.
Tal vez lo único que quiero es formar parte de tus obras preferidas, para poder ver de cerca la luz que destila de tus ojos.
Tal vez solo quiero asegurarme de eso para ver si puedo prevenir que vuelva una marea roja.
-------------------- "Love does not make itself in the desire for copulation, but in the desire for shared sleep." - The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera Posts: 410 | From: Dallas, TX | Registered: Dec 2005
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I don't speak Spanish (although I can pick out some words and phrases or the general gist of things) but your poem seems cool. Could you translate it as well, be it just a favorite stanza or two, or even talk about the meaning specific words you found fitting in Spanish but hard to translate into English? I love poetry in all languages, and I'd like to understand it better (and not just from a babbelfish standpoint. )
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Yes I agree with Ecofem. Poetry is beautiful in all languages. I studied Spanish for 5 years in highschool and in college, so I could understand most of what you were saying, and it is very interesting. Good job!
-------------------- And I say thank you for the scars And the guilt and the pain Every tear I've never cried Has sealed your fate. Did you take me for a fool or were you just too blind to see that every effort made has failed and there is no destroying me? Atreyu Posts: 366 | From: West Virginia | Registered: Dec 2005
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Lol, translating it on babelfish would be awkward. I've never translated a poem before; I just posted that one because it's one of my favourites. It probably sounds a lot better in spanish But here goes!:
The Artist
I became a tide. You were the painter of souls sitting at the edge of the sea.
It was because of you that my metamorphosis ocurred. I loved to see how, almost carelessly, you painted in me laughs, colours, and even the smell of salt.
How inevitable, to take you in your sleep into the ocean to feel you close to me!
And all of a sudden, the intoxicating taste of your paints, so much so that I was forced to send you back because I couldn't stand it!
You, always oblivious of the low tide that preffered to watch you from afar; and even more so to the high tide that would rise to touch you.
Maybe, all I want is to be part of your favourite masterpieces, so I could see close up the light that distills from your eyes.
Maybe I just want to be sure of that to see if I can prevent another red tide.
-------------------- "Love does not make itself in the desire for copulation, but in the desire for shared sleep." - The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera Posts: 410 | From: Dallas, TX | Registered: Dec 2005
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I was home quite early last night from my boyfriend's house, and I was a little depressed. It always helps to take a ride, write in my journal, or even read some of the entries i have written or go through old poems. Last night, I whipped out the journal.
I found this entry that I didn't mean to come out as a poem but it rhymes and it came out sort of poetic. I thought I'd share it here. It has a lot of meaning behind it and explains alot of what I go through sometimes. It's very personal and took me some time to convince myself to actually post it here. I wrote it last year. Its quite lengthy. So I'm sorry.
(Journal) I’m laying here, thinking, alone on my bed, of all the horrible things in this life I dread. I wipe away the tears as they come rushing down. Isn’t it amazing how love can turn one’s life around? The love of a friend, of some sort or another, the love of an aunt who acts more like a mother, the love for all the above, years after they’re gone, kind of gives you a sense that you’re never alone. Although, I’d have to admit, it gets lonely sometimes, when I’m sitting here all alone with these things on my mind. Sometimes I look at myself and I see so much of you, I can even almost understand the pain you went through. I admire your strength to hold on as long as you did, and do as much you could for you and your kid. I respect you although your choice may not have been right, but I also understand how bad you were hurting that night. I just wish you knew you had such an impact on me. You made me see a part of myself I could never before see. I used to think I was all alone in the way that I felt, but I can relate to you and what your life has dealt. I know that when no one else understands, I can turn to you, because most of these feelings I’m feeling you probably felt, too. Somehow I find it comforting to sit alone by your grave, it makes me wonder sometimes how you were so brave. You had a lot on your plate, but you tried so hard to stand tall, I’m just sorry I couldn’t be there to help catch your fall. But in your loving memory, I’ll promise to do my best to manage the pain that fills this heart in my chest, and if I find myself struggling, I’ll reach out for you, because I know that you’ll stand beside me to see that I make it through. I believe you are always standing there, guiding my way, helping me with my troubles as they add up each day. They say grief is a slow process, and gets easier with time, but there isn’t a day that goes by that you’re not on my mind. Sometimes, even after all these years, I can’t believe this is real, when I look at you’re stone, I can’t explain the sadness I feel. Then reality hits me again, I know you’re not coming back, and as much as I hate it, I need to find the strength that I lack to get up from my knees and wipe the tears from my eyes, once again, like every other day, I have to say my good-byes. And each time I do, I feel exactly what I felt that day, when we laid you down for eternal rest and you flew away. I guess I am foolishly selfish because I feel I need you here, but there is someone more important now we lost this year. Your mother laid her tired head, now she is up there with you. So if you happen to see her, tell her how much I miss her, too. Tell her I love her ever dearly, give her a kiss on the cheek And with the biggest hug, tell her she means the world to me. . . .
