I made a story with rhymes when I was younger. I was and still am quite proud of it. I might copy/paste it here if I can find the file....
Sorry for not being active been busy :p
This one is one I wrote and keep in my wallet. I usually look upon it for advice. I wrote it for a girl
Roses are red,
Violets are blue
I'm going to break the flow
Tomas the train
I love you
My poetry is that of a good poet
Now my lady
Drop your pants
I'm going in
To make you
I'm getting bored
So ima end it here
BEST POEM EVER LMAO
Clap On, Clap Off. Live On, Die Off.
I'm not a huge poetry fan but this one happens to be one of my favorites.
A Voice On An Answering Machine
by: Yusef Komunyakaa
I can’t erase her voice. If I opened the door to the cage & tossed the magpie
into the air, a part of me would fly away, leaving only the memory of a
plucked string trembling in the night. The voice unwinds breath, soldered
wires, chance, loss, & digitalized impulse. She’s telling me how light
pushed darkness till her father stood at the bedroom door dressed in a white
tunic. Sometimes we all wish we could put words back into our mouths.
I have a plant of hers that has died many times, only to be revived with less
water & more light, always reminding me of the voice caught inside the
little black machine. She lives between the Vale of Kashmir & nirvana,
beneath a bipolar sky. The voice speaks of an atlas & a mask, a map of
Punjab, an ugly scar from college days on her abdomen, the unsaid credo,
but I still can’t make the voice say, Look, I’m sorry. I’ve been dead for a long time.
**Btw, if you enjoy poetry, check out hellopoetry.com. It's a great online community for poets. You could post your own or simply read other people's poetry.
I am a member
for many years now but i
dont have enough cr points someone please help me i have tried everything from commenting to answering forums and i watch so much anime. HELP PLEASE
When i get premium membership, its over for you bitches.
^ That is a strange reason to respond to an inactive topic to ask of Crunchyroll, but if you are referring to creating a topic a non-Premium member must have five hundred points to do so.
In relation to this topic, my passion for poetry depleted within the years of 2014 and 2015. I consider my completed works that was written down or typed to be inferior and novice, which is one of the main reasons that I have refrained from improving and writing in general. Though I was complimented on some of my writings, my response to the poems is disappointment and wanting to emend to improve.
I have a screenshot of one of my poems from my Tumblr, if the reader has opened this Spoiler Tab.
I only continue to help my relatives receive justice and expose these criminals.
This was the winning entry from an Otaku Haiku Contest
I turn off the computer
The beautiful woman disappears
Only my fat reflection fills the screen
Wow talk about being slapped in the face with a harsh reality....
Every single night it's the same routine
Turn down the lights and turn off the screen
Take a mouthful of pills and crawl into bed
All my fantasies are gone, my hopes and dreams are dead
- a Harem Master Areki original
Ate way too much food
Bent over to pick up fork
Warmth flows down my legs
Recently Mending Wall by Robert Frost has been preoccupying my thoughts, so It's quite a coincidence that this thread appears now. Anyway, I first read the poem in high school and never imagined I would ever think of it again, but it's funny how certain events can bring back old memories of things you never thought you would remember.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."