I decided I'd try and post some of my poems on here, since I liked the first line poem thread so much. I would really like some advice on how to improve. Thanks!
Past the wooden gate behind the garden green There is a kingdom lost, rarely ever seen. Maybe if you look enough You'll catch a sight of gold But who knows? For I sure don't I tell only what I'm told.
I guess I'm not interesting anymore, eh? :b Or is my poetry just starting to deteriorate?
I've never been interesting...
Your poetry is fine, don't worry about it.
*gets idea* Maybe I should try to write a Shakespearean play!
If you could pull that off, that would be awesome. Really hard to do, but awesome.
Your attempt at Iambic Pentameter is fairly good. I'm slightly reminded of a few of Wolf's works. Granted his are better, as your naivety to the style shows. But thats good, because you haven't been tainted by a certain topic or style. Like me! Most of my poems are dark and dreary. May be thats why my english teacher always comments "YOU ARE NOT POE!!!". Your poems are a joy to read, so keep it up, and keep experimenting with differen't styles.
That was fail. This also might fail, since I didn't really plan it out. :/
She's yelling again. Why is she yelling at me? I didn't do anything, I swear. Why don't you believe me? I still haven't gained your trust, have I? Why would you even accuse me of something like--Even if I did, I didn't mean to. It was an accident, I promise. I didn't mean-- Why doesn't she listen? Can't she hear me? Can't she see my tears? Am I that invisible? Why isn't she listening to what I-- Oh, that's right. It's because I didn't say anything.
Words hurt, you know. They sting like tiny daggers that leave permanent, itching scars. You can try and pull the stitches out, but the faded brown mark will always be there, a reminder of things you wish you could take back. Say something I can't. SAY something I open my mouth. My tongue moves to form the sounds. I take a breath of air, filling my lungs. I try to speak but nothing comes out.
And while I wait for my brain to generate a legitimate story line to go along with my brain mash, here's a poem based on this week's poetry theme!
I really need to come up with a new rhyme scheme. :/
The writhing heat I feel Burning through my bones I can't think but at all; Reason's been overthrown I close my eyes in hopes Of never meeting yours I fear if I see you smile I'll melt right to the floor
Then reality comes knocking On my locked and welded gate My fire is then chilled to ice; A horrid, wretched state. I glance to the world, My vision is clear and cold, There is no passion to be seen, Those were the days of old.
Then a flame ignites, Inside my frozen chest. I burn you with my words; The pain will do the rest. I am the beast that kills; Destroys all in my way. I gave my all to you... And this is what you say?
I am empty within, My heart has lost its beat. You've consumed my soul; There is no cold or heat. What have you done to me To make me not feel at all? Perhaps its better this way I won't have to feel the fall.
And that, O citizens Is why I'll never trust. Promises never, ever last; They'll all fall into dust. Who could ever know Where fate doth roll his dice. But I know I can't survive. Any more fire and ice.
This short story (the one that I started yesterday) is based loosely off my experiences with my family and with volunteering.
Part Two
"Have fun, sweetie!" My mom drops me off at the entrance. Her smile is honeyed sweet, but I can see behind the mask. I can see her horns and twisted sneer; her mask is transparent and plastic. Something like that can't fool me. I stand at the entrance to the nursing home where I'll be spending my afternoon. I take a deep breath and my voice comes out strong and clear. "Bye, mom! I'll be done at five!" I head inside and my thoughts are orderly. Same as they always are. Volunteering at a Nursing Home. Perfect way to get some hours in. Colleges love it when you help the unfortunate. I smile, and I know it is a wretched thing. If you want to have power, you have to start off on the right foot. Inside the center its surprisingly warm; unlike the white walls I was expecting. Paper butterflies and cut-out letters stream across the windows and sills, cheerful quotes that don't mean anything. Even the carpet is a bright color, as if looking at the floor is where they go for inspiration. I walk through the bustling center, where doctors and receptionists type rapidly and move around, writing things down and speaking medical terms I don't care to understand. None of them look up as I cut through the crowd and move towards the Volunteering Center. [i]Invisible.[i/]
TACKY! I must admit. I haven't come to look at your thread in a loooooooong time. The guilt is horrible -_- Your stuff is just... so much better... and you don't give up.... and you write hella more than me.... I was jelly. T_T BUT I'M HERE NOW! Just.... give me a page to start off of, okay? And I'll read and critique till you tell me to stop. Deal?
Don't worry about my old thread, it's trash anyways. And only page 35? Come on Tacky, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity to get Moon's critique/feedback. Don't give me only 4 pages.