I left it unfinished...
by the way, incase i haven't mentioned this before, my aunt committed suicide due to severe depression, and possibly bipolar, four years ago (this past february 25). She acted like a mother to me, and was one of my very best friends.
-------------------- And I say thank you for the scars And the guilt and the pain Every tear I've never cried Has sealed your fate. Did you take me for a fool or were you just too blind to see that every effort made has failed and there is no destroying me? Atreyu Posts: 366 | From: West Virginia | Registered: Dec 2005
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Wow... You know, I normally don't like rhyming poetry, but this one was really good. I read this and I really wished I could be there and comfort you . The only part I didn't think belonged in the context was that you lost someone "more important" this year, since your aunt was obviously really really really impostant to you. Also, the poem seemed to be writen so she could hear it, or see it. I just thought that, with that in mind, saying someone else was "more important" was kind of strange :S. But that's my own opinion. Good job My heart reaches out to you.
-------------------- "Love does not make itself in the desire for copulation, but in the desire for shared sleep." - The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera Posts: 410 | From: Dallas, TX | Registered: Dec 2005
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when i meant more important, i meant more important than me. Because i felt as if I needed her here, but my grandmother is more important than me, so it made me feel selfish. Sorry, like i said, i wasn't meaning it to be a poem at the time..and it is longer than that..i just didn't want to type the whole thing on here.. its HUGE.
Glad you liked, yea I was pretty bummed out at the time. I had a lot of issues I was dealing with. It makes me feel stronger now, because I can reflect back on how I used to feel, and know that my life is on such a better path.
I still feel that way about her, though. I still go up to her grave, almost on a daily basis ( it is less than a mile from my house).
If i get upset I disappear. . Sometimes I dont even get out of my car, if its messy out, but being there listening to the music we both loved, gives me a sense that shes with me and I dont have to face it alone. I dunno. It helps me get through things.
Anywho.. glad ya liked it. thnx!
Posts: 366 | From: West Virginia | Registered: Dec 2005
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A lot of my poetry is political, so this might offend people -slash- get me on some weird government watchlist. I'm not going to apologize for my opinions, but I will remove this if it is an inappropriate medium for expressing my thoughts. I guess I feel that this is just important as what other people are writing about, and I don't feel it's any more "controversial" than other topics on this site.
Roses
In a small "Latin American" country, Women tend roses that, When about to bloom, Are clipped Wrapped in cellophane And shipped to Wal-mart So young blond men In cotton shirts Can buy them On Valentine's Day.
The cotton is picked From a patch of land Stripped of its minerals And worked endlessly By people too poor And too brown To get our attention.
When the land is exhausted Of its resources The factory will close Leaving unemployment And rivers turned toxic By chemicals That bleached the cotton So perfect, Pure, White.
And the pesticides used To ensure the highest yield Of roses per acre Cause miscarriages And birth defects In the women who work the plantations.
Many top executives consider themselves Pro-life Pro-familiy While they perpetuate A cycle Of economic slavery And slow genocide Of people Whose CIA-installed dictator Does not allow them To speak up for themselves.
But when you peel back the cellophane Clip the stems of your roses And put them in a vase on your desk All anybody sees Is how much he loves you.
Posts: 129 | From: Mid-Atlantic US | Registered: Feb 2006
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nice.. jane.. im looking forward to hearing more from any of you!
