Adventures of Caelereth

Main Out Of Character Area => General Out of Character Discussions => Topic started by: Leif Terskun on April 14, 2012, 08:46:08 PM

Title: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on April 14, 2012, 08:46:08 PM
Welcome to the Poets’ Corner. The purpose of this thread is to get some poetry going among Santharians and see if we can have some enjoyable and constructive conversation on it. I feel that verse is a sadly neglected part of the writer’s art on the role-playing board, with the focus on prose narrative, and while I greatly enjoy reading prose I’d absolutely love to see some of your poetry. I know that I can learn a lot from reading the poems of others and from having others read my poems, and I hope that everyone who contributes can benefit from the exchange of creativity.

Poems do not have to be Santharian in nature, though they can be. There is no need to use a set rhythm or rhyme pattern, but again, you may if you wish. I have a very simple definition of poetry that I want to apply, and it consists entirely of delineation - if what you’ve written is divided into lines, it’s poem enough for me. Any other definition, I’ve found, is too subjective or too difficult to apply. Consider this:

Your body - still warm - lies among the sheets. You knew it was going to end this way, asleep in bed, and for that, if nothing else, I am happy.

and this:

Your body
- Still warm -
Lies among the sheets.
You knew it was going to end this way:
In bed
You knew it was going to end this way
And for that, I am happy.

One a snippet of prose, the other a (not great, I confess) poem.

There is no obligation to post poems or comments, but I hope that people will feel free to post anything they write. Just post below here; I think that first and foremost we want to have a living exchange of creativity, and an active OOC thread.

I think that’s all, so I’ll kick it off with something I wrote last night, or rather early this morning. I confess that I’ve always resonated with the titular refrain of “Pity Me Not”, so any familiarity is probably that. It was just what I put down.

Mourn Me Not

Mourn me not, my sweet lamenting friend,
That at the day’s cold dawning I no longer watch the sky.
Mourn me not, O women of my home,
That I run no more beneath the sun.
Mourn me not, my mother and my sisters,
That I shall never again stand within your doors.
Mourn me not, my father and my brothers,
That our companionship has been cut short; stay strong.
Mourn me not, thou, my lover and my friend,
That beneath the trees we may no more walk hand in hand,
Nor embrace by starlight nor stare at the cloudless sky.
My death is not to be mourned.

Mourn instead the child in the roaring flood.
Mourn the crippled mother and the starving son.
Mourn the unknown dragged from the freezing river.
But mourn me not. Let me die missed
But unmourned.
Let there be rejoicing over my life
Rather than lamentation over my death.
Celebrate the service I did to my home
Rather than weeping for the life I lost to it.
If you love me, mourn me not.

Title: Re: Poets Corner
Post by: Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin on April 14, 2012, 11:00:46 PM
There once was a man from Nantucket;

What?  I can't post this?  But, that's poetry.  Oh, fine.   :buck:

Title: Re: Poets Corner
Post by: Trya on April 15, 2012, 12:16:37 AM
Oh I like poems!

Here's one...

your golden grace has died away
failing at the end of day
clouds crimson with demise
spears of orange and pink
impale the darkening sky
whilst nebulae and galaxy retreat

and lo the moon steadfast and strong
residing at its peak
wanes to dawn and sunrise sky
forever to repeat

Title: Re: Poets Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on April 15, 2012, 05:57:33 AM
Very nice! I particularly like the falling away of the graceful iambic rhythm and strong rhyme of the opening couplet - the demise of the form echoes the demise of the subject matter. I thought that that was very nicely done.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Aseia on April 15, 2012, 12:15:59 PM
And poetry?  :D This site gets better each time I come on! I'm no avid poet but I do enjoy reading poems and occasionally get the urge to write one, though mostly I do found poetry.

Just a small example:

Underneath a whisper
And alongside a sigh
Comes a little murmur,
Hidden behind a lie.

Just around a hush
And up above a cry
Walks a dark secret,
Waiting there to die.

Down bellow a hiccup
And out in front, a weep
Tip-toes a quiet shout
Lingering on to sleep

Swimming through a gurgle
And there on top, a roar
Stops the vital heart beat,
Until there is no more.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Tak on April 16, 2012, 12:21:36 AM
Very nice you two! 

90% of my poetry uses the white space on the page to bring about one effect or another...I remember I REALLY disliked "left aligned poetry"  heh.

Lets see if I can get the formatting right...

rain, rain go away come again some other
night, when the moon is full, and bright and i
can’t see what is stepping on me when your
mist drenches everything just because you
can doesn’t mean you should the women and children
billy the worms all victims to your fun
rain rain go away can’t you see we don’t
want to play with you and your water full of tears,
tears shed by every child and sick worm, your clear,
wet shoes leaving me and billy red on the pavement
slick with worm tears.

i   scream     as       my            worm-like         friends
     run                                           through                   the
                    rain.     they                                laugh
and    play                            and       scream
while     the         rain


Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on April 16, 2012, 12:51:27 AM
That's quite a haunting poem Aseia; I loved it! The conceit of being underneath a whisper and so on forces you to look at these ideas in a new light, and it's great to read. I did note that bellow -> below in the third stanza might be a change that you want to make to this typescript.

Tak, I really liked your use of the blank spaces on the page there. It's a trick I'm usually wary of using beyond line and stanza breaks, because you see it abused and put in where it doesn't belong, and it's easy to overdo, but I think you pulled it off perfectly there, as the poem visually falls apart. The formatting looks fine to me, but I don't know what it was meant to be like. I hope you didn't lose anything in transcription. I think the lack of capitalisation also makes it seem impressionistic and dreamlike - in fact, like an impressionist picture, with flashes of sense but breaking all the rules of the familiar while remaining art.

And am I starting to see a little pattern here? Only half our poets so far have capitalised lines. Tak and Trya, is that a common feature of your poetry? Aseia, do you ever do that? Personally, I've never done it. I've never written a poem where I felt the effect needed that.

I'm going cheat a little and post something I wrote a long time ago with my creative writing group based very firmly around a poem called The Homes of England ( I think that my one makes a lot more sense in the context of having read that one, and it's written by a proper poet, so you should enjoy it :P.

Here's mine:

The stately homes of England
Are crumbling as they stand
Amidst their tall ancestral trees
And briar-throttled land.
The deer across their greensward bound
Through cans and glassy gleam
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some lamenting stream.

The merry homes of England
Might barely last the night;
What gladsome looks of household loves
Are forced in evening light?
There woman's voice flows forth in song
As grievances are told
Or lips move tunefully along
A dirge for days of old.

The blessed homes of England!
How deathly on their bowers
Is laid the holy quietness
That comes from empty hours!
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime
No longer haunts the morn;
All other sounds, in that still time,
Are nascent, yet unborn.

The cottage homes of England
Stand empty on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks;
A lie in hamlets' fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
The houses no-one leaves,
And fearless there the lowly sleep;
The birds beneath their eaves.

The free, fair homes of England
Have desolate great halls;
May hearts of native proof be reared
To die before each wall.
And green forever be the groves
And damp the lumpen sod
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
To curse an absent God!

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Tak on April 16, 2012, 01:15:17 AM
Hehe, that's a little something left over from college poetry classes.  "Don't let microsoft word capitalize words for you, take CONTROL of your poetry". 

My teacher was a nutcase.  A genius nutcase, but a nutcase none the less.  It WAS fun to get him ranting about his candle horde that he had just in case "Xcel Energy cuts me off!"

