Hi! My name's Verita. I just joined and thought I would spread the love and all-round resonating goodness by starting a new thread on poetry. Here's the plan:
1. Write a poem
2. Write a commentary, explaining what you wanted to express in the poem
3. Get reviewed by everyone else!
Well I will start things off with a poem very close to my heart...
Would you…?
I
Would you kill a horse
If the horse's owner
Betrayed his fellow man?
II
Would you die of thirst
If it would cause
Parched deserts to fill with rivers?
III
Would you kill one man
To save a thousand trees
- but what if that man was a comrade?
IV
Would you stab a duck?
I would.
Commentary
Basically I show man's dilemma when regarding various philosophical thoughts which seem paradoxical. The final stanza denotes my personal philosophy on life: to do what you will, disregarding any farcical doctrine that teaches the avoidance of humankind's apparently 'innate evil'.
Poetry...
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Joel Freeman
- Familiar Member
- Posts: 45
- Joined: Tue Feb 22, 2005 3:33 pm
- Christian: No
- Location: Colorado
Okay, I'm game.
I should mention, though, that this is a different kind of poem. It's not chalk full of hidden meaning and deep philosophy. It's very straight foward. I am a slam poet. It's a spoken art, and how you perform the poem is much more important than what the poem is actually saying. I've seen people read chinese food menus and get high scores because they performed them so well (yes, poetry slams are competitions).
Jazz
she always cried when she prayed
her tears beat the hardwood floor
as her heart listened to these prayers
repeated psalms flowed from her mouth
to the rhythm of depression
fear embraced her eyes
and wrapped itself around her
she sucked her knees to her chest
and buried her head
but solace did not follow
she always cried when she prayed
lamenting because she was not like the others
she moved paradigms
with the cold wet bullets that hit the coarse floor
shots bled through the paper walls
shots tainted her memories
shots ripped through her innocence
and we fell silent
paralyzed and panicked
i held my breath
and closed my eyes
and i saw…
seven candles melt
into six clear teardrops
that stroked her hair
and whispered nostalgia
into the very essence of her being
and i saw…
the guillotine fists sever heads
and take out walls
with rag doll bodies
and i saw…
inebriated retaliation
beneath willow trees
the draped leaves hiding scars
the drunk shooting stars
she always cried when she prayed
and she prayed the hardest when her parents drank
and now the tear-stained floors
bleed memories and dreams
like jazz…
the miles davis memories
swinging between trees
dancing to the fatality
and socrates singing
philosophical scat
doo wopping to the moon
and bee bopping to the stars
She could not cover her scars.
she always cried when she prayed
and now
as she squeezed her soaked pillow
she whispered the last word
amen
I wrote this poem about a friend whose parents used to beat her after a long night of drinking. I don't think I need to say more than that.
I should mention, though, that this is a different kind of poem. It's not chalk full of hidden meaning and deep philosophy. It's very straight foward. I am a slam poet. It's a spoken art, and how you perform the poem is much more important than what the poem is actually saying. I've seen people read chinese food menus and get high scores because they performed them so well (yes, poetry slams are competitions).
Jazz
she always cried when she prayed
her tears beat the hardwood floor
as her heart listened to these prayers
repeated psalms flowed from her mouth
to the rhythm of depression
fear embraced her eyes
and wrapped itself around her
she sucked her knees to her chest
and buried her head
but solace did not follow
she always cried when she prayed
lamenting because she was not like the others
she moved paradigms
with the cold wet bullets that hit the coarse floor
shots bled through the paper walls
shots tainted her memories
shots ripped through her innocence
and we fell silent
paralyzed and panicked
i held my breath
and closed my eyes
and i saw…
seven candles melt
into six clear teardrops
that stroked her hair
and whispered nostalgia
into the very essence of her being
and i saw…
the guillotine fists sever heads
and take out walls
with rag doll bodies
and i saw…
inebriated retaliation
beneath willow trees
the draped leaves hiding scars
the drunk shooting stars
she always cried when she prayed
and she prayed the hardest when her parents drank
and now the tear-stained floors
bleed memories and dreams
like jazz…
the miles davis memories
swinging between trees
dancing to the fatality
and socrates singing
philosophical scat
doo wopping to the moon
and bee bopping to the stars
She could not cover her scars.
she always cried when she prayed
and now
as she squeezed her soaked pillow
she whispered the last word
amen
I wrote this poem about a friend whose parents used to beat her after a long night of drinking. I don't think I need to say more than that.