People express themselves in different ways. Music. Art. Things like that. Today, my MGTD Thread is going to be focused on poetry. Poetry is not a simple 4 line ryhming thing, nor is it something that you can learn overnight. Poetry can actually be very difficult for a lot of people. Word choice, sounds, patterns, subject, these are all important things to think about when writing or reading poetry, but thats not it. Words can impact your poetry a lot. Say you talk about throwing rocks into a lake. Rock is a hard word, you think of a ragged and jagged edged block of mineral. Stone is a softer word, is much smoother. But, this thread is not to teach you about the art of poetry. But to hopefully become a workshop area. Please feel free to post your own poems, or post your favorite poems. Keep in mind: The subject of the poem is NOT always the author. They could be persona poems, or about someone they know, or not anyone they have even heard of. Poetry is not a observation of the person writing. A person who writes about alcoholism is not writing about THEIR alcoholism. A person who writes of abuse is not writing about THEM being abused, or being abusive. Do not judge anyone's actual being off anything said in a poem. I will kick you off the thread for that. I will also be kicking people off the thread that break these strict rules: 1. No Trolling/Flaming 2. Do not insult anyones poetry. This thread is not going to turn into a bash. You can state opinions on how to improve, or state which parts of the poem you dislike. But do not say things such as "Omg that poem sucks ass.", etc. 3. Keep all poetry within ToU and RaC. 4. Make sure your poetry is labeled with an author. If you post a favorite poem written by someone else, give their name some credit. 5. When showing a favorite poem, please tell us why its your favorite. This also goes for posting your personal poems. Feel free to give us insight on your thinking, and what the poem is about. Ill post a poem of mine, as well as a favorite poem to get things running. My favorite poem: The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. -Carl Sandburg This is my favorite poem because of the first line, and the last. I feel these are the most important parts. It forms a perfect statement. The fog comes, and then moves on. I think he did this in representation of life. Things happen, but you have to move on. Everything that happens in between, while important, is not defining. My personal poem: Losers in Love The best thing in life is being alone. No people to bug you, no children to cry. No one to obey, or to grieve when they die. Alone in the school, some time to think. Alone at the house, some quiet to sleep. No one to eat with, no one to care. No one to protect you, if something scary is there. Antisocial disease, crippling you downward onto your knees. You pray for some help, and help finally comes- In the shape of a someone, who had the same song sung. You like the same things, you like the same sounds. You sleep the same way, and walk the same grounds. Two losers in love, and you can finally see. The world is not as annoying as it once seemed to be. I wrote this in my creative poetry class. The assignment was to pick a title from the list on a handout that she gave us, and I chose "Losers in Love". It's supposed to be about this person who was withdrawn, and who liked to be left alone most of their time. They took comfort in the quiet that was their solitude. But as time goes on, they find themselves missing the social aspect of life, when they meet this person who is exactly like them, and they find so many other things in common, and they get over wanting to be alone, together. Cheesy, yes. I know. But I quite like the thought. Feel free to post any material you want workshopped as well. I'll be watching over this thread and making sure it stays friendly. Good luck!
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. -William Ernest Henley
I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen, of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been; Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair. I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall never see. For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring there is a different green. I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and people who will see a world that I shall never know. But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door. ~ J.R.R. Tolkien.
I was pushing myself to write a poem about guilt that weighs over my soul at this specific moment. Guilt of finding a new love and guilt of becoming everyone's lover; however, I tend to do the opposite of what you, expect, me, to do. Expectations of whom I will be, when we carry on our lives in the next few years. Expectations of marriage and working, together to- compromise. Compromising dreams that once were reality, to me; but, with you, they are no more. I hear stories of how you picture us. When we speak to each other, it’s as if we aren’t even in the same room. We’re yelling at each other to be heard. We speak different syllables and dialects, that our tongues flap for no reason, because there is nothing to be understood. Consistently it’s an expectation, to quiet me, and roll away from me. Consistently I expect a best friend. Someone to be willing to hear me- at all costs and to understand my emotional feelings... a connection that we will, never, have. Tending to fit your schedule and fit your mindset. Because everything you say is so...right... Sarcastic responses are now your new expectations of me. Maybe you don’t understand, that even though sarcastic, they are true feelings, deep within, tempting you to abandon me. This is because I expect you to leave me. Run off and realize that this life isn’t what you hoped for. I was just a phase. Deep down inside I plan to escape, yet you...expect me to stay- through all our drama. This occurs everyday between you and I. There is always something that one of us does to destroy a perfect evening. That these moments in time aren’t necessarily special, but they stick so much to my mentality that I can never forget one spiteful moment. They stay and will always stay even if you do not. You expect from me what I never see happening anymore. There was a time, but that was because you were just a phase. Not a phase out of amusement. You were a phase of my life that I always wished for. I never thought I’d experience what I have with you. Experiencing a life of physical stability and a connection, that one would think could keep a couple going, for years. But that emotional stability, it is yet to be a thing of the past. Haunting memories of what we have gone through to be this couple, this already long lasting couple. Events turn into violence through attacking ones mental core. This of which could last no more. How can we have a life... if this is a constant battle between each other and even our own selves? You, expect me, to never, leave, anything like this on your bed, and to drive away while you’re gone with everything packed. Leaving not one trace but our favorite picture, this promise ring, and THIS letter. Your expectation is correct. I can never leave.
Nice. This sounds like it would be a spoken word poem. Very good repetition of sounds and words as well.
Poetry is very important, it speaks to people stronger than any normal words and is important in society. I once heard that the best way to describe poetry is as follows: "Poetry is a prayer you don't expect anyone to answer" I'll leave you with that
Im a huge fan of writing free verse poetry. Remember not all poetry has to rhyme or fit any type of scheme. I always feel the most free when there is NO form to go for.
Allow me to look up the definition of fan fiction for you. "fiction written by a fan of, and featuring characters from, a particular TV series, movie, etc." Poetry is not fan fiction. Now, please contribute to the thread, or move on with your life.
Ohhh you're taking its literal definition and applying it to how it suits you rather than KaWs idea of what fan fiction is, which is player created stories, poems, writings, etc. You're not above the rules. I'm contributing to the thread by alerting you that it's in the wrong section of the forum. You're welcome.
This was a poem I wrote to a dear friend of mine that died at age 27 with Stage 3 lung cancer and Alzheimers. Many in the game, especially those who were in Articles of Confederation in season 3, know him as llIILIIllAllIIRIIllRllIIYIIll. This was my last present for him. What better place to share than the game we were addicted to Always. Our love is composed of midnight fears: "I can't breathe" "I can't remember", "I can't sleep", and ever so quiet Chuckling over the phone. Our love is supported by, but not limited to, Misplaced arms, bouncing legs, squeezing fingers, clenched eyes. When I am feeling sad, he will hug me. I can tell by his frame that he was never built to be sturdy. He laughs with eyes closed. It's like if he doesn't squint, he believes his joy will leave Through them. It seems to work for him so I try to do the same. I will smile and hold His hand. I will say "I love you" with a smirk. He will respond With a laugh, his thumb over mine. "I love you too" he will say. He will squeeze, Assuring me, he has enough joy for the Two of us. And then he will forget - because he always does. It will destroy me. I have found that it always has.
Hello good sir. FanFiction would have some form of KaW in it. This does not have that. Though, do note, FF does go to AT now.
How about a KaW Haiku? 5-7-5 style.. EB fairy stripped Butthurt Butthurt forum cries Tasty yum Noob Tears