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on April 16, 2012, 01:45:41 AM
I write the majority of my poetry by hand, so that doesn't really apply to me. I think it may be a little flawed to refuse to capitalise words based on that in general, but I take your point about not just leaving words capitalised where they'd be better not. I think you should certainly think about it, but for me the default is capitalised.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Alýr (Rayne) on April 16, 2012, 02:18:55 AM
With regards to capitalization, I generally side with Tak's view to take control of one's work. There's a lot of convention out there with regards to poetry--sonnets are iambic pentameter, ballads are iambic tetrameter (or repeated tetrameter/trimeter), villanelles must repeat lines appropriately, etc. But I feel like, unlike the conventions that dictate form, the notion of capitalizing has been carried down through the age without really ever questioning why. Iambic pentameter (and really, all meter) creates musicality, the repeated lines give a spiraling feel to a poem (or a constant revisiting). What does capitalization really contribute?

There is an answer: capitalization lends a feeling of power. Upper case letters are strong, loud symbols. (Don't believe me? HOW ABOUT NOW?!). Lower case letters can give the feeling of passivity and quietness, which is why (in recent years, when writing for myself), I only capitalize the beginning of sentences, and not the beginning of every line.

Like meter, diction, rhyme, etc. grammar is a tool all poets have in their back pocket. It can be invaluable to contributing to the tone and voice you're trying to convey.

That's my two sans, from an avid lover of poetry and occasional poet. And as I'm already here, I suppose I might as well post a poem as well.

The cities shift in seasons changing
with scenes and settings re-arranging;
I’m always coming, always leaving--
another place, but same soft evening.

And all the while that I’ve been roaming
I’ve longed but for the peace of gloaming
when dusty day is dim and dying
and from the east the star come flying.

The fall, with brilliance quickly fading,
came suddenly, the seasons trading
estival warmth for gelid grieving
in wailing winter wind’s white weaving

through barren boughs, once green and growing
(now perches for the frost flakes snowing),
across the sky, where white clouds playing
have aged, turned haggard, hoary, graying.

The freezing lent to winter’s keeping
has woken, risen, biting, teaming--
those rivers where the rocks were weeping
are chilled and stilled in icy gleaming.

But every night my mind is sleeping,
My heart is lit in lovely dreaming.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on April 16, 2012, 04:33:37 AM
My feeling is that the line is the natural unit of poetry just like the sentence is of prose. By capitalising each line you are recognising and emphasising the fact that where you choose to start a new line is important and can change the feel or even meaning of a poem. That's why, as well as the fact there are no sentence breaks in it, Tak's uncapitalised poem felt chaotic and unceasing - the line breaks are rendered far less important and we are hardly given pause. Likewise, in the example you posted, Rayne, the lines are far closer together aurally.

I'm all for well-controlled poetry, or crazy poetry if you feel like it, but I don't think that rejecting capitalisation is needed. It does not only contribute power, but also definition. If you want to reject that, well and good; if it's a stylistic decision, rather than laziness or what have you, then it's legitimate.

And just because:

A little scrap of
Sprang eternal from the
Fountain of
Youth and


Glorious, standing there
Alone there
Against the
And the rainbow and
The marble and
The sky and

In that
Moment I

Loved you.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Alýr (Rayne) on April 16, 2012, 07:45:54 AM
Yes, the line is a definite marker of poetry--like the stanza. However, when you take into consideration the visual aspects of the poem--including things like spelling, capitalization, and just the look of the poem on the page--the line itself is already a fairly strong statement, I think. Visually, the break of a line is already somewhat dramatic, and I think that the capital letter is usually superfluous in making this bolder.

I agree that Tak's poem has an element of chaos to it, but I think the lack of capital letters actually plays a very, very small part in the conveyance of that feeling as compared to the use of enjambment and the lack of any end-stops. Read it with the first line capitalized; is the feeling of chaos much diminished? (Forgive me, Tak, for altering your poem!)

Rain, rain go away come again some other
Night, when the moon is full, and bright and i
Can’t see what is stepping on me when your
Mist drenches everything just because you
Can doesn’t mean you should the women and children
Billy the worms all victims to your fun
Rain rain go away can’t you see we don’t
Want to play with you and your water full of tears,
Tears shed by every child and sick worm, your clear,
Wet shoes leaving me and billy red on the pavement
Slick with worm tears.

I   scream     as       my            worm-like         friends
     Run                                           through                   the
                    Rain.     they                                laugh
And    play                            and       scream
While     the         rain


Perhaps it's just me, but I feel as though it is still a chaotic poem. To me, the capitalization introduces the feeling that there is a strong character hidden somewhere in the chaos, but it is still unceasing chaos.

In my poem, I also use enjambment to hide my lines a little, though the rhyme still adds an element of musicality (in many of my poems, the aural dimension is an important one for me. I was taught that poems should be read aloud, and in my quest for beauty, the music of language naturally played a part). The poem's content is about moving, being stretched a bit by constantly being on the move, so the tetrameter lines are extended ('stretched') by one unaccented syllable--creating a feminine rhyme (it does feel a bit feminine, doesn't it?). The rhyme itself unites the couplets; the consistency of that 'ing' end unites the entire poem, convey the consistency found in an itinerant life in which the speaker feels somewhat passive and thoughtful (conveyed through the tone of the words as well as the lack of capitals).

I think your poem would come across a bit different if you chose differently which lines or elements to capitalize:

A little scrap of
sprang eternal from the
fountain of
youth and


glorious, standing there
alone there
against the
and the rainbow and
the marble and
the sky and

In that
moment i

loved you.

Only "Hope" and "You" are capitalized; suddenly those words become very important, and the poem focuses in on those to elements as the themes of this poem. Also notice what happens when you make "I" lower case; the strength vanishes from the speaker. Suddenly the speaker is defenseless, vulnerable, helpless in the face of their own love for the "you" in the poem. For me, with your capitalization, the speaker seems stronger, and I get the feeling that the "moment" is of more importance--as though to say "I loved you, but only in that moment. I'm strong, and I've gotten over you since that moment has passed." Perhaps that's a little stronger, but it's definitely a different feeling for me. Is it for you?

I feel as though I am under obligation to post a poem, this being the poet's corner and all.  :buck:

What if this is all we are?
--these shadows on the wall;
shaking, shuddering, shifting,
moving with the sunlight
streaming through a back window,
the echoes of a far off call
arising beyond the yellow mountains
of our ancient, broken culture,
the hollow whispers of a voice
once deep and rumbling.

I see the darkness when I close my eyes;
is this all we are?

As long as your shadow presses mine
against the wall of our reflection-life,
as long as you have a name for me
when my name is forgotten,
I am.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Deklitch Hardin on April 16, 2012, 10:35:45 AM
This was part of a poem I wrote some time ago bemoaning the changes inflicted upon the Star Trek franchise by changing standards of society and more specifically political correctness. I guess I must have been an adolescent at the time or in my early 20's ... which puts it in the time frame of the very late 80's to the early - mid 90's.

The Good Old Days of James T Kirk
When Bones and Spock crossed blades
Of humans against alien empires
As Kirk bedded a bevy of babes *
The Enterprise was manned mainly by humans
The one alien was considered odd
And political correctness was not held correct
As jokes were made of Spock

* This line was originally "And intergalactic warfare was waged". In an earlier revision, I changed intergalactic to intragalactic as all the foes were part of the milky way galaxy. but that was unwieldy ... and the bit about Kirk's behaviour is more in keeping with the changes between TOS and the later Star Trek series.

At around the same time The Next Generation was ending, and Star Trek: Generations was being released ... I was bemoaning that fact as I wrote this next one ...

Space ... The Final Frontier, the words immortalised by Kirk,
Leading and directing the original enterprise crew,
Their time has passed, but the Federation still lasts,
And there are places where no one has goen still.

