Thread: Poems

Hi. Just a general question. Does anyone here like poetry or have any of their own? I'm going to share my first poem that I made years and years ago and compare it to one recent. Please tell me what you think.



6th June 1944...Normandy


The Higgins boat gently rocks over the waves
I wonder that if on the horizon, there lie our graves
Solemnly we wait for the inevitable to arrive
Praying that hopefully, we'll make it out alive


I look at my platoon, seeing them full of fright
Preparing to do our duty with all of our might
Myself I am filled full of fear
As slowly, that beach draws ever near


The shells bombard us, that one was a near miss
I have a flash back, my mother blowing me a kiss
Seeing this I realise that for freedom, the invasion must be won
Short, tall, old or young, we must kill the Hun
Finally we arrive, down goes the ramp, along with my friends
Despite this we must stay strong and fight to our bitter ends!


Being here is like dodging raindrops, which is almost impossible to do
The obstacles are like umbrellas, so here I am, stuck to one like glue
I can see the whole beach, wounded soldiers that will probably die
Amidst all of this, I am crouched, wondering if my end is nigh.


At last I muster the courage to advance
To fight, prevail and win back France
Out here in battle we fight side by side
And we do so with honour, dignity and outstanding pride


Eventually we reach the sea wall wounded and hurt
Our eyes, mouth, nose and ears clogged up by dirt
Boom! The Bangalore’s blow and clear the barbed wire
From up here, I can see the whole beach blazed in a fire


Now we raid the German's bunkers and eliminate any threat
These soldiers are some of the youngest I have ever met
They surrender, but for the blood that they have spilt, I shall not accept!
More revengeful soldiers arrived, up they came, and slower they crept


They were filled with vengeance, anger and bad intention
But I say "No wait! We must uphold the Geneva Convention!"
Finally they repress their emotion because a fighting soldier should
Looking at the Germans, I notice that like myself, they are also covered in blood


Reinforcements arrive, the beach is secure and at last we are safe
I know it's down to trust and hope in my faith
I climb the hill and stand tall knowing we have achieved victory
If I live through the war, I can tell my children and Grandchildren this amazing story


As I finally catch my breath and have a snack to eat
I hope and pray that this event shall never repeat
Now alive I turn to see my friends, but realise that they are not there
I weep and cry, shouting that it's not fair
But knowing that there deaths were for freedom and peace, I can accept that they have gone
So now I do what every soldier did today, I fight......and I carry on.





Any feedback positive or negative or grey will be much appreciated. Please share your poetry if you have any.

I love poetry....in fact, it is one of my hobbies. Very good poem by the way...the rhythm is a little awry, but telling you that would make me a filthy hypocrite, so pretend i didnt say anything at all. Here's one of own that I wrote a long time ago when I was not in a good mood:IT IS RIDICULOUSLY PATHETIC. SORRY.

The Sun has Died Away in the Clouds
© Suporna C. – 12/6/07

A single drop falls from the sky,
A single tear falls from an eye.
The sun has died away in the clouds.

No longer there to look so proud,
For it is wrapped now in a shroud,
The sun has died away in the clouds.

Without a smile to beam on,
Without a hope to dream on,
The sun has died away in the clouds.

The world quietly slumbers
Under the stars’ fading numbers,
Dreaming of faint rays of goodwill.

The rain just keeps falling,
And the wolves keep on calling
But the sky remains gloomy and still.

Oh, how solemn and gray,
The sun has died away…
The sun has died away in the clouds.

I really liked that. It conveys the perspective of hope that it can come out, that it has died away but that it might come back, or the hope that even if it has died away it may only be temporary.

Thats what I see anyway.

My favorite, "The Conqueror Worm" by Edgar Allen Poe:

Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!

That motley drama- oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

Bad Wolf, I thought yours was amazing. I agree with tritai in that the rhythm is inconsistent, but I don't think that's a bad thing, and I actually like it that way because it breaks it up. If the entire thing with the length that it is had the same exact rhythm I can see it getting tiresome.

tritai, yours was amazing too. I like the flow and rhythm having three lines to a stanza gives it. I really, really loved it. I'll probably be stopping back to this thread to read it more.

