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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 1:47 pm
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 1:48 pm
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Jafthasleftthebuilding Vice Captain
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 6:01 pm
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Profitable Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 6:22 pm
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 6:24 pm
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Profitable Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 6:30 pm
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 6:40 pm
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 6:46 pm
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 7:20 pm
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I love poetry. whee Reading it (in web forums and newspapers, books and magazines), writing it (on the backs of worksheets and doodles, bathroom walls and Microsoft Word).... Poems of all sorts. Even those classified as "emo". Hey, if it's good, it's good, regardless of whether it's depressing. <.<
Typically, I find myself writing rather sardonic and narrative poems. A few titles are Lizard Lawyer, Beast and Blade, Shapeshifter, and Patience Learned the Hard Way.
But on occassion, I'll go for something with a more serious tone. Like so:
Pressed Flower
My mistress is a strange one, A cheery, frail old thing. All day she grins and sits alone, Watching robins sing.
Though I’m the maid, and glad to work It’s she who cleans our house. She sweeps the porch, and scrubs the plates, And irons every blouse.
And afterwards, she cooks my meals, Then tells me of her life, Of how she used to dance and sing; Careless; free of strife.
She tells me of the friends she knew, Or choices she once had. She proudly claims there’s no regrets, And yet, her eyes are sad.
More a mystery than this, A chamber’s locked all day. But once a night, I see her go, And hear a record play.
The door stays closed, I never know What happens in that room. All I get are clues, like sounds, And scents of old perfume.
And so, this brings us to me now, Creeping in a dirty dress, Crouched atop my master’s roof, Curious, I guess.
And peeping through her window, I am shocked to see her face. No beaming grin upon her lips, A weak one in its place.
Curled atop an ancient bed, With photos in her hand; Pictures of two laughing teens Kneeling in the sand,
She sighs aloud and puts them back In boxes by her side, Then opens up an album And frees the tears that hide.
“Why, oh why,” she softly moans While wiping tear-stained cheek. “Why couldn’t I just speak my mind? Why must I be so weak?”
I do not know of what she speaks, Or why she feels such pain. There are no photos in her book, No pictures to explain.
Alone within the pages, A single daisy sits. Wrinkled, dry, the palest blue, To bygones, it commits.
My mistress gently plucks it free. A final tear is shed. Its petals fall off, one by one, Before she drops it, dead.
She was my greatest teacher, And her lessons are quite clear. Find your strength, express your thoughts, Before you lose what’s dear.
The rhythm and grammar is off in many places, but you get the gist. sweatdrop I wrote this one while I was sitting in detention last year....(unexcused tardies, y'see...)
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 7:24 pm
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God-The-RapistV2.0 LiLaBelle Yeppers, I write poetry and have for about 13 years now. I started back in '98 when I was first diagnosed with cancer, so most of the older poems are dark...but I like the sunny ones the best. I've had 3 poems published in a coffee table poetry book (very proud of that) but haven't written anything new in ages..literally. Maybe I should start putting everything into words again...always made me feel better to write. smile Keep up your writings...who knows, it just may take you somewhere in the future!! I wish you the best with your writings and will check back here agin to see how you're doing. smile Stop looking for special treatment. You aren't unique or special. Lots of people have cancer. In fact everyone gets cancer.
I know I have cancer.
Like, too much cancer. I'm selling some of it, it pretty much covers 98% of my body.
I don't write poetry about it, though, unicorns are a much better form of subject matter for poetry about my dark soul.
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 7:30 pm
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 7:45 pm
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 8:25 pm
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Profitable Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Jan 28, 2008 8:51 pm
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