I can't recall the rest of it ... however I do think I had verses to each of the main characters of TNG in it.

Finally ... I used to play Warhammer Quest with some friends ... and we called ourselves the Gay Troupadours ... naturally, I wrote a poem about our exploits :)

We Are the Gay Troupadours, and we're going on a quest!
We'll hack and slash and slay monsters, cause that's what we do best!
Our reputation is growing, we're known right across the land!
We'll traverse many dungeons, with staff and sword, and axe and mace, and bow and spell, and spear and club and lantern close at hand!

That was the chorus for it ... then there was a verse on each of the characters ... primarily focusing on our dumb luck in cases, and/or our bad luck. Shame I can't find the rest of that poem :)

Edit: My English teachers from school taught us you always have to capitalise lines in poetry ... whether they were right or wrong ... it kind of stuck for me :)

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Ryvic Darkveil on April 16, 2012, 01:01:49 PM
Very nerdy, very nice. :P

To join the "capitalization debate", I think Leif's A little scrap poem was better with less capital letters. I disagree with not capitalizing 'I', though. I thought it was a typo when I read it.

Must I? Oh, very well.
Here's one of mine:

Since exactly "what" may fade over time,
and precisely "how" will dim in passing,
are we doomed to tradition with no purpose,
will we do as we did because "it is so"?

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on April 16, 2012, 07:24:50 PM
I disagree, like Ryvic, with decapitalising "I" as a general rule, even more than decapitalising lines. I think that line breaks are how I mark emphasis, as with "You", more than anything.

In my little scrap, the intended emphasis is in fact on the moment - that one brief moment of love. No message of "I'm strong" is intended, but it is nostalgic, reminiscent. I didn't love you before; perhaps I don't now; but I did then. I'm surprised you chose to capitalised "Hope" of all the lines, however. Perhaps you read the poem differently to how I read it/

I think you've actually put a fair bit more emphasis on Tak's first words with that, but of course it's an effect with many factors. However, try this (again, forgive me Tak for I have sinned, I have edited the script of another poet without obtaining his prior permission):
Rain, rain, go away; come again some other
Night, when the moon is full, and bright, and I
Can’t see what is stepping on me, when your
Mist drenches everything. Just because you
Can doesn’t mean you should - the women and children,
Billy, the worms, all victims to your fun.
Rain, rain, go away. Can’t you see we don’t
Want to play with you and your water full of tears,
Tears shed by every child and sick worm? Your clear,
Wet shoes leaving me and Billy red on the pavement,
Slick with worm tears.

I   scream     as       my            worm-like         friends
     Run                                           through                   the
                    Rain.     They                                laugh
And    play                            and       scream
While     the         rain

I'm aware that there are many other ways of capitalising and punctuating this poem, but this already is less nonsensical.

Can I just say that I'm hugely enjoying this discussion and that I'm glad this thread has seen such activity?

Now, this is already a long post, but Rayne, I loved both the poems you posted - this being the poets' corner, for a communal effort of poetry - although when you said feminine rhymes I was transported into a memory of one of my English teachers looking on with steely gaze as another discussed the feminine line endings of a certain poem. The couplets binding together quite different ideas and the change - and change back - of the rhyme at the end brought a wonderful musical quality to the first and the empty space at the end of the second poem allows that final thought to expand in the unexpected silence. Speaking of the music of poetry, I wrote an essay on it recently, for some competion. I looked at Shakespeare, Donne, Eliot and Wendy Cope.

Dek, I agree with Ryvic, very nice and nerdy poems. I'm afraid that I don't get many of the references, but I found them very amusing little pieces, and I liked the alliteration in the first one and the rhyme in the last particularly, and I'd be delighted to read any remaining verses that you happen to find anywhere - or indeed anything else you've written or will write.

Ryvic, you must not if you do not wish but we'd love you to - and a very appropriate poem too, it seems, to Rayne's earlier argument. I like the simple nature of the challenge to blind tradition, and the blunt honesty of its assessment - it seems to be making more of a point about contemporary clinging to tradition than that of the future, which is what it ostensibly deals with, and the observant "it is so" is powerful in its summary of hidebound tradition.

Keep posting poems and criticism, everyone!

The cold
Like hands, like a caress,
Like a gentle, insistent touch
Reaching through jackets
Down collars
Through the gaps between pockets and sleeves
Creeping under hats
And through the weave of gloves
For a paralysing hug
Shaken off each time
More weakly than before.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Aseia on April 16, 2012, 08:16:30 PM
Thank you Leif  :) Just to quickly answer your question, I have never decapitalised lines when I write poetry, but that is just my personal preference and not anything more.

I don't think it's either wright or wrong, some of my favourite poems have decapitalised lines, such as Louis MacNeice's 'Prayer before Birth' :

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
     with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
        on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

I don't think the decapitalising on this particular poem takes any of the feeling away from it, and though Alýr pointed out that lower case letters can give the feeling of passivity and quietness, the words alone here without the use of capital letters are strong enough to take effect, poetry is after all essentially to read.

But why do I capitalize every line? To me it suggests that, although I may be telling a story, it is not a regular story, and certainly not prose. To give each line (however subtle) its own authority and to underscore to myself the integrity of the line, which is after all what distinguishes poetry from all other literary genres.
 Capitalizing the first letter of each beginning word in a line of poetry is traditional and historically, this was how poetry had been distinguished from other art forms when rendered on the page.

Again though, I do it for myself and think it all comes down to the esthetic value of each individual, and can not two people look at the exact same thing and see it differently?

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Tak on April 16, 2012, 10:40:50 PM
Everyone is editing my poems!   Ahhhh! :grin:

I did a whole series of poems on chaos and madness (oddly enough that one wasn't one of them). I'll try to root them up and post some of the better ones.

Lovely posts everyone, who thought we had so many poets!

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Ryvic Darkveil on April 17, 2012, 12:25:40 AM
Why do I not capitalize every line? because I didn't know better. I capitalize the beginning of sentences, and I never thought very deeply about it when I carried it over to poems.

I'm running out of poems (yes, you counted correctly, this is my second one), but here's another one:

When memories are as faint as flickering dreams,
and reminiscences cause only the slightest of gleams,
When thoughts of things past begin to fade,
hearts will often start to jade.

If we forget the past,
we destroy the future.
Remember, record, retain.

Now that I think about it, this is an opposing view of the Tradition poem, seeing the importance of the past. I've never thought this deeply about poetry, and I must say, it's rather interesting.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Tak on April 17, 2012, 01:39:47 AM
I also am not particularly fond of "left aligned" poetry.  My thoughts are: you have an ENTIRE PAGE to play with, so why stick to the top left corner?

Since people keep taking my poems for examples...LEIF!  YOUR POEM'S EDITED TIME HAS COME!  (Bwahahah)

The cold
                       Like hands,
                                       like a caress,
         Like a gentle,
                            insistent touch
Reaching through                           jackets
                         Down collars

Through the gaps                      between pockets             
                         and sleeves
Creeping under
And through the weave               of gloves

For a paralysing hug
                 Shaken off each time

More weakly than before.

When you break up the lines like this you create a natural pause where there are spaces.  You also play with how we read the poem.  For instance, at the "Reaching through jackets/down collars" part it can be read as, "Reaching through/down collars/jackets" which I think adds an air of fluidity and change to a poem.  Not all poems can succeed like this, and not all poems NEED this treatment, but personally, I like it.  It's just another element that you can control to get which ever effect you desire.

Now, for one of my more chaotic poems.  This poem was originally a Sestina (  It's one of my favorite poetic styles, though I usually write them and then tear them apart to create quaint little chaotic poems like this one (note, the formatting WILL get screwed up, but I'll try to get it as close to how it should be).

