Share Your Poems Here! :)

Sep 1, 2012
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I rhyme,
therefore I'm.
Good one ewq!

but

Said Zebedi nonchalantly sipping his tea Rhyme can be sublime but sometime a chime a chant a twisting slant that ignores you can't can be the plant that bears the rarest fragrantest flower that rears the shining climbing tower that awakens sleeping weeping cowards to see and say hooray hooray today came some really cool communication surprising inspiration such a sweet and strange sensation and please let's not forget in the creative sweat every asset by which the poet is beset alliteration personification metronomic syncopation and oh yes punctuation said Zebedi ending his plea and pouring yet another mug of best builders tea.
:)><>
 
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ewq1938

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First the original and then my parody. Parodies are often funny but that isn't a rule :)

Also note that I copied the same random rhyming pattern.


After Apple Picking Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

Parody of Robert Frost’s ‘After Apple Picking’

**Note that Frost’s poem has an unusual rhyming pattern, so I duplicated that pattern exactly.

My first jobs were in restaurants and I started out as a dish washer...


After Dish And Washing

My long two-handed arms submerging into suds
are scrubbing still,
but there's more dishes from the evening's meal
beside me, and each stack just buds
into a greasy, growing-lifeless tower.
And to think I thought it would take an hour
to scrub such strangeness from every plate
& now from my eyes: I'm rubbing clean
the fine cuisine I gladly ate
unknowing of the fate that waited near.
In fact had I foreknown the final scene,
the cleansing act, the price unclear,
I would have stopped to drop my steak
and let it fall
unto the floor along the wall.
Peas and all.
One less dish to wash if it should break,
but just a drop in the old mop bucket,
I'm afraid to say.
Oh how I wish to take each dish and tuck it
away beneath the hallway rug.
My inside palms will keep the pain
of a metallic man-made sponge all day
and my ears are haunted by the sound
made by the kitchen's strain
when loads & loads of dishes being washed, abound.

Oh, I have never had so much
of dish & washing: I am tired over
eating the expensive meal I couldn't cover.
There seems yet ten zillion zillion plates to touch,
to wash and put away re-stacked.
In fact
I don't quite know
how many, if any, I've made already clean
for it seems that I've labored so long
& and with nothing to show.
Oh, now I can see what I've seen
in so many bad dreams.
If the Chef wasn't here
the washer could feel free to raise his screams,
long screams, and even louder sounds of fear-
or just some human song.
 
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Sep 1, 2012
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I'm not the biggest fan of religious poetry. I like scripture of course, but sometimes religious poetry seems either forced or maybe a not-so-good repeat of what we find in the bible already. Anyone know what I mean?

Yes ewq I do. But the problem (I think) is with the word 'religious'. Many (maybe most) people confuse and elide 'religion' and spiritual realities. Frost's superb apple picking poem is not about 'religion' but it is packed to bursting with spiritual realities. In God we live and move and have our being whether it be apple picking or dish washing.
Yea I've had quite a few of those kind of jobs :)
Go well
><>
 
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Paidiske

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Thank you for starting this thread!

I know your works.
I know that you have treasured
the words of life
with the very best of intentions.

And that you are helpless
when those intentions stray
like cats by starlight,
not heeding when you call.

I know you have but little power;
the mistake comes in thinking
that more power will be the answer
to the puzzle of your existence.

Listen! The drum is beating
calling to you with the pulse of life.
Love, love, love, it cries;
what has power to do with love?
 
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mama2one

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# 1 mama, "I love you" notes
show me kindness of this child you sent
though I don't deserve this girl we raise
grateful for this daughter You did lent

may we have wisdom to raise her right
although it seems she teaches us so
she spreads joy to others so easy
we are blessed for this daughter we know
 
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mama2one

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stuck in this body
I scream to get out
why does it pain me
want to move about

comical it is
watch me fall on floor
or I'll catch myself
and grab for the door

should I accept this
or fight with Your might
won't give up today
woman you must fight

hang on, girl, hang on
God will show you how
it's another day
be glad and up now
 
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Maniel

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Title: The Black Shade

A shadow follows wherever I go,

old dark memories,

present evil.

I try to forget, another glass of wine

a big inhale to the sound of a baseline.

