Do you write poetry? tell us your poems and what they mean to you and why you wrote them

Only when I had to in school. I wrote this one (sort of mild Homo Erotica) for class. It isn't very good.

Come sit by me and I shall stroke your boyish brow
Or better yet explore your passion's exquisite form
If you would but allow.

For pleasures of man to man
Delights in naughty ways
Of forbidden desire of such beautiful boys
To while away my bawdy days.

Cukoo calls.
Let me sleep a little longer

I write a lot about the Holocaust. I do it because my people are being forgotten and I feel like my Ancestors want me to. Here is a page with some:
http://proudromani.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-holocaust-poems.html

I write about my people:
http://proudromani.blogspot.com/2009/02/my-poetry-abut-roma.html

... about racism (I can only find that one)
http://proudromani.blogspot.com/2009/02/my-poetry-about-racism.html

... one about my father:
http://proudromani.blogspot.com/2009/02/tribute-to-my-father.html

... and me:
http://proudromani.blogspot.com/2009/02/as-i-stand-poem.html

Actually, yes, I do write poetry from time to time ^_^

This one is about an epiphany I had when I almost died (car, cliff):

When I woke up, ears ringing, upside-down in the snow,
I noticed my shoes were missing.
This is not a metaphor,
nor is it any kind of implication of a cold world spun on its head,
though for years I have been trying to pinpoint the exact moment
in which my peripheral vision was expanded to include not only the past,
but also the present/future.
As elusive as gravity,
it seems to always be flying from my stubborn fingertips.
What I mean is that nothing is certain:
my soul is an avalanche perched on the mountainside,
awaiting that catalyst, gaining momentum.
And when I least expect to, I suddenly recall
the fear my head felt in facing the "Great Unknown,"
that vast black wilderness,
although my heart was feeling free...

I'll post something else later if anyone is interested.

I wrote this for my husband because I love him so much.

Divine Love

With passion and with heart,
Our souls intertwined.
Creating a world between us,
That was stopped in time.

Breaking through the barriers,
We freed each others minds.
Held each other close and,
Created the Divine.

Love SoulFire

I wrote this when I was searching for my purpose. It helps me to remember why I chose this life I lead.

The Search

My wolf guide came to me,
In a vision to my soul,
Said it was time to set me free,
And to step into my role.

A spiritual healer,
Life guide to some.
An avid listener,
And bearer of wisdom.

I have been searching for spirituality,
For many, many years.
I never understood it was within me,
I had so many fears.

What would people think of me,
When I came out mystically.
Would they stop and stare at me,
Or would my soul finally be free?

Constrained by my perceptions,
I failed to see the Light.
I felt so many conceptions,
But didn’t know which one was right.

People would try to tell me,
That I should be this way or that.
I thought they were trying to sell me,
Another religious hat.

I finally gave up on the world,
And searched within my soul.
Soon a new Love unfurled,
And with wonder made me whole.

It did not end the search,
It was only the beginning,
After great amounts of research,
I finally find myself grinning.

For I am doing the work,
I’ve always been meant to do.
Inspiring others quarks,
Helping them find what’s true.

There are many paths to the source,
It matters not which one you choose.
Leave behind all your remorse,
And let your soul be your muse.

By SoulFire

Sorry this poem is a bit more of a mad poem then a romantic poem. It explained what my ex was like, and is still posted in my myspace blogs to this day.

Do you fear what I fear?
Your imagination contradicts your own reality

Can you see what I see?
While pointing the finger you must also point it at yourself

Do you care like I care?
Someone is always above someone else in your mind

Can you love like I love?
Clouded by your own selfishness you do not understand love

Do you hear what I hear?
Words of care are words of annoyance to you

Can you feel what I feel?
Trying to bring a light into your darkness is hurtful

Do you perceive what I perceive?
Humanity to you is a foul thing, but that’s a destructive thought pattern

Can you tell of what I tell?
Your own problems defy you of a way of life without agony

Do you sense what I sense?
People destroying themselves while ignorant to destroying those around them

Can you define what I define?
Truth is a thing that you wont accept

Do you create what I create?
An individual society does revolve around fakeness foolish person

Can you forgive what I forgive?
Your own pride allows you to neglect others emotions for you

Do you apologize like I apologize?
You set your own rules and then defy them as you go

Will you find what I found?
Finding that of which you do not know of, i have found Understanding.

I write poetry and song lyrics. I write because it makes me happy. The poem I'll share with you is called Hephaestus 18. It's about the apocalypse, or anti-materialism or something...

Put away your cameras, kids
Your rings and your cologne.
These smiles will leave no impression
Nor the things that you have on
In my mouth is a little blood
And in my hands are something new

So can you just settle down?

Before the fires go out?

I see them marching on Tell al-Mutesellim
With the waters close behind them,
Though I've forgotten how to swim.
And we gave our best in light of consequence
On the heels of Abauzit.
And we all go down in history.

So turn off your cell phones
There's no one left to call.
They've all gone out to see these signs
They've all gone out to fall
And on my lips are a few frightened words
And on my mind is something new

So can we all settle down?