Words paint a picture in your mind

go away, rain, rain
 no one likes being soaked
 that is why we live in the desert
 where everything is rough
 like copper
 or a beam of light

it is my favorite       to be soaked
           no     rough
               feeling        like when it is light
                                          and your skin like copper
                                                 and you are in       desert
                                                        and there is no sign for rain

remember                   when    young                watching       light
 after                               afternoon   sun              transform       rain
 into                                dancing beauty               all              copper
 ballerina                  hopping         
                                             fro    too
 with       water smooth     out    all     rough
 edges in         sandy     clutches                desert
                      for        desert 
 flowers                               life tough
 it is said     withering    in        light
 of       sun   roots trying   
                                                    through       rough
 never getting        water from        rain
 just when       top dirt is soaked
 all      bloom    in       sky copper
                                  fading sun       
there are                         things     
                      in this world that are rough
                      one               is coarse              like copper
 but             things                 polish                    like rain
 there are places     with       little rain                         like desert
 in these places        things get              hot             from light
                                                                                   from sun   
 when they touch       
                                                       they break before
                                                                                          they soaked

watching        edges
                    rain                   rough
       sand         dissolving       
                   soaked                copper
                        no                                   in       
                                             light                               desert

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on April 17, 2012, 08:07:12 AM
Just to clarify, I don't think that decapitalising lines is wrong per se. I just don't do it because I've never felt the need. I do agree with Aseia that the capitalisation is, as I said, a way to give each line its full weight. I agree also with the idea that poetry is not prose and for me there is a presumption of capitalisation.

Ryvic, I don't think it's a matter of knowing better; I hope I haven't given the impression that I see uncapitalised lines as illegitimate. I do like your latest poem; perhaps that one should be next to the earlier one? They have on one level opposite messages, but there is a subtle difference that unifies their philosophy into something of a "remember the past but do not be bound by it" worldview.

Tak, I don't really feel that the unaligned nature of that poem adds to what I was trying to convey. It wasn't meant to be a chaotic piece; if anything, I think the return to the same place better meshes with the idea of the returning cold.  I also disagree with putting too much emphasis on the page - poetry is an aural medium, and if you write in English you start at the top left and move right and down. Why change it? Your poem there, though, really is chaotic, and I agree with the way you've done that. I think that your predilection for uncapitalised lines and moving about the page works very well with the themes and the feel of your poetry; again, the disjointed visual mirrors the disjointed syntax.

To post a little something:

I saw you for a year
Knew you for a month
Was on speaking terms with you for a week
And alone with you for a single day.

For an hour I was close to you;
For a minute to your mind -
Of all the things I searched it for
Love was what I didn't find.

I seem to have written two consecutive lost-love poems. How depressing. I'll be more cheerful next time, I promise.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Aseia on April 17, 2012, 09:31:25 AM
Gosh, everyone has done such lovely poems!  :)

Just to keep things going, here's a little something else of mine, a piece from my old schooling years ( :cry: they seem an age gone now,  :lol: ) where we were given the title of Ocean. Did anyone else get that same sort of project, given one word that you had to turn into a piece of literature? This is what I came up with anyway.

Crushing waves of water
Ready for the slaughter
Receive me I am your daughter.

Breathe out your salty air
Reveal your blue black flair
Your moonlight silver glair.

Your creatures shadow creep
Your darkness swelling deep
Your golden grains of bottom sleep.

Slap into the rocks you fight
Send shimmering drops of silver light
Show your beauty true midnight.

Your silent shores fair
Watching forever you stare
The brave hearts coming you dare.

Why not ask seeing as we are all discussing poetry, does everyone have a favourite poem or poet? I don't know if I could pick a poet, there are so many brilliantly distinguished ones but for a poem I would have to say Edgar Allan Poe's 'A Dream Within A Dream'. What I wouldn't do to be able to write like that!

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Deklitch Hardin on April 17, 2012, 09:33:47 AM
Oh sorry ... I was meaning more from my last post in this thread that I capitalise every line in my poems because that's what I was taught to do at Primary School all those many many many years ago. I wasn't meaning to suggest that I thought it was right or wrong to capitalise or not to capitalise ... it was just a habbit I got into from then ... and as Sam and Frodo found when they attempted to hit hobbits that were picking on them with bricks, but failed ... bad hobbits are hard to brick.

I think that sort of stuff is up to the poet in question. :)

This isn't one of my own ... but rather one from the Warhammer Quest Game released by Games Workshop. It is actually sung by an Ogre ... It is called "It is Dark"

It is dark when its dark in the dark
And I haven't eaten for hours
Bring me orcs, bring me gobbos bring me trolls
They will do as a snack for starters
Yuse can keep da jewels
What I want instead
Is to find a smelly orc
And kick 'im in da head
It is dark when its dark in the dark
And I haven't eaten for hours
(Continued ad nauseum)

And another one that isn't my own ... but was in some ways inspiration for Sordoc the Great and his 'poetry' ... The Poetic Fiend from the Grailquest series (similar to Choose Your Own Adventure, but set in the time of Camelot ... full of puns, and one lines, designed to entertain and amuse adolescent males)

Is it a ghoul, the creature says
Laid out to rest for the end of its days?
Is it a vampire, thirsty and paler,
A cousin of Dracula or Vlad the Impaler?
Is it a ghost,
I don't mean to boast.
But it looks dramatic,
Like a gral in the attic,
In fact this slim creature is not what it seemed,
It's the handsome and witty, renowned, Poetic Fiend.

Like Sordoc the Great, the Poetic Fiend did the most atrocious poetry, but thought it was great ... the greatest and he was a poetic Par Excellence. The Poetic Fiend would kill the character (you'd go to the dreaded page 13 - its page of death) if your response was that it was bad. :)

Sometime when I return, I'll post another one of my own poem ... it is to do with a project I thought of a long time ago, and now have the enthusiasm to get it going again.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Deklitch Hardin on April 17, 2012, 09:35:07 AM
I love so many of the Australian Bush Poets. Both old school and new school. 'A Bush Christening' by A B Banjo Paterson is a favourite.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Aseia on April 17, 2012, 09:41:36 AM
 :D Yes!
A.B. "Banjo" Paterson's 'The Man From Snowy River' is one of my all time favourites and so many of Henry Lawson's, especially 'In The Day's When We Are Dead'. I could rattle on for hours.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Alýr (Rayne) on April 17, 2012, 11:26:53 AM
"A Dream Within a Dream" is one of my go-to poems. I (unfortunately) have the entirely of the poem quite memorized, and break it out upon leaving someone in poetical fashion... and then it gets awkward, because I intend to conclude at "my days have been a dream" and never do. And he or she with whom I'm parting looks at me quizzically as I flutter through to the second verse: "Is all that we see or seem," I ask earnestly, "but a dream within a dream?"

(The end of Keat's Ode to a Nightingale ends up being somewhat the same, where I never stop at "the fancy cannot cheat so well.")

Alas, to choose just one is so difficult, like choosing the favorite of my many mentors. I like many for many different reasons: "Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold for its philosophy, "Deersong" by Leslie Marmon Silko for its images and perspective, "Dwelling' by Li-Young Lee for its beautiful and heartbreaking use of grammar, T.S. Elliot's "Preludes" and "Wasteland" because I have lived that type of life in that type of city, William Carlos William's "This Is Just To Say" for its subtle statement about societal norms, "Sea Fever" by John Masefield because it reminds me of my father (and is also his favorite poem), "Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats because of the musicality and (for me) the nostalgia (I memorized it in full in middle school because I loved it so much), "The Blessing" by James Wright for its subtle sadness and hopefulness, "Break, Break, Break" by Alfred Lord Tennyson for the comfort it gave me when Luci died, "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop for its tragic irony, "The Second Coming" by W.B. Yeats for its powerful images and statement, "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" by Wallace Stevens for its creativity, ... oh, I could go on...!

