a companion to megara's poetry thread.

so chances are is you like poems you like writing them too.

well i know at least a couple of you do...soooooo, let's hear em, share them, lets go.

here's one i put on the poetry forum a while back - it's untitled at the mo though.
................................................................................................

sun slides

across arching, needled pines
​

buttering them with

late afternoon light.
​

It drips honey;

Sweet gold that melts through the pine needles

sleepily slanting onto

the clearing

the bodies

below.
​

Yet these

honey-kissed lovers

do not notice the

soft shards
​

of the dying day;

For them there are no

scented pines above, no

cast off needles below.

There is only the other

as arms embrace

as hearts beat

as electricity builds.
​

the sun melts.
​

As do they

Falling into

Adoring

Needing

each other.
​

The day is dying but the world is

wide with wonder
​

with possibility.

as lipsandhandsandbodiesandhearts

discover love.


And then suddenly,

a blooming.
​

Love's spark blossoms and

together they and the elderly sun

give one, final, heartfelt, flash.

They burn, glow, shine, pulse,

explode....
​

That too, softly fades.

Into sweet delight.

into the gentle night.

into the dearly beloved afterglow.
​

.................................................................................................................................................



yeah, it's a work in progress....and i can't get it to format properly...grrrrr...but hey.


Someone else's turn.....

 

ah, hey, i normally dont, but whatthefuck.


Half way between a breath and an exhale

All is lost.

My eyes quickly shy away

Checking every which thing and moving every which way

Escaping judging eyes as

Lips retreat behind teeth and

Brave words take flight- exiting as silent torment

Into the cold night air.

As palms glisten, my mind rolls over itself

in thought and I realize that

Somewhere between the bliss of that breath

And the bitterness of this exhale

All was lost.

 

I just wrote this for class, and then I remembered that Soph had told me she'd put up this thread. I need to bring in a book and copy out my favourite poems because they're mainly slightly obscure and/or local. Anyway, here's a fresh "Matty" poem. Forgive me for my nerdiness.

Clay Track

It involved spading away pine-needles,

(like they were stones),​

then uprooting small plants and rocks,

(like they were stones),​

furthermore were the curves of the track

(like they were stones),​

It needed a tiny red-handled saw
to unhinge lower branches
which were moved out of the track's way
unlike the giant stones -
moss-covered monoliths with raked spirals

of track​

(like Stones and stones).​

It became the art of construction,

(like stones upon stones).​

The bikes came and hurled themselves

snarling down slopes,​

(like they were stones).​

 

ok, lol, I was talking to my mum about poetry and she told me she found my old poem book from when i was a wee girl.
lol, this is the first poem I ever wrote (i was 6 and 1/2). You have to imagine it with a 6yr old's melodramatic pauses:

She claps over her faithful subjects.
Her dress slowly sweeps the ground.
She stretches on for ever and ever.
She is
the bay.

 

walking to school
through icy 9am air.
If you didn't know
about how the frost snatches
at your breath,
paints it white,
puffs it out,
you could be forgiven
for thinking that everyone in Dunedin
smokes
or, alternately
that all uni students are secretly
dragons.

 

RAWR!! I'm a dragon!

(don't tell anyone)