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Writing Poetry


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  • Lance Pittman (4/16/2013 5:45:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies Stage

    I needs some help I have to write a sonnet for my English 102 class and I can't get meter to save my life. I'm hoping one of you fine folks will help me out. Here is my poem, feel free to rip it to shreds.

    What Will It Be?

    “What will it be Mac?” The bartender asks.
    I sit and ponder while I draw on my cigar,
    So many choices are there from his flasks.
    They range from the mundane to the bizarre.

    Do I fancy a Merlot from France,
    Or fine scotch from the Highland,
    Perhaps I should leave up to chance,
    Or tea from long-island.

    Shall I chase the green fairy,
    Or wait for the white lightning to strike?
    If I do things could get hairy,
    I can think of nothing I’d dislike.

    I sense that the answer is near,
    I’ll have one whiskey, one bourbon, one beer

    Replies for this message:
    • James Kastner (5/26/2013 11:56:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

      I love this stuff and was taught by professor who wrote this and grew up with it. I loved teaching it. Using know what you've been taught about metric and the sooner form (English sonnet in your poem) ... more

    • Rose Of Atthis (4/22/2013 11:50:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      Lance this has the making of a very good poem, pleas give this a month of thought and then return with improvements

    • Michael Conner (4/16/2013 11:00:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      Lance....I love this piece, ...good job. I almost hate to even be so bold as mess with it, but since you asked for tips on getting the meter to play out I gave it a go. Just my take on a different ... more

  • Shahzia Batool (4/13/2013 12:28:00 AM) Post reply | Read 3 replies Stage

    (A question! ! !)

    What is the status of awarding 10++++++ in the comment box, and not casting vote in the right column?or praising high while not casting a vote
    means contradiction in our judgement of poetry?

    Replies for this message:
    • Ace Of Black Hearts (10/29/2013 9:03:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      My opinion is that either is a good sign, because if they are commenting or voting, it means they read your poem. Though sometimes I think we lack the willingness to critique, when some of us have th ... more

    • Unwritten Soul (4/13/2013 4:48:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      To me it doesnt matter, either one is great to have maybe because when you drop the comment you have to reload the page before give it marks ...anyway we cant ask people to do all as long they fee ... more

    • Donnaj York (4/13/2013 1:56:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      People don't tend follow rules, and when they do, not completely. Somtimes the rules aren't completely understood. I only have time to read a small portion of the poems coming into this site. Of wh ... more

  • Claire Peterson (4/11/2013 3:30:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    I see you in the sunlight
    where the crimson sun will set.

    Your face shines in the sunlight
    so bright, so clear, so nice.
    your eyes twinkle like stars
    I stop and look at them twice.
    Your voice is like the wind
    so sweet, cool, and soothing
    whenever I hear it, my heart starts moving

    I see you in the sunset
    where all the colors meet.
    The crimson of the sun, is so very sweet

    The silhouette of your body
    tall, lean, and strong,
    makes me wonder; have I been good to him?
    All these months along?

    I sit down on the grass,
    beneath the crimson sun,
    while you stay standing there
    you are the only one

    You start to walk away,
    with the crimson sun behind you.
    I turn my head to watch
    but my mind cannot bare,
    that you just have left me
    sitting alone out there

    My heart tore to pieces
    until I felt a tap
    I turned around to see,
    I saw you standing there,
    looking down onto me.

    You sat down beside me,
    under the crimson sun.
    You held me in your arms and said,
    “You are my only one.”

    The crimson sun faded,
    and the sun turned to the moon;
    You said you aren’t going to leave me anytime soon.

    Under the moon,
    where there were stars up in the sky;
    we would lye there in the grass,
    as I would start to cry.

    You said you wouldn’t leave me,
    and I trusted that a ton;
    and I’m glad you said that,
    I am your only one.

  • Evans Ampofo (4/10/2013 6:36:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    Hung Ghost

    Love lost, black ghost,
    In the dark, sorrow and pain
    Tear blood in to jealous.
    Oh deaths come and take me away.
    Scream with range and hopeless.
    Spider's crow, suicide in tree and here no one scream.
    Hell is a mirror that trapped the soul
    Hung ghost death swallow in hoe.
    Street can gain fear of death,
    That plays Fears in the mind. Depression poisons the mind.
    Hung and depressing weaken up
    Black roses, those become pain
    Emotion, cry and broken. Blood in my hand
    Def written inspiration cliff my eyes
    Blood stone to strong wife.
    A tall tales that have be told about the victim.
    Hung in the house to death.
    Oh ghost story is told to the child.
    Trapped in my own mind. Trapped in the dark I can't see the light
    Love lost, black ghost. I feel like die.
    Def does not understand when you can't feel you self breath,
    I try to survival the loneliness.
    Love lost, black ghost.
    I am not afraid of death.
    They say death is a window.
    Suicide is all in my mind, some time I feel like kill myself.
    Love lost, black ghost.

  • Gulsher John (4/7/2013 12:57:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    A letter sent to shazia batool, one of the profoundest figure on PH,
    regarding the worth of poetic themes and purpose..........


