nijuyanah and rockstar, those were beautiful
and satin, wirklich wunderschön
i wrote one which means a lot to me, but its quite long, so i picked just some lines..
I just stop by
to touch your facades
and hear my
Inner voice humming your melody
Ratio cant comprehend
what you yield to me
True aesthetics have some attitude
Steady as you are
letting the abortive call it rude
Your core a diamond
edgy and keen
The first to turn me into
what i should been
so I come around
to sacrifice some sanity
I lock myself down
to let you step inside me
And in return
I take a deep breath
of what you really are
feel the sound
inside my lungs
I cannot stand being so far
From the home I built
in my mind
Im just finally claiming
what I needed to find
No other place
id choose to be
Within your walls
my spirits free
^ Actually, my friend (and also my former teacher at school) told me that I should try sending some of my poems/stories to some journal or something... But I've always been quite hesitant about that Though, it would defenitely be interesting I think.
I poetry! When I enter a bookstore I gravitate immediately toward the poetry section, it's like a magnet to my heart! I can't believe that while I've read zealously most my life, I had neglected poetry for so long!
My favorite poet is Sylvia Plath, though I also really like Federico García Lorca, and Anna Akhmatova. I like Robert Lowell, as well, however, funny enough I think like his letters (in "The Letters of Robert Lowell") better than his poetry. "Words In Air: The Complete Correspondence of Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell" is a lovely read, as well (and responsible for inspiring me to return to old fashion letter writing with friends).
I mostly like poetry that is very atmospheric, with strong imagery, and I'm always a sucker for striking metaphors. And I'm always open to any recommendations of poets, if you might have any?
And nijuyanah and Marvystone, if you still want thoughts on the journal debate, I've often had the same debate as well. On one hand, if your work gets accepted to a popular/prestigious literary it could lead to other opportunities, not to mention some pay quite well for your work. However, for me personally, I know some writers who have been burned, so to say, by journals and magazines, etc...who have gone and completely edited their work, which is very angering (understandably) and if you ask me, disrespectful. So, I think it depends on whether you feel the risk of that is worth what good may come from it.
Oh, holy moly! This ended up lengthy. Sorry, I'm a fast typist.
Edit: Going through reading old posts, I have to say that there are so many wonderful poets here, quite the talented bunch!
Last edited by Susanna-Cole; 06-04-2010 at 06:26 PM.
i don't consider myself a poet, not good enough. of course, that doesn't stop me from jotting a few things down here and there.
i write short stories. and i'm working on a novel.
unfortunately all of my current work is in Spanish.
just in case anyone understands...
Háblame de ti.
Háblame de primaveras
junto al sol,
de un bello amanecer.
Háblame que sólo quiero
oír tu voz.
Share A Line From A Song Or Poem You've Written Yourself
What has more "Heart and Soul" than writin'?
"Center of Attention"
Between Heaven and Hell
Is the center of attention
For both the sinners and saints
Who want the fame and the fortune
So, they'll sing to the angels
And dance for the demons
Make deals with the Devil
But, still thank God and Jesus
In the end, for their win
As they're standin' in
The center of attention
Last edited by BaBorrow; 04-10-2010 at 11:07 AM.
Why do stupid a** songs always come to me, while I'm in the shower.
For example, this one.
This was like last year.
'Cause we can have ourselves some little 'Twilight' love
Have some hot passion like 'True Blood' does
And, I don't need to read what's in your 'Diary'
To know how badly you wanna sink your teeth in me
I told you it was stupid.
But I've written worst.
Last edited by BaBorrow; 04-10-2010 at 12:44 PM.
When you look at me with those blue eyes, I melt
My heart comes out of its cacoon and flutters around the room
A hundres miles a minute is the only way to spin it
I want you to be there, everywhere
Your arms around me while I dream
The things we could do, the places we could see
If only you'd let yourself believe
I could be the one to make you finally come undone
It's the scent of your skin that sends shivers down my spine
You throw me down on the bed, hair's all a mess
I collapse in your sheets and this is where I stay
My heart in your hand, tangled in disarray
You. The only word that passes through my cerebrum
The synapses fire, but the only syllable I can comprehend is one. You.
It's the way I stutter with every single sentence I say
It's the way I have to have you here to help me see it clear
It's the way you always answer with one. Word.
It's the way I need you tonight
To nurse this aching organ that beats so slowly in my chest
It's the way you're everywhere, everytime I open my eyes
Even when everything is blurry
There. You. Are.
Your DNA that draws me in and captures
Don't. Let. Go.
Aim, snap, fall
I am at the mercy of your photograph
And there's three, count 'em three
I'm trying to grasp the concept of your dimensions
My guts are spilling out onto the floor
As I proceed to run my fingers through your hair
You sit completely unaware of what I'm about to do
It's the way you blush when you're nervous
The blood collects and flushes out your cheekbones
You've got me eating out of the palm of your hand
And if this ground gives way I just hope that you'll catch me
And every little moment looks so dull without your color in my day
How does it feel to know you're everything I want?
Are you still with me, am I making myself clear?
And I could never tell you how I really feel
I'm bottling up your soft, dream-like scent
I see a sense of wonder deep inside your eyes
That falls warm on my neck that keeps me alive
And in case you were wondering
You are like a sunset to me
You are all kinds of beautiful
As you end my day
┃tFS book challenge 2014┃currently reading ▶ Inheritance by Malinda Lo ┃
Last edited by Candice89102; 21-11-2010 at 07:48 PM.
never knew we had a thread like this i've been writing poems since i was a kid and i just thought i'd
share this short one i made last night when i couldn't sleep and i'm real shy but whatever here goes
this is of the mind that is slowly losing grip
the phantoms, your voice
a-dancing in the wind
a hurricane comes crashing, breaking down the wall
the casualty, my cerebrum
marches with the death toll
in peaceful horror, i manifest my pieces
bits of you, dark shrapnel
the recalling is absolute
this tattered heart, the sole witness
the deep silence laments
the leaves from winter, the mirror image
my eyes a land of regret
thus this suffering, your madness
reveals the final trick
this is of the mind that is slowly losing grip.
is that the old man walking in the dark?