September 24, 2019 at 4:19 pm #97638Candide@candide
I write free style poetry, small non-fiction stories and things like Lydia Davis’ style.
I would like to write non-fiction as a professional, if it’s God’s will.
Don’t foget the bread!September 24, 2019 at 7:10 pm #97649
Nice! Not exactly familiar with Lydia Davis. Could you post a link to something of her’s? (she does poetry, I assume?)
Yeah; I’ve never really tried non-fiction on a high level and the only things I have done of that ilk would be essays for school. I did like the one I did on Tolkien, though. That was fun.
Ah, yes! Toasted sourdough. Please pass the garlic! XDSeptember 26, 2019 at 1:56 pm #97716Kenzie Pimpo@banana-peacock-warrior
Ooo, fun! I’ve never written a couplet before… 2 lines… I’m normally used to 12 stanzas… OH! Here’s a mutated version of the end of one of my poems… how’s this sound?
And though temptation seems so sweet,
God guards my heart from Satan’s schemes.
- This reply was modified 1 year, 11 months ago by Kenzie Pimpo.
“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.”
Psalm 94:19 September 26, 2019 at 11:13 pm #97744September 26, 2019 at 11:31 pm #97747
@w-o-holmes Ooh… I will contribute, as well. But seeing as it is 10:30, and Mama has told me to go to bed twice now, I will post a couple couplets tomorrow, if I can get a break from schoolwork and visiting with grandparents 😀
@wordsmith I haven’t read all three pages of this thread so I dunno if you’ve already seen this and contributed, but this might interest you
“Enough! Be quiet! I can’t hear myself think! I can’t hear my teeth chatter!"September 27, 2019 at 12:24 am #97749
Alright! Same here on the otherthingsIgottado part, and I’ll probably post some as well tomorrow. 🙂September 27, 2019 at 10:55 am #97754
Alrighty… I wrote this last night sitting in bed cause I wasn’t sleepy yet. Most, if not all, of the deepest stuff I write I write at night. Idk. But it’s five couplets, and you can read them individually or together.
Hands shaking, her last request,
To die and be buried in her wedding dress.
Lace veil frames her once-dark hair,
Mother-of-pearl sewn here and there.
Blue eyes stare down at wrinkled hand,
Diamond ring never joined by wedding band.
Eighty years ago, the paper caused her pain,
In it, in the lists, she read her lover’s name.
His name, across from which was written,
Three words: “Missing In Action.”
Also since we’re on the topic of really sad poems, here’s a free-form one I wrote a night ago after reading a book:
Dried tears stain my cheeks,
I am broken.
A fresh tear slips out,
Runs down my nose as I bow my head.
Having care only for him,
I ignore it as it drips onto the page.
His only life,
Voluntarily given for so many others.
So much pain,
As I set down the book.
I must finish it.
Pick it back up,
Try not to cry as I do.
Three chapters go by,
I sob freely.
“Enough! Be quiet! I can’t hear myself think! I can’t hear my teeth chatter!"September 27, 2019 at 1:06 pm #97762Kenzie Pimpo@banana-peacock-warriorSeptember 27, 2019 at 3:07 pm #97768
@banana-peacock-warrior 🙂 🙂 Thanks! Yeah, I surprised myself by how sad it turned out XD
“Enough! Be quiet! I can’t hear myself think! I can’t hear my teeth chatter!"September 28, 2019 at 2:10 pm #97795
Very nice and doleful, both
They are, I think, lugubrious told.
Did then you write them on a whim?
Of depression, deep, so mournful them?
They speak of things not of the bourn
For this, as they, would be all dry.
Nothing left and desolate
Its banks would run of dirt, no less.
So sad, so cheerless, dejected most
Where are the things of lighted prose?
Of poetry that sweet, excelled
So thick and rich to be dispelled
And that not of the deepest pit
Nor even yet the mired wit.
These are the written, swords of light
And even if you didn’t write
Those to yourself, a lullaby
For things of which you had foregone.
These very good again are they
That written pen and ink to stay
To flow and write the force of all
Who dare to wander down its paths.
Savvy? This may or may not have been on a whim. 🙂September 28, 2019 at 2:11 pm #97796September 30, 2019 at 12:27 pm #97849
The first, on a whim wrote I,
Meant to prick and wet the eye,
Thought-provoking, it was meant,
To remind us all of those who went,
Left their loved ones and their home,
Perhaps never return, and die alone,
Far from their homeland, laid down to rest,
From lips of wives and mothers, they were blessed.
Though I believe that to war is wrong,
I realize it and the sorrow it brings along
Affects the lives of the ones left behind,
Their faces, Sadness deeply lined.
And the poem I wrote,
Perhaps an antidote.