Day after day, year after year.



Emotions are building up

The Black Shade,

painted like a trail.

Self-hatred and shame,

a black candle flame.

What is real?



I’m crying for help

Who can help me in my misery?

What Is truth?

My own judgement,

my pride and self-righteousness.

A dark cloud covering my eyes.



I was tired I was weak,

you who heal the sick,

a gentle touch from your hand,

you took me to the Holy Land.

Your death on the cross,

forgiveness for my past.



A new life you gave,

in grace we may live.

I want to thank you,

I’m nothing but a worm,

but you call me home

To your eternal Throne.



Thank you Jesus
 
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starryshadows

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In the morning I will praise Him,
My lungs filled with the day's newborn air.
Every inhale a new miracle, a life given in each heartbeat.
With my eyes filled with tears, I will sing to Him in the night
A song wrought from the pouring rain in my soul,
The drenching of a bone-dry heart, cracked and brittle,
Softening like clay in the Potter's hand.
 
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Ada Lovelace

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Now is an old truth long forgotten, again made known
If the watcher but wait of beginning gained by end,
Of time grown strange in the trees when their boughs are blown
Of time that is not in the trees but in the wind:
Of life lost not forever, of leaves that are cast
On the perfect curve of return, pure ring of Now
Running from present through future and the past,
From leaf to earth, from root to bole to bough.
 
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ewq1938

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we were, she was

she was just a girl
no one i would cry for
she was just a girl
no one i would die for

i didnt know her well
i wasnt thinking of her
i didnt know her well
well i know i didnt love her

i knew her for awhile
which days i cant recall
i knew her for awhile
i dont know her at all

she said that she would love me
i knew i couldnt let her
she said that she would love me
im glad that i knew better

(i never will forget her)
 
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Martyr's Crown

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Now is an old truth long forgotten, again made known
If the watcher but wait of beginning gained by end,
Of time grown strange in the trees when their boughs are blown
Of time that is not in the trees but in the wind:
Of life lost not forever, of leaves that are cast
On the perfect curve of return, pure ring of Now
Running from present through future and the past,
From leaf to earth, from root to bole to bough.

I do find this an interesting way of writing. There is something about this poem which catches your attention.

Anyhow, I don't get quite what it's all about! Even though the way you describe everything in words, does seems very profound!

But it is nicely done, too!
 
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Ada Lovelace

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Hi Stanfordella - I don't visit CF often at the moment but I'm glad I saw this one. It really captures and expresses (for me) that deep yearning to communicate the beauty and glory of God to others. It has a Tagoreish tinge to it. Typo in line 8?
Yes we are weak but He gives strength.
Go well
afish

Thanks for your encouraging feedback and for making me aware of the typo! :sunflower:
 
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Jeshu

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To The Speakers Of Words.

Whatever do you mean using words again?
Is vocabulary not a little plain?
Words synchronising souls as one?
Can such a feat truly be done?
For I cannot with words relay,
Why I am myself this way.

Be events either good or bad,
be our interaction sad or glad.
Consider, good times offer happy faces,
still the words spoken are just reflecting traces,
of the togetherness that's found,
for joy, cannot, by words, be bound!

Bear in mind that laughter resists spelling,
even as tears wail words of wrong telling.
Watch jealousy offer red hot treason,
just as rage defies all spoken reason.
so hateful thoughts inside our heart do burn,
while its miseries for God's goodness yearn.

Could our reality be fully articulated?
Present tense offering more than has been explicated?
Truer then the written pages used to announce?
A whole lot more than anyone could ever pronounce?
For events increase what in your heart and mind will stay,
telling so much more than you can read, or I can say!

Or can your tongue genuinely translate..,
..what feelings twine through your thoughts of late?
Surely life within, words can only address?
So often creating a real inner mess!
Moreover what about these spirits so sly,
evil thoughts weaving words into a lie?

Please know the heart so you can see,
that words hide much sin and misery.
Even the Bible, The Loving Word of the Lord,
requires the Spirit to cut like a flaming sword.
Albeit The Truth needs no letters to explain Himself,
nor any accusers after His mistakes to delve.