If you love Poe, though, I will say that one of my favorite of his poems is Ulalume. It's orgasmically musical (am I allowed to say so?) and beautifully haunting.

Apropos capital letters: it does not matter whether one capitalizes the beginning of his or her lines or not. It doesn't matter whether or not he or she use end-stops or conservative spacing. All that matters is writing thoughtfully, and having a reason for all you do. Can you justify the capital? Do you intend the strength it gives? The tone it lends? The power it introduces? If so, then carry on; if not, then reconsider.

With the memory of so many astounding poets and poems in my head, it makes it hard to post anything! I will say that I don't write poetry with the same gusto as I did before--now-a-days my poems are generally composed for something other than me: as a political statement, as a way of saying 'thank you' (somewhere in my files is a copy of a sonnet I gave to a homeless guy), or some other purpose.

I recently quit my job and created a bricolage poem composed of eight quotes from four famous poets:

I must depart within my style;
Come leave your tears: a brief farewell!
If we meet again...we shall smile
If not... this parting was made well.

I raise a glass to yesterday!
Though waywardness seems be my lot,
Good memories shan't fade away
nor old acquaintance be forgot.

Please know that there is much I'll miss.
Though I will carry on somehow.
Now I will simply blow a kiss
(I always made an awkward bow.)

Adieu, adieu! remember me.
Pray think of me when I am gone.
It were a grief... to part with thee
But roads go ever ever on.

Remember, till the day it comes
When yet again our paths have crossed
Not all riches are bound in sums
Not all those who wander are lost.

That's right: I was the eccentric who said goodbye to a stodgy, conservative company by writing poetry. No 'traditional' boring goodbye email for me; I'm riding out "on the viewless wings of poesy"!

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Tak on April 17, 2012, 01:33:46 PM
Susan Stewart is probably my favorite poet of all time.  It used to be T.S. Elliot, but I think Stewart takes the cake.  Here's a shining example of one of her books, and one of her poems:  Columbarium (

The Lost Colony

They never learned to tell
one bird from another, a shrub

from a weedy sapling,
or when the season had

forced a flower's bloom, not
even if a berry

had ripened into poison.
And yet they drew endless

distinctions between
colors and polish and

coarseness of weave,
and would not let

their daughters
marry out.

They didn't keep
their children, though they

gave them tests and fed
them. They were known

for meticulous records, for
their trophies and peeling stars.

They burned things up
or wore them down, had ranks

and staff and lecterns,
machines that moved them

from place to place, bright
jewels and playing cards.

They were old when they could
have been young, and young

when they could have been old.
They left a strange word

in a tree: croatoan,
and a track in the dust of Mars.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Deklitch Hardin on April 18, 2012, 07:40:03 AM
The poem I promised earlier ... I had typed it in and everything ... but then somehow forgot to hit post :(

Verse 1
Deep in the Southlands, of the Kingdom of Chivalry,
Lived a boy and his family, their lives seemed ordinary,
He grew up with older brothers, each one learning a trade,
To be an innkeeper, seemed to be the purpose of his days.
'Til fate disguised as a storm, blew strangers through their door,
And the boy's life changed, and was ordinary no more.

And he'd become the mightiest of heroes, in their land had ever been,
And he'd follow the path of wizards, now mostly unseen,
And he'd save them all from the evil power, of a tyranical king,
And to the lands of the oppressed, freedom at last he'd bring.

It goes on ... but the above is all I can recall at this stage. :)

I had begun writing music for this as well ... but realised that was beyond my abilities ... I do have a tune in my head for it ... it is somewhat akin to "I am Australian" by the Seekers and covered by many other singers ... but the Seekers do it best, I believe. :)

And here's a bit of Banjo Patterson's "A Bush Christening" ... I learnt it a few years ago in the event that I was going to have to present it ... but that never happened.

In the outer Barcoo, where churches are few,
and men of religion are scanty,
On a road never crossed, 'cept by folk who are lost,
One Michael McGee had a shanty.

Now Mike was the dad, of a 10 year old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned,
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest,
For the youngster had never been christened.

And his mother would cry, "if the darling should die,
St Peter would not recognise him!"
But by luck he survived, till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straight away to baptise him.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Roy Tmofl on April 18, 2012, 11:11:34 AM
This is very creepy but...

Lizzy Bordin took an axe, gave her father fourty whacks.
When she had saw what she had done she gave her mother fourty one.

This is another example of something terrible made into a childrens nursery rime or poem.

Does anyone know how that tradition originated?

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Deklitch Hardin on April 18, 2012, 12:59:24 PM
Some fractured nursery rhymes ... not original ones by me ... but rather ones from various sources.

Mary had a little lamb, some oysters and some prunes,
A piece of pie, some cherry cake, and then some macaroons,
It made the wicked waiters laugh to see her order so,
And when they carried poor Mary out, her face was white as snow.

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,
Jack meet mugger, Jack give kick,
Jack show quickness, Jack show skill,
Jack learn bullet quicker still.

Hickory Dickory Dock,
Three mice ran up the clock,
The clock struck one,
And the other two got away with minor injuries and promised to sue the manufacturer for an unsafe clock
Hickory dicory dock.

Mary had a little lamb,
The doctors nearly died,
And when little Jack Horner pulled out a plum,
They couldn't believe their eyes.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on April 18, 2012, 09:56:42 PM
I'm sorry I've not kept up; I've been reading the poems you've put up with relish, and I liked the exchange of poets. If I'm not too late to swing in on the coat-tails of that topic, a poem that is not, perhaps, widely known as a great work of English literature but for me is a lovely example of some truly positive poetry in a time when all too often poetry seems to fall into sombreness or outright depression simply to be seen as real art.

The Orange - by Wendy Cope

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange -
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave -
They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It's new.

The rest of my day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I'm glad I exist.

Aseia, I really liked your Ocean poem - I though the rhyme was powerful, and the emotive strength something impressive. I couldn't pick a favourite poet, or poem, but as I said I greatly enjoyed that Orange poem I posted, so that will have to do as my entry.

Rayne, I take my hat off to you; I've tried doing poems with quotes before - a few years ago now - and simply couldn't get them to mesh together well enough. Perhaps I'll try again, inspired by seeing it so apparently effortlessly done. As for your list of poems and poets, that and those others you came up with should keep me busy for a week - I do have to go back to school soon, as well.

Tak, as I said, I enjoyed all the poems from other poets submitted so far, but I really loved that Lost Colony - the folly, the regret, the sadness, a beautifully done piece.

Roy, I've no idea why such gruesome things became nursery rhymes - to inure children to the idea of death?

And now in some sort of twisted revenge, a poem I wrote myself.

I Should Be

Standing alone on a high place
- Lone, lonely high place! -
Seeing far from a high place.

On a rock in the ocean breeze
- Windswept, salty rock! -
Tasting the freshness of the waves.

Asleep beneath an apple tree
- Beautiful, bountiful apple tree! -
Floating in limine of thought.

Living in some other time
- Idealised, peaceful youth-time! -
Younger in heart and mind.

On the grass, in the sun
- Green grass, warm sun! -
Heedless of time.

Speaking with some friend of mine
- Fine, faithful friend! -
Just for the company, just talking.

Not worrying, not wandering,
Not pandering, not pondering.
I'll imagine myself elsewhere
And that will be enough.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Ryvic Darkveil on April 19, 2012, 02:07:22 AM
About the capitalization, I just meant that's what came naturally to me. You didn't make me think that was wrong.

