Forums Poetry Poetry Discussions I HAVE A POETIC CHALLENGE!

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    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!


    Leon Fleming


    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! XD

    The Writing Gremlin


      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.

      “When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.”
      ‭‭Psalm‬ ‭94:19‬ ‭

      Leon Fleming


      Very nice! Very true! I love it a lot. 😀

      Livi Ryddle

      @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 😀

      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

      May the road rise to meet you,
      A smile always greet you,
      May our friendship be always true and strong

      Leon Fleming


      Alright! Same here on the otherthingsIgottado part, and I’ll probably post some as well tomorrow. 🙂

      Livi Ryddle


      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.

      And yet,

      I must finish it.

      Pick it back up,

      Try not to cry as I do.

      Three chapters go by,

      I sob freely.

      He lives.  

      May the road rise to meet you,
      A smile always greet you,
      May our friendship be always true and strong

      The Writing Gremlin

        @w-o-holmes: Thank you!

        : I really enjoyed the first poem. It was so sad but I think it was really well written.😌

        “When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.”
        ‭‭Psalm‬ ‭94:19‬ ‭

        Livi Ryddle

        @banana-peacock-warrior 🙂 🙂 Thanks! Yeah, I surprised myself by how sad it turned out XD

        May the road rise to meet you,
        A smile always greet you,
        May our friendship be always true and strong

        Leon Fleming


        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. 🙂

        Leon Fleming


        You’re welcome!

        Livi Ryddle


        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 😛 ))

        May the road rise to meet you,
        A smile always greet you,
        May our friendship be always true and strong

        Leon Fleming


        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

        Of itself

        and that

        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!!!

        Leon Fleming

        *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 🙂

        Emberynus The Dragonslayer

        @w-o-holmes Oh Cool! Thanks Will! I’ll see what I can come up with. 🙂 😉

        Sleep doesn't help if it's your soul that's tired.

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