[Official] Share and discuss your amateur poetry and stories.
I recently wanted to challenge myself, so I decided to try my hand at poetry. Since I’ve written a few poems, I’ve really wanted to get some kind of feedback, I’m not sure if they suck or not. So I’m creating this discussion in the hopes people will share their amateur poetry and stories. Only constructive criticisms guys, not everyone is literary genius. I’ll share a poem, if you want to here another of mine, just ask.
An Explorers Ode to Earth
As I see her from afar,
I obtain an inkling of who we are,
Here I sit in this frigid waste,
As if running from her warm embrace,
Just as children must move from home,
Here we travel deep into the unknown.
empty room, sealed floor…. build my mind a new door….expand cosmic matador…..they say im drugged, i say they don’t know…..metamorph and retain glow. soul stay’s stoned like philosopher’s growth. alchemical dose, transition’s most…..not all…..some try to fall……invisible bottom, levitate thought artistic water goddess, zen~mind, to feel honest. the moment is bliss…. scenic route main stream consciousness….. . surrender to the electrical grid. a digital frontier of kid’s….travelling renegade’s spreading fib’s….hippy knowledge generate’s risk.. forgive and let live. journey with a little bit more acceptance.
I’ve got a ton, but I’ll share some of my proudest works in Free Verse.
Vows to her
I vow to love you every day,
To show you the very best the world can offer.
To love you at your best and your worst,
And everything in between.
To take care of you when you’re sick,
To hold you when you’re sad,
To make you laugh when you’re mad,
And always to hold your hand.
To you I pledge my undying love,
And my unwavering loyalty,
Today and forever more.
As long as one molecule of my being,
One electron of my consciousness,
One quark of my soul exists,
I pledge these things to you.
For even after that last particle fades,
And all of time and existence fades to nothing.
Even then I will keep this vow to you,
You will live in my heart and love forever.
On all the days before I found you,
From my first days of memory.
I’ve dreamed and imagined a day free of pain,
A day without Apathy or Misery.
Then, one day I saw you and knew you,
Knew I was falling before I knew your name.
Soon you spoke to me and I understood,
Understood you as I only understand myself.
Now my life is full of pain free days,
My only pain killer, your smile.
My greatest problem is no longer pain and misery,
But the simple addiction to my drug.
Something I wrote the other day.
I drive home through the night air
the wind rushes in
and above me, in the darkness, gleams the light of a million stars
my eyes are drawn upwards to their light, as to a maiden
they gleam like diamonds, their beauty transcendent
I drive, looking up at the sky, unafraid of the road ahead,
for if I die at this instant, my eyes feasting on infinite beauty
my death would not be a loss.
The density of fear, gathered in head-space
Piercing the flesh of the soul you escape
While stepping into pretense, looking away
It can’t be you –crystalizing moment of air and flesh
The waters of desire and the fires of labor
The ever-shattering moment
Never, maybe, always ending
Next, now threading once again
The retention between these breaths of light
This is time for gratitude and knowledge
The comfort of wisdom we demand
delivers when moments are created
Do not fear to serve what is
Do not fear to touch
Do not fear to chip away at your own resistance
Do not fear pain
Do not fear to love
I wrote this in a very dark time in my life. I feel it is important because I shortly turned my life around after this particular incident. Feeling empty and stuck in the Karmic wheel, I looked for happiness in men, power, and drugs. I am now sober, on a journey of lightworking, and full of light. Writing has always been therapeutic. Thank you for letting me share! xoxo
I watched you spin at one of the hottest nightclubs in Seattle.
Your eyes followed me, while I danced in front of the stage.
You kept smiling when we locked gazes, your hands busy on the music.
You bought me a drink. It turned into three. four. five. Vodka pressed. Hands pressed on my hips. Eyes pressed on my lips.
We went back to your hotel. Breath heavy and wet on my neck.
Red, green, or blue?
I like the blue ones the best.
Lines of snow on the glass table. I should stay away. I should stay away from you.
I don’t. I can’t.