I haven't read much poetry, so I don't have a favorite. I must say that all of the poems you guys have posted are great!

By me:

I stumbled,
I fell.
I trusted,
I rose.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Deklitch Hardin on April 21, 2012, 01:11:13 AM
The following is a post made by myself in ... it consists basically of 3 limericks. Click on the following link to go there. :D

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Alýr (Rayne) on April 21, 2012, 01:55:34 PM
Dek: I love the fractured nursery rhymes! What entertaining creations!

Leif: The key to writing poems from quotes is to choose metered quotes. Shakespeare, Burns, Keats, and Tolkien were all very musical and very metrical, as you probably know. They ALL wrote in iambs--with Shakespeare and Keats being primarily pentameter and Burns and Tolkien being primarily tetrameter. The meter's already in the quote, which aids in the musicality of the poem; the rest is basic rhyming.

I also like the Wendy Cope poem you posted. It's sweetly constructed, and I like the anapestic meter. There's something kind of warm and fuzzy about anapestic and dactylic meters, I think--something more sing-songy about them. Or maybe it's just the convention for these meters. As a quick example that I know you'll know because you know the Sound of Music: the song "Raindrops on roses" is dactylic--except for the bridge when she talks about 'bad things' (i.e. "when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad." [trochaic])--and then goes straight back into dactyls when she goes back to talking about happy things ("I simply remember my favorite things..."). Just an interesting observation regarding meters.

I like your use of repetition in your poem, too; I've always liked the effect of tasteful repetition--that kind of echo, a feeling of being called back. Quite lovely!

Ryvic: I appreciate a short poem. Poems are beautiful because they can say so much with so little!

As part of my egress, I am going through collecting the poems I wrote on my phone while living here. This is one of them:

The evening presses itself into the streets.
Time is always of the essence,
   and I am learning patience
      with every eyelash,
      with every dirty coffee cup
   (All your cups of darkness,
      smiling at me intimately).

You look at me upside-down and grin.
I tease you with a half-smile.
We are not children anymore,
   though their ghosts possess us from time to time
   playing us like puppets.
If it were only so easy, and hearts
   shone clear and simple as
      plastic, unbreakable.
But we are not children anymore.

I cannot see you so clearly.
I am slowly learning the ways you scare and scatter.
   It feels like learning to hold the fire.
And you forgive my stumbling,
   though I wish I held greater grace.
And my heart is learning that you will
   chip it, unknowingly.
I can watch you go now;
I can watch you leave,
   and in the silent memory of our exchange,
      wonder why.

In the darkness, I escape--
   through the dim streets,
   into the chasmic caverns,
      making my getaway on hollow steel beasts whose music
I'm learning.
The strange, creaking, rushing melody is their tongue,
   and they rumble lovesongs to me.

I am learning to understand walls.
I am looking for ways around them.
I am pressing myself against them
   to see if they move.

The trains, those cups,
your heart, these walls.
   Tell me you will move.
   Tell me you will sway.
   Tell me you will let me
         teach you how.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on April 30, 2012, 10:07:10 PM
Well, let's try to wake this up. Let's see...

Rayne, I'm glad you liked Cope's poem; I had the privilege of meeting her briefly when she came to do a reading at my school, and she gave a great display of the range of her work; that Orange is one of my favourites, and I was a little sad she didn't read it... I also enjoyed your poem - I was reminded a little of Eliot, and the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, when I read it; you have "measured [your] life out in coffee [cups]", it seems. The tone seemed to be quite Eliot as well as the mood - as I say, I greatly enjoyed it.

Dek, I thought your little limericks were great fun to read. I like using short, self-contained poetic forms - I've particularly used triolets - as stanzas to create larger poems, and you've done it very nicely there. A little macabre, but that's OK  :evil:

Ryvic, I also like a nice short poem - the silence can say a lot of things for which there are no words.

And now, the part you've been dreading: a scrap of something I scribbled in my school diary, after my prep. pages.

I have no more anger -
I poured it out
And made an oblation
On the altar of your bad-will.

There is no more anger
And there is no more hate -
I have poured it all out.

The ire has been purged from my heart;
The poison has been poured out

I poured it all out.


Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Deklitch Hardin on May 01, 2012, 10:40:25 AM
Nice poetry everyone ... Robert Rafftery is a professional poet who is known as the Picture Writer ... I've had the great pleasure to listen to some of his poetry live in the past. He writes about the Australian condition and he truly does paint a picture with his poetry ... he's even done a poem to his critics, a version of There's a Redback on the Toilet seat using Japanese words and English words that rhyme with them, one about Simmo and his Donkey and one about the Australian Rugby Union Team in its successful World Cup Campaign back in the 90's.

And now because I want to stretch my creativity (as I look at the time when I write this part, the time on my computer says 10:52) just off the top of my head ...

Love in 12 minutes

At 10:52
I had a big blue
with my lover
So I left her

At 10:55
I started to drive
Anger held tight
Boiled at the slight

At 10:58
I filled up with hate
Looking for ways
To end my days

At 11:01
I gazed at the sun
Fumbled around
And then I phoned

At 11:04
I went to her door
Made up and then
We kissed again.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on May 03, 2012, 07:36:53 AM
Very nice piece, Dek! The little bites of time really keep the poem together as a whole; there's an attention to detail there that I like.

My creative writing group met this evening, so here's the piece I wrote for them - I seem to have sonnets on the brain at the moment - as well as a little scrap of something that I wrote down in a couple of seconds flat earlier this evening. I'm again using loopholes to get this posted after hours.

The little scrap is inspired by the poem whose title I stole to make the first line:

This is just to say
That happiness
Is much better
On toast.

In my defence, I claim "If poetry makes sense, you're doing something wrong" with my tongue about halfway into my cheek.

And the sonnet:

It’s dark as pitch; my room is black, sans size;
Awake at last, so soon, I look around
And see the world before my sleepy eyes
And think of life and death and stony ground
And tables, chairs; the little, pointless things
That make the life I lead so timeless, so mundane.
The light begins to grow; in brightening rings
I see my room appear, take shape. Explain
To me just how the space I take can change
So quiet, swift and sudden. Done and done!
Without the window softly creep the strange
And silent birds, to serenade the sun.
This dawn’s a time to be alive, for me;
The light is dim, the little things I see.

Until next time,


Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Emrah Lark on May 03, 2012, 07:27:06 PM
So... I decided to translate one of my poems into English... I write both with rhymes and without rhymes, this one is without them (in original as well). The name of the poem is People.


people are gazing at you with their
clay faces and they always wish to
touch you even though they realise
that you certainly don't want them to

people are picking currant in woods
and when they think noone can see them
they are trying to reach the other
side of an old shabby threadbare wall

people lie that's how you recognise
them they also use rusty spoons and forks
to eat your ideas from white trays
and they want to leave through back entrance

people always feel solitary
therefore they carry lugagge with them
so that they don't feel so lonesome when
they run stairs in helpless confusion

when you take off your shoes in the hall
you smile at the people although there's
nobody but you as it doesn't
matter because you are people too

Let me know if there is something stupid, grammatically and/or linguistically. :)

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Alýr (Rayne) on May 03, 2012, 11:59:45 PM
The little scrap is inspired by the poem whose title I stole to make the first line:

This is just to say
That happiness
Is much better
On toast.


I like the sonnet, too--how it logs the transformation of your room from darkness to light. I notice you prefer to use some salient enjambment (i.e. "Explain / To me...). I know you are generally a traditionalist, and enjambment is a fairly modern technique, I think (or, at least, more startling enjambments are fairly modern), so I thought I might inquire.