Amid fires that will not go out.

I see them marching on Tell al-Mutesellim
With the furies close behind them
Singing "Alhamdulillah"
And we gave our best in light of consequence
With our daunting gift of freedom
And we all go down in history.

i write my poems for different reasons, love poems, hate poems, apoligies, mostly love though for my girlfriend

What i love about you
i love the way we laught until we cry,
that wed dance until we die
i love the way you look at me and say
please dont ever go away
when you take hold of my hand
and let me hold you where you stand

small simple and short

Forgive me
weve together for very long
and i know ive done alot wrong
i know im not the best
i understand im worse than the rest
i cant do alot right
but that doesnt mean ill give up the fight
i want you to know i love you
and when i say sorry, that its true
i want to keep you safe during the night
to hold you against me warm and tight
ill tear out my heart and put it in your hand
ill get infront of you where you stand
when all i can do is fall on my knees
and beg you and say please
forgive me

I usually write on dark things I cannot express to other people or anyother way. Sometimes it light and humorous. Sometimes I'm just thinking I'm very clever. I don't have many, so I understand if i'm greedy and wish to keep to myself.

So this poem or whatever you want to call it. I wrote it in high school roughly five years ago. It is about my favorite place in the world and what it means to me.
In the woods I feel free
I feel as if I'm one with the world
I want to scream
I run and feel the cool breeze
In the winter I freeze
The woods are calling for me
I must obey
My heart wants to be free
In the spring
I swing on the vines
I watch the leaves grow
I love the spring
In the summer
I swim in the creek to cool off from the heat
I catch tadpoles and watch them grow
I love to watch the creek flow
In the fall
I watch the leaves fall
The land begins to die
my spirit begins to die

Or here is another one I wrote for my dad

I lost my daddy when I was three
We left in a hurry
I didn't get to say good bye
I cried
I wish I could have said goodbye
A few years passed by
I wondered why I didn't have a daddy
I felt an empty space inside
I cried
I wanted a daddy
I'm fifteen
I wonder where my daddy is
Who is my daddy?
I wonder if he thinks of me
I want a daddy
I'm seventeen
My daddy wrote me
And told me his story
I cried
Now I have a daddy

One last one..I guess this one came from my soul from my own personal experience with a stepfather.

People turn an eye to this sad sight
They pretend its not happening
It makes them feel bad inside
They see the bruises on the outside
But they pretend not to see it
So they turn a blind eye
The tears in the child's eye
It makes them cry
But they don't want to realize the truth in those sad eyes
The child withdraws from life
the hurt is to much
As they fight for life
By the time they realize
Its to late
The child has died
THey hurt inside
They didn't stop the crime
And they pretended not to see the hurt in the child's eyes.

I write the occasional poem, usually because I am deeply moved. This is one I wrote right after 9/11:

The Heart of a Soldier

I met him at the Wall, that dark September day;
his eyes were clear and bright, although his hair was gray.
He wore a faded jacket, and as he knelt and prayed,
I looked in admiration at the medals there displayed.

Proud of my own new uniform, I stood straight and tall,
beside this older Veteran, now weeping at the Wall.

His hands seemed somehow faded, like the tiny flag they held.
He stumbled slightly as he rose; I now his cane beheld.

And as he looked at me, his eyes still filled with tears.
a smile of recognition came, despite my fewer years.

One glance at my chevron’d sleeve, another at my chest,
told him of my recent past, my face told him the rest.

“In Vietnam they said we lost;” deep pain now filled his eyes.
“But I remember, yes I remember, the agony and cries.”

“For many years I’ve kept this flag, and carried it with pride,
in mem’ry of our comrades there who fought and bled and died.”

“I tried to re-enlist,” he said, “They said I was too old.”
“And this old leg feels greater pain, ‘specially in the cold.”

My own eyes now filled with tears as he gave the flag to me.
“Carry this for all the others who died to keep us free.”

I think about that old Soldier, who passed to me the dream,
a’kneelin’ here with all my gear beside an Afghan stream.

I swear by all that’s holy that I will do my best,
to save the dream, then touch the flag now sewn into my vest.

“Duty, honor, Country,” now becomes my creed,
I serve the cause of liberty, I ride sweet freedom’s steed.

As we remount, the rotors whir, o’er Afghan plains we fly,
I touch the flag and now recall, “Old Soldiers never die.”

By Forrest Lee Horn
Copyright 9/14/01

___________________________________


This is an open verse sort of poem I wrote to my wife on our first wedding anniversary:

Before I Met You

I never knew that love at 65 would be more all-consuming than love at 25.


I never knew that the reason for all my broken roads was to make me worthy of you.


I never knew that love could be so deep it would heal me as no physician could.


I never knew that the very best choice is to marry your very best friend.


I never knew that a dispairing, broken-hearted old man could be loved into being a child again.


I never knew love could be so intense that simply thinking about you could often make me weep.


I never knew my days could be so filled with laughter and joy.