Eyes intense, but warm. So warm, like your hands that slide down to the small of my back. You kiss me, and I melt. I don’t know if it’s from the drugs or you. I think both.
Your hands make their way up my dress; far too tight, unbutton me underneath, pick me up and lay me down. Beautiful. High. Where am I?
Time doesn’t exist. Not now. Not under you, hot bodies; sweat and the chemicals in them.
I am fucking one of the most popular producers in the nation.
So many ache to lay under him, as I lay, but I am not satisfied, and I feel emptier than ever.
I lost my sunglasses once in a beach. I was so frustrated that I had to write it down. It was the first time I got drunk. I was 18.
“With the dirty froth caressing my sole,
Livid crabs making volatile sand patterns
Shards of broken shells embedded in,
The breeze still and hot,
My shadow is drenched as the wave comes
Dry, on the other hand am I, on a sunny evening.
I feel sick of the sand in my shoes
I smell the stench of the sea
I dread the walk back to land
The sea disgusts me.
When young, it folded into a cascade on the other side
Would I venture to witness,
It fooled me.
When drunk, it folded upward into the sky
Would I venture to witness,
It fooled me.
True, I have forgotten,
Sea has its own lies.
May be next time, I will be careful.”
I do not know the love of the Lord or the love of my mother.
Never knew the love of women or that of a father.
All was poured into the love of arts.
Leftovers sent to unreachable tarts.
All their feminine ways, linger around for days.
If only some of my traits I could replace.
Since I was never meant to speak out loud.
Solely on paper are my words profound.
If only I could learn to write out loud.
I can see the way out of this shroud.
I also thought to challenge myself and write some poetry. I also wonder if talent lies within.
Your wings will grow
nurtured by my prayers.
When you become weary
I will send gentle winds
to carry you.
When darkness threatens
I will send you light.
When raindrops wash you,
they will be my tears.
When peace finds you
it will be my heart.
You are my love.
You are my teacher.
animal’s conspire in our stable; chemically suited cradle. thresh hold’s segregate mind’s. domesticated illusion’s of time trained to sing your master’s rhyme. against our will grind. perceive real in our prime .. dream land of sculpted inspiration; heavily influenced by anything with a feel good sensation. love is how you make it.
I stand in the starlight and stare up at the sky,
The snow falls around me… millions of snow flakes, all of them nearly infinite in their complexity, existing for only a short time, before melting again into water, to be reabsorbed into that great cycle, the same water again and again forming snow flakes, yet none are the same. Each one, will only exist for a short time, never to be again.
Beyond the snowflakes are the stars… trillions of them, each of them unique, yet somehow the same, each with it’s own worlds, who knows how many are bursting with life. They too follow a great cycle. Hydrogen collapsing into great spheres, bursting into nuclear fire, forging the elements that will make new worlds in countless ages to come. They too will die, and the matter that forms them will make countless more. Each one unique, only existing for a blink of cosmic time, never to exist again.
Beyond the stars, great galaxies dance through the sky, disks made of stars, countles beautiful spiral patterns, each one unique, and nearly infinite in their complexity, their beauty captivating. They dance together, drifting with the pull of gravity, like snowflakes blowing in the wind. falling through time, to meet their inevitable end, their death, not by melting, but by freezing, never again to burn with holy starlight. the condensed energy (matter) that holds them in existence someday melting back into infinity, leaving emptiness, eternal peace.
Does some god stare up through the night sky, watching the galaxies fall through time, as I watch the snowflakes fall to the ground?
Is each snowflake I catch in my hand, as complex as a galaxy? holding a hundred billion atoms in a unique formation, never again to exist? for reality is fleeting, yet infinite.
If you choose, you can hold the universe in the palm of your hand, and time in the blink of an eye, in starlight.
i recently explored sensory deprivation. while i think every one will have a unique experience, i decided to write a little bit about my experience in the tank. i haven’t really written in this style before, but this is what came out.
The Diplomat’s Struggle
i am the diplomat between two realms of existence
as the war between consciousness and ego consumes the diplomat’s life
she searches for a way for consciousness to prevail
but all the while she involuntarily acts in ways that empower the ego.