I especially love the lines "in brightening rings / I see my room appear, take shape." "to serenade the sun." They are wonderfully beautiful, tangible descriptions!

Your sixth line ("That make the life I lead so timeless, so mundane.") is actually hexameter rather than pentameter. Hopefully an easy fix. Though you could always turn the entire thing to hexameter! [As a side note: iambic hexameter is called Alexandrine; there is an Alexandrine sonnet on the site somewhere  ;) ]

So... I decided to translate one of my poems into English... I write both with rhymes and without rhymes, this one is without them (in original as well). ... Let me know if there is something stupid, grammatically and/or linguistically. :)
As someone who's done a modicum of poetic translation and analyzed the translation of others, I'm always curious as to the original. Unfortunately, I cannot speak Czech, but I would love to see the original. Perhaps you could do a literal translation? Sometimes seeking out rhyme can twist a poem into strange shapes and syntactical constructions.

I do love some of the images you have--the "clay faces", "rusted forks and spoons", "shoes in the hall", and especially "currant in the woods". It gives me something to hold on to--something I can see and relate to. They paint the picture for me.  :)

Just as a side-note: The sonnet is a strange beast that has changed so much over the past several hundred years. Traditionally, the sonnet form was determined, not only by it's rhyme and meter, but by its progression; after the first two quatrains (or after three), there was a volta signalling a change. The couplet at the end often served as summary to the sonnet as a whole. (Sonnet 29 is a perfect example of this).

Shakespeare took the sonnet in some different directions, and modern poets, even more so. Today, the meter can be rough and the rhymes, not quite exact, and people will still know the work as a sonnet derivation. Almost everything can change, as long as it loosely resembles the traditional. One thing that I believe the sonnet cannot shake (and perhaps should not shake) is its associations. Just like words, poetic forms have something akin to connotations, built through use and convention; sonnets, to this day (and I hope, for always), have been associated with love.

And now I suppose I should post a sonnet of my own:

I have been dreaming of a roving place:
a place that shifts and changes as winds blow,
alighting with the heartbeat for the chase
for distant lands whose shores I do not know.
Much like a feather lifted on a breeze,
I occupy this space for wand’ring hearts,
which takes me over mountains, over seas,
on roads where at their end, a new one starts.
And people wonder what I’m searching for:
A home where seeds of happiness might grow?
I laugh: is not there joy to just explore,
To seek those distant lands you do not know?
To no one place shall I be firmly pinned,
For I am not a soul of earth, but wind.

Oh, and Leif: I have eaten all the plums that were in the ice box. Forgive me--they were delicious.  :heart:

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on May 04, 2012, 05:19:20 AM
I'm glad someone likes my nonsense poetry :grin:

I wouldn't say I am a traditionalist poetically; sometimes I write according to form, sometimes according to what flows. I'd be interested to know what made you think that other than the fact that I capitalise my lines? But I actually do think that that line/two lines could use a bit of work, and - I don't know, but it might be - that the rhyme gets a little lost there.

The sixth line is hexameter or a very bad pentameter if you refuse to stress a lot of the syllables...I'm trying to think of an unforced way to fix that. Thank you for pointing that out.

I was aware when I wrote that sonnet that there was not a strictly adhered to sonnet thematic, but I think - hope - the last couplet provides some finality and I claim (after the fact, of course) that the gradual progression from dark to light is incompatible with a close adherence to the theories of Shakespeare or Plutarch. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I also greatly enjoyed your sonnet, though I wouldn't say it was so much about love; I think a slightly more helpful way of looking at it is deep emotion, although I agree that sonnets are almost universally of love and it would probably be a shame to lose that. I particularly liked the closing couplet, but also the image of a feather on the wind - an evocative piece, suitable as a source of quotes for elves and wind mages. :P

Emrah, I really liked your poem too - the repeated motif of "people" at the start of each stanza and what I thought was some really nice use of words - though I confess I was a little confused by the phrasing in some places, and I think that "currant" should be "currants", perhaps? Certainly not stupid, but "run stairs" I found tricky - do you mean "run up and down"? In the context of the line that seems like a reasonable interpretation, but I don't know.

Now, I reckon I should put something up here, so here goes:

Actually, that piece is too long. I'll post something else shorter, so you don't get sick of my writing.

Life is a bottle of rosé:
Just a little too
Pleased with itself
For polite society to subsist on -
It should be
For special occasions;
Having it every day
Is a bit crass.

More nonsense! Brilliant. See you next time.


Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Deklitch Hardin on May 16, 2012, 11:16:53 AM
This has been quiet since May 4 ... so a few limericks that I read for your pleasure :)

There was once a man from Perth,
Born on the day of his twin's birth,
He was married, they say,
On his wife's wedding day,
And he died when he departed the Earth.

Aye Aye Aye Aye,
In china they never grow chili,
So give me another verse,
That's worse than the first verse,
Make sure its as foolish and silly

My brother's name is Keith,
He hates to clean his teeth,
His dirty face,
Is a real disgrace,
But he's cuddly underneath.

There once was a lady from Niger,
Who smiled as she rode on a tiger,
They returned from the ride,
With the lady inside,
And the smile on the face of the tiger!

There was an old man with a beard,
Who said it is just as I feared,
Two owls and a wren,
Four bats and a hen,
Have all formed a nest in my beard.

And one of my own creation ...

A warrior from the ice coast,
Was heard quite loudly to boast,
There is no woman,
Who cooks better than man,
So he slaughtered his wison to roast.

* Any similarities between the last limerick and someone with a famed golden shield is not coincidental. *

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on May 17, 2012, 03:06:41 AM
If I hadn't lost my poetry book, I'd have posted here more recently. As it is, I've been on hiatus.

I like your limericks, Dek - although the Edward Lear one seems a bit off, from memory.


The cold knocked; not
Demandingly; nor impetuously;
Nor with lifeless
Icy fingers; curled
Like frozen twigs;

I bade him enter; Take a seat;
I said; he replied; and his
Voice was not
The cruel crack of ice;
Or the shattering of a pond’s
Surface under a child’s small weight;
But rather
The politely quiet crunch of snow;
He replied; Thank you; no;

I’ll stand; if it’s all the same
To you; and he did so;
Waiting for me to acknowledge
Him; I did; I was
Confused; so I offered him
A drink; he said; That
It was most kind of me;
But that I really needn’t

He was just passing through;
And was going to Australia
In June; I asked; for want
Of anything better to say;
Is it warm there at that
Time of year; he looked at
Me like I’d gone mad;
And said; Maybe I’ll take
That drink; I’m going to need it;

So I poured; Red or white; I
Asked him; he asked for
White; wasn’t dissuaded
When I told him red
Would put a healthy flush
In his cheeks; nor when I said;
There’s some mulled wine;
Fresh today; that’ll
Warm you right up; No;
He said; I’ll just have
The white; well; it was
Polite; as refusals go;
So I poured the white;
And just as I was about
To serve; he said; That’s
Not white; it’s yellow;
Or green; white
Is beautiful; pure;
Pristine; not
Ever; so; slightly offputting;
At that; I said;
This is enough; I’m
Going to bed;

Goodnight; he said; and
Sweet dreams; with that;
He settled down on the
Floor; as far away from
The fire as possible; and
Made himself comfortable;
He was there for a long time;

Every morning I would
Greet him cordially;
He would express his
Gratitude for my

I came to think he would
Stay forever; on the
Third of June I came downstairs;
Called out a greeting; received
No reply; he was gone;

I hope he enjoyed Australia;
I hear it’s cold there at this time of year;

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Emrah Lark on May 17, 2012, 04:23:18 AM
Rayne: Thank you! (and sorry for such delayed reply, I noticed your post just now) I'm not sure if the literal translation will make any sense but here it is:

people are looking at you
with clay faces and
they want to touch you even though
they know that you don't wish them to

people pick currant in a forest
and when they think that noone
sees them they try to
the other side of a shabby wall

people are to recognise from their lying
with rusty knives and forks they eat
your thoughts from white trays
the want to leave through the back entrance

people are always lonesome
and therefore they carry luggage
so that they aren't so alone when
they confusedly run up and down the stairs

when you take off your shoes in a hall
you smile at people at the same time
you're alone but it doesn't matter
because you're the people as well

Well, it seems to make sense, kinda. There are some difficulties - for example, we have one word for 'knives and forks'.