See how compassion heeds love with much regard,
understand that hope restores a faltering heart.
Observe determination reach out at a distant goal,
and experience true thankfulness gladdening your soul.
Feel the joy which lights-up a most sombre face,
and live beneath the umbrella of God's Grace.

Please know that trust has no boundaries nor fear,
even as in love many are as one so near.
So truthfulness is also a gift of yore,
our very existence has in this its core.
Oh such truth with mere words I can never explain,
as ink on a diamond will always look a stain!

So merely pen and paper paraphrasing what would be?
Words illustrating the breath of spirituality?
Or does our language hinder His salvation?
The lack of phrases chaining contemplation?
Therefore linguistics cannot always stand,
as even Scripture's words come to an end.

Rather the truth your heart accumulates,
will determine what final fate awaits.
When in word or letter you've made a stand,
The Lord will such results from you demand.
Yet if the Spirit of Loving Truth shapes your reality,
judgement day will bring joy instead of anxiety.
 
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Martyr's Crown

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To The Speakers Of Words.

Whatever do you mean using words again?
Is vocabulary not a little plain?
Words synchronising souls as one?
Can such a feat truly be done?
For I cannot with words relay,
Why I am myself this way.

Be events either good or bad,
be our interaction sad or glad.
Consider, good times offer happy faces,
still the words spoken are just reflecting traces,
of the togetherness that's found,
for joy, cannot, by words, be bound!

Bear in mind that laughter resists spelling,
even as tears wail words of wrong telling.
Watch jealousy offer red hot treason,
just as rage defies all spoken reason.
so hateful thoughts inside our heart do burn,
while its miseries for God's goodness yearn.

Could our reality be fully articulated?
Present tense offering more than has been explicated?
Truer then the written pages used to announce?
A whole lot more than anyone could ever pronounce?
For events increase what in your heart and mind will stay,
telling so much more than you can read, or I can say!

Or can your tongue genuinely translate..,
..what feelings twine through your thoughts of late?
Surely life within, words can only address?
So often creating a real inner mess!
Moreover what about these spirits so sly,
evil thoughts weaving words into a lie?

Please know the heart so you can see,
that words hide much sin and misery.
Even the Bible, The Loving Word of the Lord,
requires the Spirit to cut like a flaming sword.
Albeit The Truth needs no letters to explain Himself,
nor any accusers after His mistakes to delve.

See how compassion heeds love with much regard,
understand that hope restores a faltering heart.
Observe determination reach out at a distant goal,
and experience true thankfulness gladdening your soul.
Feel the joy which lights-up a most sombre face,
and live beneath the umbrella of God's Grace.

Please know that trust has no boundaries nor fear,
even as in love many are as one so near.
So truthfulness is also a gift of yore,
our very existence has in this its core.
Oh such truth with mere words I can never explain,
as ink on a diamond will always look a stain!

So merely pen and paper paraphrasing what would be?
Words illustrating the breath of spirituality?
Or does our language hinder His salvation?
The lack of phrases chaining contemplation?
Therefore linguistics cannot always stand,
as even Scripture's words come to an end.

Rather the truth your heart accumulates,
will determine what final fate awaits.
When in word or letter you've made a stand,
The Lord will such results from you demand.
Yet if the Spirit of Loving Truth shapes your reality,
judgement day will bring joy instead of anxiety.

Wonderful! :clap:
 
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Jeshu

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Grace.

Grace is not a feeling or a thought,
Neither can it be sold or bought.

It cannot be swallowed like a pill,
Or cheaply ease some inner ill.

Grace does not enforce any demand,
Nor is anything personal banned.

Rather it is God's healing hand of Love,
His compassion descending from above,
Lifting us gently out of our inner pain,
So we can safely be ourselves again.
 
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Martyr's Crown

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Grace.

Grace is not a feeling or a thought,
Neither can it be sold or bought.

It cannot be swallowed like a pill,
Or cheaply ease some inner ill.

Grace does not enforce any demand,
Nor is anything personal banned.

Rather it is God's healing hand of Love,
His compassion descending from above,
Lifting us gently out of our inner pain,
So we can safely be ourselves again.

You have really a powerful and beautiful way with writing your poems! They also speak to me.

God keep on inspiring you and helping you with forming your words, so that it will continue to touch hearts and edify more people! In Jesus's Name, Amen!
 
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