You are my soul, and you own my heart.


All that I am, or ever will be, and all that I have, or ever will have, is yours, now and forever.


And when all is said and done, say this: that Vicky loved me.

Enemy-------------------------------------
You, my enemy,
Are everlasting,
You, who bring about hate and strife,
Never seem to leave.
Every step you take leaves a wake of confusion,
Something people only pretend to understand,
Never truly grasping its meaning.
You are the reason that we live.
You are the bringer of tears.
You, ever roaming in the back of our minds,
Seem to take action thoughtlessly,
Taking away everything.
You are what wilts flowers,
And what dessicates happiness,
You are what we can never forget.
Surpassing every phobia,
Clinging even to reality we cannot forget,
You, my enemy.
Someday, perhaps,
We can join hands as some stories claim,
And depart for forever as friends,
Though i see it ending,
Alone and forgotten.


enemy (the poem above) is about death in its nature. so it was not directly influenced by any recent death.

Idea-----------------------------------
If i am not loved than what am i?
Am i forced to be content,
With my heartshaped room,
Painted black and dressings scarce.

If im not here than where am i?
Am i floating off into space,
Am i lost in your eyes,
Or somewhere else ive never been.

If im not loved than what am i?
I am a beast.
A beast long since been slaughtered by the townsfolk,
My face, a red twisted mass.

If this isnt you than what is?
Are you a fallen angel,
Or a risin demon,
Come to tortue me.

If im not loved than what am i?
A soul, a soul left to die on his own,
For alone we are in our final moments,
The most important moments.

If i am not real than what am i?
An idea, nonexistant in nothingness,
However, nothing is something,
A monster of insecurity haunting us all.

If i am not loved than what am i,
Than i am not with you,
And if i am not with you i am dead,
An idea, floating in nothingness.


idea (poem above) is mostly just teenage romance, but i still think its really very good.


Logic---------------------------------------
Sometimes i wish i could disappear,
Shrink before your gaze,
Implode into nothingness,
Leaving a shell, untouched.
Oh, to go about my dailey tasks,
With frightening redundency,
Would be more of a treat,
A vacation,
Than a chore.
Sometimes i wish i could burst into flames,
Scaring those of ice,
So insecure in their very being,
Their lives are sketchy at best,
Depicting the shallow line between normality and insanity,
The shallow line between acceptance and rejection.
But they cry out in sadness,
Yes, i too am in disbelief,
In a ladder lower than the rest.
Sometimes i wish i could kill them all off,
one by one they would die,
Killing justly, i would assume.
But even the begger has a family,
Sending me in a spiral of smoke,
Whether biological or in friendship,
So who am i to judge?
Sometimes i whish things would just change.
Tomorrow being different than the last.
Stepping of the stairs to a plain,
Different, yet so the same.


logic ( above if you havent caught on ) is about how i dont really feel like i fit in to well with the major groups in school. im not a jock, im not a nerd, im not super popular (in fact more the opposite but i have a couple really good friends so its cool) and im not emo. its also refers to sometimes when your really angry u just wanna hurt someone.

and those were my poems, if you liked them please comment im only 13 and i would like to know if people other than me think their good.

yes and i love it, some of my stuff is more formal like this,

I looked upon the somber brush
Drained of life, hollow winds blowing through them
Leaves hissing as a thousand snakes on the breeze
The cold soil firm beneath my feet
Only warmed by the dimming autumn sun
Wilted fields seemed ablaze in dusks silhouette
The creek lightly flows to the west
Melting into the light
But soon the light fades
And the land shuts it's weary eyes
It will soon rest under blankets of snow
Only to wake by the drums of springs rain

while my other work is much more heavy on the mind and takes alot of thinking, like this

The winds of silence beseech my soul,
and forever turn the tides of my being.
Within the eyes of that which drives me,
I have seen them.
In their silence there is pain,
and in that reflection so is my heart.
Their silence touches me,
and I come to know the names of the wind,
of the dark.
Whilst my shell is in turn,
my mind is fell to their call.
Those who show no silence are blind to them,
and such and such in turn,
for no true flame is amongst them,
only sculpted clay and ash.
Their movement is mute,
unseen to they who cannot call to them.
Reaching within their bound,
I know their touch,
I know their name.
Their name becomes mine,
and my heart calls out to them once more.
Their flames become naught,
and I rest upon that ground,
that which my dreams have seen.
And in their midst I shall find that which is lost,
and lose that which is known.
They cannot know a name which has no shadow,
nor feel the turns of those winds.
They can only dream with open eyes,
and muse them from the depths.
Only when they can draw that bound between,
then they shall find entrance.
Their call is their folly,
a bleeding rain that stains them.
Silence is their law,
and their mark is unknown to them.
Hollow winds escape them,
branding their trails with reckoning.
To see their reflection,
is to resurrect them anew.
Those bounds they place,
it is their sin,
and only I can atone them.
To scatter them is to undo them,
only then will their true boundaries come.
They must break those bounds to find their own truth,
and sever that which keeps them.