    U know the purpose of my writings is to make readers think, and start to ponder,
    Unfortunately our faculty of inventive thinking is getting numb..... V r senseless, hypocrite and
    We are behaving like driven cattle........
    Ya u right my poems based on Green and Roman myth,
    U better know how much those concepts are pregnant in meaning and erudite........
    Ya sometime lil bit sensuality is not bad..... But what I see here are not worthy to praise except very few....... Most of the themes are old rotten caps everybody dying them as new(even myself)
    Poetry is not just praising beauty or penning once psych.......
    It a sources of inspiration, re-creation and redefining ideas and ideals.....
    Its culture in re shaping,

    Replies for this message:
    • Shahzia Batool (4/7/2013 4:28:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      Much grateful Gulsher john...but standing on the still initial steps of learning, i know the connection of the global culture to the mythical world is strong that's why i don't think that writing abou ... more

  • Donnaj York (4/5/2013 9:43:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    To: Titi Dale, you may know this already but your poem " Ascending" is the member poem of the day on the " Poems" page. Congrats.

    Replies for this message:
    • Titi Dale (4/6/2013 4:53:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      Yeah I noticed :) but thanks! I was looking at the stats of the poem and thinking, why are there so many readers of that poem?

  • Blaise Ezeokeke (4/4/2013 12:43:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    I am a newbie in poetry. But I have always had this urge to write. Please, would you tell me how to make this poem better. And how do I know the types and styles of poem. Any book or link will be most appreciated.


    Our Iroko Is Gone (A Tribute to Chinua Achebe)

    I hear mournful wails from far and wide.
    No! Wailing is all around me. It reverberates from everything.
    Or is it echo?
    Birds, dogs, fowls. Everything cries.

    And the heaven?The sky is wearing a mourning garment.
    The dark, glamour-lacking colour people wear on funerals.
    And suddenly, the heaven starts shedding tears.
    How great is the downpour.

    I run across the yard to Grandma’s hut.
    She always has answers to all my worries.
    She too is in tears.
    “Mama, What’s happening?” I inquire.
    “Achebe, the great Chinua is gone”

    “Who is Achebe?”
    She beckons to a side-stool, I sit to learn.
    “Achebe is the Iroko of Africa,
    The giant who tore into shreds the Whiteman’s false depiction of our people.
    He opened Africa to the world.

    He shone the light of knowledge, and the world followed.
    He opposed colonialism, racism, corruption and oppression.
    He stood tall above his peers, while sitting on a wheelchair.
    He stood on the part of truth, honesty and integrity.

    He was hated, of course. Why won’t he be?
    My father says, a man with no enemy, has done nothing worthy.
    He was like Jesus Christ, Prophet Mohammed.
    Those people who change world thinking with radical philosophies and ideas.
    People whom generations offer their lives to continue their legacies”

    “Oh! I’m dead”. Grandma sobs, uncontrollably.
    “Grandma, I...”
    And then I wake from my sleep. What a terrible dream?
    But reality dawns on me. Chinua is gone.
    Rest in peace, our Iroko.

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  • Titus Koehn (4/2/2013 10:09:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    Hi. I consider myself a fledgling poet and would be grateful for any tips, criticism, or opinions. Tell me what you think of this one.

    Sunset at Elm Springs

    The gentle contours of the hills surround me where I lie
    The stillness only broken by the endless sweep and sigh
    Of grasses waving in the breeze beneath the vaulted sky.

    The little spring-fed creek below flows slowly on it's way
    The lone tree on the hilltop catches the last light of day
    And all the shadows lengthen in the sun's departing ray.

    I watch the homeward flight of birds returning to their nest
    My back against this weathered rock, content to stay and rest
    And watch the sunset colors fade and die out in the west.

    Replies for this message:
    • Titi Dale (4/5/2013 1:13:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      this is amazing! Your rhythm is outstanding, keeping the pattern in time and the rhyme makes it even better! This is GREAT :)

  • Rose Lu (4/2/2013 8:22:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    Sometimes I don't know why
    By Rose Lu

    Sometimes I don't know why
    I just feel so sad
    I wish someone could read my mind
    Come and stop by my side

    Sometimes I don't know why
    I just feel so confined
    I wish someone could share my feelings
    Come and ferry me out of this island

    Sometimes I don't know why
    I just feel so upset
    I wish someone could understand my heart
    Come and give me a hand

    I hope you are that someone
    My sweet dream in the distant land

    Replies for this message:
    • Titi Dale (4/5/2013 1:12:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      Hi Rose, I like those last lines: they sum it up shortly and sweetly, and that's good. BUT-yep, there's always a but- I think this would be even BETTER if u shaped it into rhymes :) the repitition ... more

  • Leon Somer (3/22/2013 4:49:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    how do I finish this?any suggestions?


    Words exhale rhythm and rhyme,
    Tasting of air filled with brine,
    That once carried notes from windblown chimes,
    After falling from the cloudless clime.

    It is odd that air travels so far,
    Only consumed and exhumed from lungs and heart
    Air who's element creates stars perpetual light,
    And presses against skin on sultry nights.

    Replies for this message:
    • Donnaj York (3/30/2013 12:30:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      It's all so very personal. Just relax your mind and let your heart/soul take over. Write from your gut, whatever you feel or think. Let pen or keyboard flow freely. Edit later when you're empty of ... more

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