Really nice poetry, everyone! Now I have particularly enjoyed your rosé poem, Leif.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on May 17, 2012, 06:09:27 AM
"Cutlery" might be the word you're looking for, Emrah. Is that right?

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Emrah Lark on May 17, 2012, 06:13:36 AM
Yes, that's it! For some reason, I have never run into it before. Thank you. Apparently, my English competence is still rather low.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Deklitch Hardin on May 17, 2012, 07:18:19 AM
Oh thanks Leif. I assume the Lear one was the old man with the beard? I confess to typing them from memory ... and couldn't remember the birds in it ... so I made up my own :)

And another poem from my mind :)

PC Feelings

My pc is at the shop
Being repaired
I look at my dwindling funds
Feeling scared
Twice it breaks in two months
It isn't fair
4D PCs at leat say it is fixed
That I can bare

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Alýr (Rayne) on May 17, 2012, 09:31:11 AM
Leif: I should note that I generally consider myself something of a traditionalist. I usually adhere to rules of spelling and grammar, and I have a penchant towards meter and rhyme. I notice you have these elements in many of your poems, too. Besides, you are British.  :P

Emrah: I looks about the same. I'm not sure if the rhyme is necessarily needed for your message. I associate lack of rhyme and set meter as indicative of more dystopia-esque poems, but it's up to you! Not all poems need these conventions to create their message. :)

Dek: I'm sorry your PC is back in the shop! At least we get entertaining poetry out of it! :)

I've been shuffling through poetry from a few years ago; I wanted to make sure there was nothing left on my PC I wanted to keep, in case something happens in the next few years. Unfortunately I found significantly less stuff than I was hoping to find, which means I have a lot of old poems and whatnot still missing somewhere. Hopefully I'll be able to find them somewhere!

In any case, this was a melancholy poem that I had utterly forgotten...


I draw ever farther. I close my eyes
to the fire. I shiver out of my skin,
and press my wet wings against the walls.
Barring but bearing the burning
of masks, I show more than I mean.

I resist the reaction to reclaim pieces
I imparted to your keeping, because
they can never be mine again. I resist
turning my impressions in you
into the chains that bind you to me.

Fire imparts warmth without charge.
And our heat exchanged equally, yet
I tremble in the transaction. What did it
mean to you? What have I given to you?
... Have I given too much?

I descend back into my cocoon self.
My psyche crawls into the shadows
behind my eyes. I pull sheets around me,
naked, pressed into well-worn darkness,
breathing with a tinge of terror.

I am not entitled
to anything.

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Emrah Lark on May 22, 2012, 02:57:16 AM
Currently, I started to work on a series of poems inspired by pornography. Don't get me wrong: it's not pornographic or erotic poetry. It's just inspired by some concepts found in porn. I'm not going to elaborate theoretically about it too much but I'll add a translation of the first piece instead (it's more of a literal translation, so the rhythm and rhyme got broken)


three glasses of colourful air
standing on a coffee table
i'm not alone today in this old flat
there are two visitors with me

the first one has long blonde hair
black uniform cartridge belts
under herself on the floor she closes her eyes
like a wild beast preparing to jump

the second one in white dress sadly
rests her head on her knees soft rose
in her black hair is a symbol of light
a walking stick that was broken

it starts to rain the three of us play chess
and when i think i have nothing to lose
i suddenly get hit from ambush
by smiling lips so it goes

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Irid alMenie on May 22, 2012, 07:04:22 PM
If the original is in czech, would you mind posting that as well? Just out of curiosity :)

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Emrah Lark on May 22, 2012, 07:22:28 PM
Sure thing, here it is:


tři sklenice barevného vzduchu
stojí vedle sebe na konferenčním stolku
dnes nejsem sám ve staromódním bytě
jsou se mnou beze slov dvě návštěvnice

ta první má dlouhé zlaté vlasy
černou uniformu nábojnicové pásy
pod sebou na zemi přivírá oči
jako šelma která se chystá skočit

ta druhá si v bílých šatech smutně
opírá hlavu o kolena měkká růže
v jejích černých vlasech světlo znamená
vycházková hůlka jež byla zlomena

dělá se déšť ve třech hrajeme šachy
a když si říkám že už nemám co ztratit
jsem najednou zasažen ze zálohy
úsměvy na rtech tak to chodí

Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on June 09, 2012, 03:42:27 AM
Well, let's see if I can breathe a bit of life back into this thing, shall we? And Emrah, I wouldn't say your competence in English was low at all. Now you know!

Dek, I liked your little protest about the damned computer shops. It's always nice to get little poems that just give a window into people's feelings; however, I think that you might mean "bear" in the last line, not "bare".

Rayne, I admit that you've got me with the British thing. We are rather stuck in our ways - because they're good ways. :P I was, in all seriousness, very moved by your poem. The last two lines, shrinking away from the pattern of the rest of the poem and the reassurance that that brings; and the powerfully simple language. A real low is communicated, and a strong sense of pathos. I hope you know we don't think you're not entitled to anything :thumbup: If you ever read this, that is. I'd love there to have been a flurry of activity here that buries it by the time you regain the Internet.

Emrah, I thought the concept of your poem was interesting, and I was a little apprehensive, but I thought that the execution was very nice, and even just as a simple descriptive piece it worked well. I'd love to see what it'd be like with the rhythm and rhyme, but I don't know how feasible that'd be for you in English - the words might simply not work in the same way, and render it impossible.

And now my own poem. You may or may not have read the poem referenced in the title, but it was a comparison that occured to me as I finished the poem and rewrote the last few lines.

Juveniles: An Updated Report to Wordsworth

Sun shines bright in summer sky;
Dappled shade beneath the trees;
Kids with ASBOs getting high;
Smell of weed on balmy breeze.

Insects buzzing in the grass -
Long, soft grass on yielding ground;
Clever fools who never pass
And never seem to be around.

A small stream laughing on the stones;
The sun a-gleam off dampened rocks.
Turning off their mobile phones
Children hide their fags in socks.

Beneath the wisps of fluffy clouds
Artfully positioned sheep
Are scared and flee the hooded crowds.
If Wordsworth saw, he'd break and weep.

Until next time, my friends, adieu.


Title: Re: Poets' Corner
Post by: Leif Terskun on June 15, 2012, 06:07:42 AM
*Is sad at the recent lack of activity*

It appears that this thread is in danger of becoming my personal vanity-board, because I've got another poem I felt like posting. Maybe it'll encourage some of you to do likewise...

This poem is very improvised in its creation. I scribbled it on the palm of my hand earlier today, because I didn't have any paper. The first two lines I wrote on the back of my calculator in an exam for the same reason, and then this afternoon I was struck by continuation.

Ceci n’est pas une počme d’amour

The truth of a statement may change;
Its beauty will always remain.
You may no longer love me
But those three words
Are as beautiful now
As when you meant them.

I love you.