Kukhri, that's a great one. Poe is amazing, one of my favorite poets.

tritai, yours was amazing too. I like the flow and rhythm having three lines to a stanza gives it. I really, really loved it. I'll probably be stopping back to this thread to read it more.

I really liked that. It conveys the perspective of hope that it can come out, that it has died away but that it might come back, or the hope that even if it has died away it may only be temporary.

Aw, you guys are so sweet. I really don't deserve it; I thought the poem was pretty substandard.

By the way, Bad Wolf, would you mind if we, the posters, keep giving our own poems for public feedback too? Along with any critcism? I think that would be pretty interesting to see the different pieces of poetry that people come up with.

If, of course, you don't mind.

Bad wolf, that's a good poem the only suggestion for improvement I could think of is for that long of a poem a more complicated rhyme scheme usually works better as opposed to "aabbcc".

I've written a few poems, here's two

kiss a tear
it will turn sweet
talk to fear
hell soon turn friendly
yet hug time
and you'll surely die

Ignorance is deemed blissful,
by those quite truly not,
they know the meaning of this word and how it came to be,
they strive to know through process called thought,
why they find no peace in further knowledge,
the more they think the less they know,
If they keep on searching further still, they will find theyre blissfull too

Ha ha ha, another poem! More recent, actually. (Yes, this is where you start discovering I have very little of a life)...

Frozen… © Suporna Chaudhuri – 2/25/09


These eyes no longer dart around,
Watching your face turn red with fury.
You’ll never make me cry again…

Being frozen ain’t so bad.

My ears are chilled beyond repair;
I cannot hear your yells and screams
That there’s something wrong with me…

Being frozen ain’t so bad.

My skin is numb now from the ice,
And I have stopped feeling pain,
So hit me with all that you have…

Being frozen ain’t so bad.

My mouth is locked up by the cold;
My weak whispers have died out.
Finally there is a silence…

Being frozen ain’t so bad.

My heart is tiring by the second,
So rejoice, for you’ll have peace;
And I will fall asleep for good…

Being frozen ain’t so bad.

Thanks for the feedback. I liked all of those and the styles ranging from short to long poems is brilliant how they can all maintain a strange feeling inside, as if they are telling the same story, but in another light in another way.

Tritai, I like how you went from the outside organs to the heart. That was fantasic, as if the influence of the ice was spreading, and that these are the thoughts throught the mind as its effects take place ever so slowly.

Lets hope the sun comes out of the clouds and melts that poor person who's frozen ^^

Tritai, I like how you went from the outside organs to the heart. That was fantasic, as if the influence of the ice was spreading, and that these are the thoughts throught the mind as its effects take place ever so slowly.

Lets hope the sun comes out of the clouds and melts that poor person who's frozen ^^

Are you always this nice to people? It makes me feel quite guilty inside.

Also, I didn't even see the relationship beteween the sun and the frozen person. Nice one on catching that.

I'm not being nice. I'm being honest. 8)

Anyway...

Heres one I made a while ago, about a year ago actually. I've made about 10 inbetween the one not long ago and this one.



6th June 1944...Normandy…The Second Soldier



The rain patters on the Higgins boat, I fall into a trance as it sounds like a record player, I remember the nights singing and drinking with friends, I feel at peace and without fear here, no fear of demise, here in this insane world it was a blessing in disguise.

Then starts the bombing from the shore of France only to miss us by chance, my fearful allies that were eccentric dance to now the waves that are like plush on the boat, they prance in fear. I myself do the same, I look around, we all rushed up this morning, no triple S, dressed up but like a mess. To dress we have done our best, but now for this battle we must do more than our best, we must do what is required.