I am a control freak
nearly entirely controlled by ego
in giving an advantage to consciousness
WHO are you?
WHO ARE you?
WHO ARE YOU?
consciousness asks the diplomat
but the ego’s songs drown out the lingering question
like a child, fingers plugged in her ears
chanting “la, la, la, I can’t hear you”
but the diplomat wants to answer.
could the diplomat answer?
“You are Me, of course,” scoffs the ego
but which am I, the diplomat ponders
“YOU” or “ME”?
and is it a matter of course?
“la, la, la”
a voice that isn’t a voice at all
but a vibration sensed rather than heard
“Every Thing and Every One that ever existed.”
“No Thing and No One that never existed.”
That’s Who You Are.*
the diplomat laughs hysterically
at the revelation of consciousness
because the diplomat has the same revelation every day
but every day the diplomat forgets
realizing and forgetting
WHO I AM.
these daily battles of consciousness and ego
exhaust the diplomat searching for peace
in this endless war
which side are you funding?
what are we….we are….those that sleep, deep. dream~walkers, sleep talkers…repeat ……..what are we…..we are,…..what we are… we are……..what? are we ….. take a hit and be free…..chemical suited sleeve..intelligence gathered by those that keep, their mind on tree’s, take a G~B… feed your soul through hashish….cough life into synchronicity….hazy awakening…..prohibition of hyper thought based favours, god willing we ate em……paper we trade em…..crystal’s we game em……all knowing we make em.
we get hi oh so hi maybe unlock ancient secret’s on a fly by. make unconscious go bye bye. tie dye your mind like oh my.
what are we..what are we…what are we…. what secret’s do we keep……are we peaces, of a puzzle, searching through rubble dealing with trouble. gazing through hubble in our puddle soaring on mother earth’s space shuttle.
we paint we draw we dance we grow flow toke hold and roll. we peer through telescopic peep holes, absorb the universe while feeble, be cool, repeat, refuel.
are we lost in thought, caught in rot…..soul’s are bought, technologic control is sought..after… energetic disaster’s. root of all evil plaster’s anonymous master’s lineage of karmic pitter patter…slavery the latter, think for your self and capture, your essence, live in the present….accept the message…..abide potential. what are we…we are…what we are. what are you……..what are you what are you…. what can you do….to save this zoo from ignorant loops, jump through hoop’s. pull through mood’s bear your fruit. puke your goo, root your food…seek good in our world of we should, hope, push the envelope of dope.
The constant, static hum deadens the atmosphere with anonymity.
No words need be spoken now, we all attent to this flicking focal point.
As we sit, demoralised and dehumanizing, minds remain mindless.
We can be numbingly free from the need to speak.
Waves like millions of comic-like spears ripple in the close distance.
I trek ecstatically through forests of ash and hawthorn.
My three companions take invoke mindful bliss as we march in single file.
Faint light spills through the canopy like a blanket of black and grey heaven.
As I wake from this trance, I realise I am alone.
The water tumbling over itself still plays the soundtrack of my adventure.
As I look up before me, I see a gathering of pines and oaks.
Obelisks of peace, mystical spires towering above me.
Dawn arises as the sun slowly suffocates the dark.
I look and see faint glimpses of leaves and branches.
Each branch is perfectly still on a plain parallel to heaven.
Like murals on glass setting layers of crisp beauty
Consciousness from the other side is something else. The origin of this universe is a cosmic sunrise. Stars pulling in objects with their power and fueling it with radiant conscience health. The sun: staring at these objects caught in my gravitational grip. Which tiny cell will witness the true power I emit? Spin the energy I send out and send it back. Or harness the energy in amounts that will prepare it for a galactic eclipse. I am aware of the bigger stars brighter stars hotter stars colder we communicate effortless. And this bright blue of water 93 million miles from me is a specialist. It receives my messages. It breathes my weather. As I get older so will my specialist and all the stars within it will see my essence since… Everything that’s there comes from my soul and that’s the only truth that the total consciousness of that object will ever need to know
My mind is like a zany little market place tucked away in the corner of some back alley in a town named zippa loo loo la la humby. I sell fresh mania on a stick in my shop but be careful of those hogbaggers as they are nasty creatures proclaiming all the euphoria in the world and you end up with a high dose of irritation, agitation and agro. You can spot them by the striped coloured nail polish of green and red and if that doesn’t get you their smell of wet dead fish will.