-------------------- And I say thank you for the scars And the guilt and the pain Every tear I've never cried Has sealed your fate. Did you take me for a fool or were you just too blind to see that every effort made has failed and there is no destroying me? Atreyu Posts: 366 | From: West Virginia | Registered: Dec 2005
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Sometimes I wish someone would remind people that change is a possibility, and things could get better, but I know that's not enough.
Posts: 129 | From: Mid-Atlantic US | Registered: Feb 2006
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Hey guys! I stumbled across something yesterday when I was checking an old email address that I rarely use. I subscribed to Poem Hunter.com and I had a ZILLION poems in there! I also had a folder of peoms I wrote and that I liked from the net..
I found this. . .
Judgemental Minds
Glance at this image. It does portray a lopsided smile shining sincerity yet uncertainty, eyes filled with the sun; but a bittersweet heart filled with love a world cannot award; a room overflowing with dozens upon dozens of long stemmed roses, or any other flower, cannot convey; yet patterned with scars left by guilt, regret, doubt, and hopelessness, stomped in by this evil world. Take a look at this body; at me. What is seen? A confused mind it must be, Yours. Impatient, too. It takes not a second to view beyond into the sould of me, or any creature, or thing. So quick to judge are many. and you included. The prize is interior and cannot be seen; only known. A characteristic, trait, or any exterior makeup of me, or any creature, or thing, cannot possibly depict the true being for itself, or its purpose, or its passion. Like a flower, dried by the sun. Withered. Rough. Dead? To a naked, uninterested eye, it is of no significance. Its passion, and beauty lies inside, and what used to be. Have you known of its beauty, before? Have you taken time, seen? If you fail to look deeper, and are only eager to rush by with a short, passing glance, you cannot possibly have gathered knowledge enough to judge. So judge me not, until there is reason.
Hope you enjoy Lea
Posts: 366 | From: West Virginia | Registered: Dec 2005
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I wrote a poem for a girl i was with a couple years back. i still really like it. Also, i could never think of titles for poems, but i didn't have much trouble with the title for this, hence the ending.
Georgina ========
No longer a person any more, you're a feeling, My mind burned from distraction Til satisfaction found in action, As the final recognition of a passion.
Without your singing my church would be silent, But your quiet-quiet voice still penetrates and resonates. Crumbles Gargoyles. Watery tear drops in my eyes boil.
I, a jack of all trades have been found by a mastery. Is it love yet? I don't know. But you're my only titled poetry.
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Wow, guys. Your poetry is beautiful. It is great to be surrounded by other poets here at Scarleteen!
I especially enjoyed your poem, Roses, Jane...
Well, I just discovered this thread and would love, love, love to post some poetry here and have you guys critique it.
This is a poem I wrote about a week ago after a pretty grisly breakup.
"Arson"
He came, wide eyed, and set ashore an island virgin, soft and wild, put down his sails, numbered four gladly, eager to explore this land with dew perfumed and mild and knew no earthly wanting more- the theme of a best-written score.
As sly moons passed, the land’s white heather transformed with wind and salt of weather became explorer’s daily bore as seasons changed her color more to his demise, now forced together his ship abandoned, useless, sore though land sustained him never poor.
A fire devoured in its power explorer and explored, now ashes, sashes of his arson choked the land once in her finest hour leaving once sweet footsteps sour in the sand where ocean crashes.
-------------------- "Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go, it's one of the best." -Woody Allen Posts: 230 | From: California, USA | Registered: Feb 2006
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P.S. Is there a way to omit this poem from google search?
-------------------- "Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go, it's one of the best." -Woody Allen Posts: 230 | From: California, USA | Registered: Feb 2006
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-------------------- "I'm bouncing off the walls again, woah-oh~ I'm acting like a fool again, woah-oh~ Threw away my reputation, For one more song on the RADIO STATION~" Posts: 29 | From: England | Registered: Jun 2007
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hehe, i liked it. (Are you referencing Skunk Anansi? in which case *heads up*)
(no title)
I think I hate to know too much to watch my heart to keep it dry to pull the reins to reel it in out of the wind
I think I want to be the person to be a lover to be a pervert to be a man with long hair and a tan
I think I am the man who thinks of water who is on fire who has the logic which doesn't see the love and the pain who has them both but has them in vain
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My heart reaches out to you.
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