The second poem, a self-portrait of
Myself, after the death of a character I love.
Thirteen and one-half books, three series, spent building my love and faith,
Only to have it broken, crushed to the ground, reducing me to but a wraith.
But at the end of book fourteen, he reappears,
Bringing me once more to my knees, and tears.
“A miracle!” his fellow characters say,
“And now, dear one, are you here to stay?”
If it be the author’s will, if it be, in his next planned book
(for there are too many untied strings for him to overlook),
To keep him from further harm and us from further heartbreak,
Then once more I shall sit, in bed ’til midnight, awake,
To finish the series I’ve put a bit of my heart in;
‘Trials of Apollo’ by Rick Riordan.
Quite savvy! Poems written on a whim quite often are the best ones 😛
(and just because I’m curious… Have you watched Pirates of the Caribbean, or do you just like saying “savvy”? Or both? (I, sadly, have not watched it, but I know a few good quotes from it. My favorite is probably “Nobody move! I dropped me brain!” That’s me pretty much every Monday 😛 ))
“Enough! Be quiet! I can’t hear myself think! I can’t hear my teeth chatter!"September 30, 2019 at 11:46 pm #97890
True, ’tis true, of what you say
This sadness, so provoking, stay
And feed this overwhelming loss
Where poetry does fully ‘lease.
Break the flow a’from the walls!
And charge a’through these broken halls!
Beat them down and flow the ground!
And crush these hurts into the mound!
Ohhh, the hurt does call to us,
We writers of the placid hand
Where thick, emotions tend to flow
And always ever ending row.
And wind is heard, and that afar
This man, this bird, awake they are.
To hear the thundering of the waves
The billows, down they fall; cascade.
And still to see the setting sun
Upon the back, this beauteous one.
This water falling down the way
And sorrow, kept in whirled way.
Down the stream and to the sky
This always runs, never does end.
Ah, but you see, you must pretend
Not stay, but follow it along.
Run until this stream portends
And finally in lake it ends.
Puddles fully, despaires unknown
Let not your coils struggle within.
These convolutions full and thick
Of doleful thoughts, my friend does stick
To these ways of sulking head
And drooping mind, her eyes do tread.
No poetry does she now write
Only prose, that now a rite.
Before our times, never let own
This sorrow and that grasp your soul.
“Let not your heart be troubled” by
These things and let it be lifted up.
For in these trials we learn and grow
In Christ, our King, we always know.
He the maker, we the tree
We bear fruit because of He.
Glorious and pondered much
His Word is set in stone and such
Is so that we may understand
These golden, fiery, lancing words
Of Truth, divine, and from His tongue
They are, truly, the Words of Life.
You know what, I’m sorry! This is really long and indeed I do have much time for it; even this is only is in response to the first half; the first poem that you had writ. On with the second, I shall continue:
Oh, yes! Verity and mightily arrayed
These truths of characters endowed.
I understand your conflict here
Your thoughts on ripping, minds of flesh.
Not literally, now, you see
But more the emotional type, I tell;
And this wondersome anomaly:
Within a cumbersome analogy.
This hilarious and fruitful thought
That your plight of sorrow; cast, wrought
On poetry and penned in ink
Oh, billowous and purple, pink.
The whole mission of said above
The promoting reason of this dove
Of embers of a story, long
And fruitful with these topics, strong –
You now shall see my reasoning
Behind this idol, stranger talk:
This story ember idea
To bring about the skills of us,
The Christian writers, poets, painters
Of the pen and of the paper
To create in us, a bursting art
And in this, too, what you’ve witnessed
Within your book, of what’sitcalled
And satire, a nut kit mauled
By the author, and he to you
Has taken talents, used them true.
You know, I think we’ve taken this idea of having a short, nice little competition of writing COUPLETS to the other side. XD
And yes, ’tis both; the movie, book and talk
Of which I have rendered free
A higher feat.
For it is in itself a rock,
Of harder traits, these words do knock
Upon the door of Mordor’s gates
And up unto the Durdureth.
Yeah, that one’s one of my favourite parts in the movie!!! XD!! *I dropped me brain* Ohhh, so great.
True, true; they really are some of the better ones, those of the whimwrit. Hey!!! A new word!!! Whimwrit poetry…hmmm. I coined it!!! *looking around aggressively* My word! My rock! (have you seen the new Jungle Book? That part where the porcupine is walking around claiming things. XD!!!October 1, 2019 at 9:52 pm #97930
*clears throat* (heh-cough) Yes, well back to the original idea of this post:
When old things die and leave this waste
Then new will come, control in all haste.
True, but not amusing, I know. What you y’all think?
You may like this idea 🙂
October 2, 2019 at 7:35 am #97942
- This reply was modified 1 year, 11 months ago by Leon Fleming.
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