If you speak the right words and tell me the right secrets I can take you to a place that is right here in your city, only few have discovered. That is to say all the closed minds around this joint I am not surprised at all it is not more populated. We on count have approx 254 in our sacred plentiful sanctuary, as long as you do not mind hanging upside down for long periods of time and seeing the sea as the sky and the sky as the sea.
Do not worry it will not take long to adjust your mind to living on a giant bee, nestling in his tiger black and gold fur. It is quite profound you know all that hustle and bustle going on beneath the surface. Tending to our daily chores of collecting pollen to keep him a float.
By night fall he rests upon some of the natures great wonders from seas to mountain tops to a plain flower of white. It is here we in unison sing songs of joy and madness with our home-made flutes of bamboo and our harps made of vines. But for the most part.. the water reflects our souls and we see ourselves and each other as we truly are and love our sacred sanctuary, our buzzing bee. Our love, our hope, our dream
I saw a bird through the glass. Not standing or walking, but dead, face up on the ground. I stepped outside and saw all the sadness in the world at my feet. A small black ant was already crawling across both eyes, no doubt looking for food.
“Surely this creature is no more. It’s body is rigid and motionless.” Nonetheless I performed the ritual, holding the small thing in my hands and pressing firmly on its breast with both thumbs and releasing. This I continued until the bird was jolted back to life, its small wings, feet, and little head all turning around madly until orientation seemed to return and the beautiful blue bird stood upright in my hands.
The small bird darted upwards and began pecking at my left eye in a frenzy. I again and again felt the bird’s beak pierce my left eye, and then the right, until i was bleeding furiously and had lost all sight. “Surely I have seen all the beauty in the world.” I swatted blindly at the air until I grabbed the small blue bird and squeezed it into submission.
I fall where the big heads grow.
No love for the fiery hands
Or the colours
As such things are menial
Far from lucidity
Far from change that is sought
By the loving herd.
Believe in the self, I confess
For none will hold hands
And see why the sky just is,
Without questions and doubt.
Visions go to sleep
They find peace and often,
Stare at the walls,
Just follow to remain safe
From spiritual exclusion.
Who sings outside the hole?
Any feedback on this would be greatly appreciated:
I live in a mechanized body. A teenage protégé, I built it to thwart my enemies. The words they flung at me glanced off the flesh-like tarpaulin exterior and I would laugh as my creation’s face remained static.
It does have limitations. Years have passed and I did not consider growth. My form has cracked as I fit into the machine like a geisha’s foot into her shoe. I sometimes must talk to others and for that I spin rusted wheels and tap dials that stick.
Now I look at various people from behind the transition house’s desk: hairy, bruised, clean, athletic, stump-legged and in wheelchairs. I rotate the head ninety degrees east and there sits Nicole on the seat beside me. She has eyes pale blue like Neptune against caramel angular skin that concurrently shock and crystallize my squirming heart.
She asks me why I read Joyce and the wry curve of her thin purple lips lifts a tone of irony that slips through the ear’s transistor radio and titters about my body. I know how this will end. I languidly tap on this and that key and pull a string to open its mouth. It outpours the drainage waste of my true intentions and sounds:
“He’s complex and I can’t understand anything really”—a pause as I abandon the keys to adjust the eyes that through inattentiveness fell on her chest—“but the words are nice and it has good imagery.”
“Ah. That does sound complex.” She smiles but averts her gaze to the residents.
A pink fedora glides to the desk.
“Mail?” The wheezy hat asks.