The shrill in my bones of the soon to arrive, haunts me still deep inside still alive
I feel queasy, a burn in my throat, a taste and texture of grout, it spews out my mouth all over the boat
I look around and wipe with my sleeve away, with no feeling of peeve
My allies do not react as they themselves do too, the boat covered in spew, filling in our boots and shoes

More shells bombard around and rock the waves that surround our floating coffin, one or two are a dud
I start coughing, this time…blood. I sweat, breathe in, wipe my head. How I wish this fear would leave
I lock my weapon to me and it to me do I reeve, I notice my grasp, my rifle now somehow has a Creve
But suddenly! An ally in front faints, quickly I clasp! But his tunic I rip, Rasp do I his nerves, and give aid to him and led-what you ask? “Snap out of it”. Is what I said

Dunkirk, other battles I have fought and lived through, El Alamein not out of my mind, fought that I have too. Onward to fight this battle that is without care of thought or thought through. At last for God’s sake we hit the beach. Down goes the ramp…

© Stephen Willmer 2007-2009

6th June 1944...Normandy…The Second Soldier

I see you are very involved with the army. I find that that is an excellent source of inspiration. Of course, the one army poem I've ever written is certainly not up to your standards, however....

A Soldier’s Life
--------------------------------------------------------------------
© Suporna Chaudhuri – 12/10/07

A soldier is gifted a life of toil,
Of sacrifice, bloodshed, and pain;
Where the lives of others are more precious,
And there is no such thing as self-gain.

He struggles through the rigorous training
And attains a deadly skill.
Then his focus turns to the battlefield,
Where the main objective is to kill.

He must survive through harsh days,
Without being fed or watered.
He must survive with a clear knowledge of death,
Knowing well he could be slaughtered.

He steadily marches through an explosion
With his flag in a tight grasp.
When he falls, slowly, still clutching the flag,
And utters a dying gasp.

Now he resides in a heavenly world,
A place where many have gone.
And though it is true he had fallen on earth,
In heaven, he still marches on.

This is a poem I wrote after a friend of mine committed suicide.... He showed my the value of life....

Rest in Peace

Do you know that feeling
When everything around you
whether a look, smell or wind blowing
reminds of someone you knew?

Look around and see those signs
They get stronger in time, as do vines
You try to forget, to escape
But you can't, it can shift shape
Sometimes it's just guilt
Other times it's the shame
You can feel all that filth
Just for thinking the same

Can I be forgiven for my crime?
I don't want gods mercy
I want forgiveness from myself
For being selfish enough
To think they are tough
Tough enough to see me dead
lying for the last time on my bed....

If there wasn't for you, my friend
If there wasn't for your death
It would have been my end
It would have been my last breath

You took your life just days before me
I thought it would take an army
To talk me back from it
And then you died and that was it
I gave up suicidal plans
Your death woke me up from my trance

You weren't my very close friend
But your funeral touched me deeply
And though I wanted to attend
I couldn't stand to see the end

Your death saved my life
Don't think I'm proud of it
My heart is pierced with an invisible knife
Someone had to die for me to admit
The value of life is bigger than I thought
You can't leave your loved ones to cope....

So my friend this is an ode to you
To the life you gave up for something new
To your memory and now to your release
My dear friend, rest in peace....

Haha, I'm a terrible terrible poet, I sometimes like to play with poetry to pass time, but I have no talent. I wrote this during a lunch break once.

Birds and Fast Food

In a food court of downtown Montreal,
I sit watching little birds fly about.
Why can I not help but look at you all
flying here and there, can you not get out?
Do you remember what the sky was like,
before this prison of crumbling concrete
and quickly snatched French fries, what it was like
before the sky was nothing but a neat
portrait on the glass of the arced skylight,
when life was free to live for all those with wings
and you could go to where ever you might:
high, low, near, far, whatever it could bring?
Or has the allure of cheap food had fast
clouded your memory of joys that last?

On the other hand, I love to read poetry, but I couldn't name a favorite poem.

Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach" seems appropriate for this forum though.

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.


Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

I like free running poems like that.

Short one here:

A poem for the tired

Woe is the brain, asleep it must reach
why does it say to thee, a frame in which i dream
the land of the dead akin to such a slumber
free to reign and sing, imagine and wonder

I could post poems I love all day long if I let myself.


E.E. Cummings

The Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds
(also, with the church's protestant blessings
daughters,unscented shapeless spirited)
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,
are invariably interested in so many things--
at the present writing one still finds
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D
.... the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless, the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy

Stevie Smith - Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.



I also have a great love for Pound's Imagist poems, Amy Lowell, H.D., and William Carlos Williams.

Williams - The Red Wheelbarrow

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

I like poems and i really enjoying to reading poems.......................