Post Your Best Poems

[Parche]

"Roses are red, violets are blue
this is my best poem, so there"

:shrug: :hi:

[Westegg]

1. I just wrote this'un...

"Neurotic’s Haiku"

Seventeen syllables—-wait.
Counting the title?

[redqueen]

8. That is awesome!

:D

[Westegg]

12. Thanks, I got a million of 'em...

...Alas, they're in my brain, a sanctuary to which I seem to have but limited access.

[BlueIris]

2. Okay, this is an old one, but it was supposed to be "serious." Mock away.

"Behind the Screen"

A million ants are trapped on a beach inside your set,
said the girl on my first-grade playground
after I asked why t.v. channels blurred with snow.
For years I half-believed her, but needed proof,
staring each night until a station succumbed to scratchiness,
then craning close to decipher their dance.
Is it any wonder Carol Ann heard voices there,
searched for spirits in the flicker and hiss,
flattened hand to glass and got trapped in the void?
Once, I saw a man tell Jerry Springer
its snow showed him his dead mother,
her brother, relatives he did not remember,
surfacing out of static to prophecy the end of the world.
Surely, parts of it live,
can work a silicon sorcery,
are worthy of the ankles I sprained
striving to fly like Wonder Woman,
the fingertips stained
wanting to flick cigarettes like Sharon Stone.
They claim it is the reason
I never mastered multiplication tables,
that I doze beside it because
the drone lulls brainwaves lower than deep sleep.
They say a beast writhes beneath its broadcasts:
a creature whose secret center
must be censored or severed,
forgetting we plug it in with our own hands.

[Westegg]

3. Here's my take:

Get rid of the alliteration and cut it down by, say, 40%. You'll have something really, really good. Great subject, wonderful details, and a distinctive voice.

Did you ask me for my opinion? No. Apologies if I've been presumptuous.

[BlueIris]

4. Yeah...I wrote that when I was 20 (quite a while back now). Published it, then abandoned it.

I was just throwing it out there. It's by no means my best poem ever, just one of the best so far.

[Westegg]

10. Would you like my edit on this?

I was a professional editor for many years. That means nothing, in the end, but I see your youthful poem as a work in progress. As a writer myself, I am ultimately grateful (after first wanting to kill) any editor who dares touch my words. Your call.

[BlueIris]

13. Yeah, okay. But PM your comments to me, hmmm?

Thanks.

[trackfan]

5. My Day - from my "Office Poems" of 1996

My Day

I arrive at the office in the morning,
hang my coat on the door, and get a cup of
coffee, or, if the pot is cold and empty,
make a fresh one to have along with breakfast.
This consists of a donut, or a pastry,
or a cereal. Then I start the dreary
task of making myself look like I'm doing
work. I'll kill a few minutes in the bathroom.
Then it's back to the kitchen for a glass of
water. After a while, I head on down to
take a walk, or just lounge around the lobby.
Then it's back to my desk and looking busy,
faking work until lunch provides its welcome
break. Then back to the agonizing task of
doing practically nothing. Popcorn, cocoa,
candy, various other small diversions
fill the rest of the day, until it's time to
end the farce, and I finally make my exit.

[Aristus]

6. "Evening Of An Age" by Aristus:

I think of the gods of eons,
And bend my head to pray
Centuries gone in an instant
Here at the ebbing of day

The winds, they whisper familiar
Poems of sweet repose
The leaves in the trees are sighing
As this weary age draws to a close

Families pine in their memories
Days that were carelessly spent
As noontime glides into darkness,
They mumrmur and wail and repent

Of softness and cool in the twilight,
A bird sets its nestlings to right
And sings of a future in Springtime,
And the rains will fall calmly all night

[Bennyboy]

7. hammer, nail....

hammer, nail
hammer, nail
hammer, nail
hammer, nail
hammer, nail
hammer, nail
hammer, nail
hammer, OUCH!

[SallyMander]

9. here's one from high school

All day all day i wonder you

But hare-quick pace makes dreaming small;

Your eyes -- a glimpse through tangled life

Your eyes, your back,

you're back...



I want to do the clocks like Dali

Spin you dizzy with a touch

My senescence of sense of time

In time with blooming us, why can't --

I want --

But gone again,

And only with my dreaming slowed

unconscious

Will you kiss my cheek

And smile,

smile slow.

[sakabatou]

11. Ok

An old, rather macabre poem:

There is no wind blowing
It creaks and stutters
The door is shut
There is no fire burning
It has died and the warm glow
Has become a cold that resonates through the bones
The is no earth shaking
For it has died
The planet no longer blooms
There is no water
It no longer trickles
The world is plagued by thirst
This is the failure of humans

[DarkTirade]

14. Here's a couple.

This first one I posted already once. I wrote it in 10th grade for my english class, because I knew my teacher had a habit of finding deeper meanings in writing than the author intended to put in them. So I put absolutely NO meaning into this poem, and sure enough she found deeper meaning in it.

Monkeys, everywhere, chasing me
rabid chimps and baboons.
I run into the dark
room and close the door.
Shadows all around me
the red light bathes my soul in a hellish glare. I take my
sword and dive into the shadows
fighting with the shadows
rabid monkeys pouring through
windows. I am bitten. I am gone.
I am...
A MONKEY!

This second one I posted here but for some reason the thread got deleted. :P It was a poem I wrote on a christmas present to my ex. (and before anybody gets mad... it was a JOKE poem. Not a serious one. She thought it was funny as hell.)

Violets are blue,
roses are scarlet,
this present's for you,
you dirty harlot.

[otherlander]

16. Don't you hate it

when people insist on assigning meaning to meaningless things? I once had a (rather young and inexperienced) school counselor try to psychoanalyze my hairdye.
:rofl:

[DarkTirade]

17. She drove me NUTS doing that to everything.

You could probably show her a picture of a playboy centerfold and she'd start talking about composition and light.

[otherlander]

15. IDK if it's any good, but whatever.

It doesn't have a title either.
-----
The watcher on the moor
stepped through the golden door
and gazed from the clifftop
down upon the stone city.

The watcher's eye followed Time,
a figure- serpentine-
doubled back upon its tail
knotted times a thousandfold.

He heard, in echoings,
the rise and fall of kings
and crowds, gathered to wait
for the new Age to unfold.

Then love was offered to the sky,
or rough beasts rose to vie:
All this he saw through his glass Eye
of eternity.

[lost-in-nj]

18. ......

roses are red
violets are blue


fuck it and screw


lost

[Prisoner_Number_Six]

19. Here's a very old one you have not seen before.

I wrote this one perhaps thirty years ago. For all its flaws, I hope you still enjoy it.


THE PATH

Passing through,
passing by,
passing on-

Man wanders the world
to conquer his life
uniquely-

Each in his own way.

Of all the lives gone by
not a breath
has been wasted-

For each to his own life,
each foot unto its path,
either winning or losing

(By yin or by yang)

His own special way.

That way, like the man,
all its own-

Unrepeatable,
unforgettable,
alone.

© 2007 Steven A. Hessler
All Rights Reserved