I arch the machine upright and bend it over the cardboard mail folder. A return rotation and then I say “None today. I’ll mark your wake-up for four next morning. Sleep well.”
Before I sit I watch the gray curly hairs wave on his waving liver-spotted arm as the pink hat atop the frail man on his wheelchair glides to the door.
“Thank you, but I won’t be staying tonight.”
Away from the shelter I find safety in my room. It is a white room with an olive air mattress in one corner and a plywood desk and notebooks in the other. One pad documents questions to use during conversation and the other details my experiments. Both are unreliable. The pre-thought questions only add to my robotic tone. The other lists chemicals, drugs, and alcohols that all have proved as useless as the phrases.
Here at least I can move without ensuring its movements won’t make others suspicious. When free I stumble and arch around this cubicle, but it grows claustrophobic. The space feels too close now. I’ll drop off my bags and leave.
Alcohol was crossed off and deemed unhelpful long ago but I nevertheless now find myself on a wooden chair at a dim corner table with a few shots of amber scotch. As I sit and decant the liquid through fabricated throat and into my gaping mouth, I forget myself and fuse into the skin-embracing gears.
Those eyes again. At the bar and talking to a pair of shiny teeth with smooth skin and a button-down folded neatly on tan arms. She glances at me and waves. I lackadaisically lift my palm and the half-full glass beside it slides across the table but stops at the edge.
“I wouldn’t have expected to see you here” says she, now standing at the table and pulling me into the orbit of billowing blue Neptune.
Does she know what she’s putting me through? I tap the cloudy shape-shifting keys and try to make it speak. “I sometimes”—and then—“come here.”
“Oh, ok. My friends and I are at the counter if you want to join in.”
There were faces at the counter that either smiled at her or laughed at me when she walked away. I finished my drink.
I like the night. Especially hazy nights like tonight. Above is a full moon or a street lamp. The sidewalk is hard but my feet seem to bounce along. Despite the coat on the gears the cold still seems to turn my skin into gelatin. My organs are wobbling. A sip from the bottle eases things but the night grows dimmer. Black now. Did I miss something?
Sensation. Sickly sensation, but I feel. It is bright outside. There is a giggling gurgling trickle of water nearby and I am laying on dirt and rocks. I turn to my left and see a wheelchair and plastic legs and then that gray face and pink fedora.
He wheezes. “Last night as I was feeding the minnows you fell from the sky. Or rather, that ledge.” He nods upwards to the steep muddy edge held in place by trees and tree roots. “You swan-dived onto a rock—spotch! Ha! I thought you were dead, but instead your head smashed and chest ruptured in a metallic din and one body fell out of another.” He clears his throat. “The flashiest molting I’ve seen in my days and I’ve seen quite a few things.”
I see myself. Crooked arms and toothpick legs and a few feet shy of that body I built. I can move, though. I arch my back and sit beside his plastic legs. “Thank you,” I say, and don’t use buttons.
“No, thank you. I only watched you fall. If you look ahead there’s a path with stairs that takes you from the ravine.”
I exit and sit naked on the warm sidewalk beside the trees that line the precipice. My keys and wallet were on the other body, but that’s fine. I think I’ll sit here for a while and bask in the sun.
Autumn send their leaves to the soil soon my tea water will boil
I wish you were here to see
so I could share It with thee
blue is behind the thin and transparent cloud
nobody screams and shout out loud
soon the rainbow of colors will explode
to universe it is just another node
My mother tongue is the wonderful Swedish but I will give it another try……
Time is endless when I sit by the lake
It is the mirror of the forest and sky
Does it matter whatever I make
Far away I see a deer so shy
I feel with my feet the water starts to bee cold
Everything gained but nothing is sold
We no more have to throw our javelins and raise our shields
When we see the lovely abundance of the fields
Are we here to fulfill the warlords strife
When it is all about taking another human life
We are no more Vikings, Anglosaxons and fighting Irish lads
Modern times are here it is better we use laptops and ipads
The fire ceases and all the birds will suddenly start to sing
If we don´t get the message can we bee worth anything