Poetics and Poetry Discussion


Post a message
  • Rookie - 510 Points Havilah Dammette (11/19/2014 3:58:00 PM) Post reply
    1 person liked.
    11 person did not like.

    Hi, yes. Someone get asians off new list poems?Hogging all space with paw prints. No words.
    My mouth mad at chow mein.

  • Rookie - 998 Points Gulsher John (11/19/2014 1:20:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    in the absence of great minds
    only trolls sing around
    , , , , , , , , , ,
    hay guys, break the break now

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie - 998 Points The Pundit (11/21/2014 1:04:00 PM) Post reply

      Write me a poem Gulsher, and shut up. Trolls are all we have left here. No one likes poetry including me. Get busy writing a good poem. No one else can.

  • Gold Star - 13,772 Points Mohammad Skati (11/17/2014 2:33:00 PM) Post reply

    Since our birth until our death / We write our life's pages / We write our good deeds and our bad deeds / When we pass away anytime / Then we will take this book with us / Either we pass our test or we fail /.

  • Rookie - 486 Points Adam M. Snow (11/16/2014 9:08:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    The Day the Jester Died
    Written by Adam M. Snow

    Twenty one times three, a journey of laughter;
    the fool borne clown was he.
    Entertaining his majesty - soon after
    realize the laughter would soon die with him.
    Soon to vanish, he of many voices.
    All his jest would soon to end,
    all to end by his choices;
    a feeling without a friend.
    This Jester who proudly gave us laughter,
    was dying deep within.
    Covering his pain with the joy of laughter.
    If it were enough, it would have been,
    but it wasn't enough for him.
    So this Jester left to wonder,
    'Was he truly loved enough?'
    Yet he could not see past yonder,
    the treasures that loved enough.
    He gave his all but lost his soul to grieve,
    and grieve himself upon a tree.
    Entangled rope among the sticks and leaves,
    a last resort, felt for a Jester such as he.
    So now this Jester once a clown,
    lays to rest within his chamber.
    Retiring with him his Jester's crown,
    leaving with us a memory to remember.
    This Jester left without a bow,
    still a mystery to us all.
    The thought that struck him and how
    he felt the need to fall.
    A broken heart, was that his pain?
    Thus this day that laughter died.
    A reason for sorrow to reign,
    O for his majesty, who cried.
    O his majesty's courts,
    silence fills the hall.
    The king is left to mourn,
    the Jester who felt the need to fall.
    Laughter died with him,
    the fool borne clown.
    A joyous time spent with him,
    now he passes on his Jester's crown.

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie - 486 Points The Pundit (11/21/2014 1:09:00 PM) Post reply

      You're giving all you got, Kid. If I could slap you on the back, I would. Kind of like chocolate syrup, but better than no syrup at all. Try some powdered sugar next time.

    • Rookie - 486 Points ... Dog God 8hate (11/21/2014 9:49:00 AM) Post reply

      . . . A lovely tribute to a lovely man ... true: " a fool borne clown" albeit ... merely what's ... contrived image the master fool conferred ... (that) hidden entity, he li ... more

    • Rookie - 486 Points Pranab K Chakraborty (11/17/2014 1:09:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Nice write. The words, its lucidity and expressional simplicity draws the line perfect to touch a man who offers our heart to release some burdens. Valuable tribute. Thank you.

  • Rookie - 333 Points Zoila T. Flores (11/15/2014 5:50:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Oh Dear,
    ...Conscience, don't abandon me,
    Through my journey, on this day,
    Keep supporting, as you're always,
    On the wisdom, of my say...

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie - 333 Points Pranab K Chakraborty (11/17/2014 10:55:00 PM) Post reply

      Yes, Conscience. But to give it the steer, a strong belief, I mean philosophical stand, is quiet necessary. Otherwise instinct could misguide in disguise of conscience. Thanks for the cry.

  • Gold Star - 13,772 Points Mohammad Skati (11/15/2014 4:45:00 PM) Post reply

    I'm burning like a candle everyday / I'm looking for my hope somewhere / Me and myself are two in one / Simply because we can not be one in two / There are many horizons around me / My whole life is confused / I'm a real co-partner in torturing myself / And I'm still looking for myself / But I don't find myself / I'm still missing or I'm drowned /.................. This poem is called - Myself -.

  • Freshman - 1,485 Points Mike Acker (11/15/2014 1:35:00 PM) Post reply

    Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a great poet with us. I have checked out her writing and it is superb! Her name is Carmi Basson!

  • Rookie - 998 Points Gulsher John (11/15/2014 10:56:00 AM) Post reply

    Allure of darkness

    Farewell sweet luna;
    the queen Nyx is coming
    from the east,
    let me fade in these parting
    hours, like a candle
    burns down in the wind.
    O! when love fails, tales of the dead rise.but
    who tells her:
    love not begins but bangs...
    And symphony of the autumn breaths in my soul, but
    she says, " in darkness
    winds are silent."

    PS. needs final strokes...

  • Freshman - 1,485 Points Mike Acker (11/14/2014 6:09:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    revised.....

    Chinese Fan

    First, the one eye, then the other opens,
    lazily. A faint smile rolls across his face,
    as he surveys the outline of her body.

    Out of the end of the creased, crumpled, white sheets,
    her feet unfurl their crimson-painted toes
    like a Chinese fan.

    Her head lies upon his chest, her neck exposed,
    and eyes closed, while her auburn hair
    mingles with his under arm's.

    A small, gold crucifix, loose on its chain,
    hangs just above her right nipple, with a
    raised profile of a figure in agony.

    A potent hint of her perfume in his nose,
    mixed with the taste of her creamy love
    on his lips, seeps deep inside his soul.

    He couldn't imagine how, once upon a time,
    Sunday mornings were spent repenting
    for the ecstasy from this unhallowed union.

    Mike Acker

    Replies for this message:
  • Gold Star - 17,632 Points Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (11/14/2014 8:48:00 AM) Post reply

    I read a poem about Child world written by Ray Hansel in Poemhunter co.m and it is a marvelous poem about the world of child 's world.

[Hata Bildir]