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@theresa-play Are you alia from KP??
@scribbles Yes! I like that new line! 🙂💜 Except I’m not sure how I like “sputter”; I think “crackle” could work well though.
I’m not sure about this poem… I don’t do as much poetry as I used to and this came while waiting in my chiropractor’s office… just had a sudden image in my head and typed it out on my phone while sitting in the office! Any help would be appreciated!
Have you seen a flamingo dance
in the darkness of a blood red moon
Have you seen a starlight fall
down beneath the great unknown
Have you ever seen an eagle soar
by the light of a thousand suns
Have you ever seen the grass plain die
crushed by a hundred feet final run
Have you seen the nightingale fall
in the midst of the angry sea
Have you seen the cannonball fly
into the empty free
I can tell you it’s living
I can tell you its here
I can tell you the cannon wins
When the sun falls down
When the stars are swallowed underground
When the bird fails to dance.
When the eagle fails to see the crown
When the cannonball flies
I can tell you it’s the same
When your black or white
The flamingo never dances in the moon
The eagle never soars on high
Mankind has stolen its life
Have you seen the cannonball
Take the life of the wicked
Have you seen Normandy
Or seen Arlington Cemetery
The cannon won and the flamingo dances on
In the moon colored by wicked blood
The flamingo dances on
@ariel-ashira, yes, yes I am
"My prayer is that when I die, all of hell rejoices that I am out of the fight."
- C. S. Lewis@theresa-play Yes, I recognized your beautiful poem! *tacklehugs*
@ariel-ashira *raises arms to both protect self and hug back* glad I’m memorable 🙂
"My prayer is that when I die, all of hell rejoices that I am out of the fight."
- C. S. LewisPoems can be fun but a lot of work sometimes! Here is one of my very simple and short ones I wrote last fall:
A book and a breeze,
A shower of leaves,
Red, orange, and yellow,
Sprinkling from trees.
@evelyn Ooh, I like that one!
Every thing seems so warm and fluffy here…*disappears back into closet of angst and tears*
"I set a melody upon the scenery I saw outside my window;
It's beginning in my spacy world."
- TK@devastate-lasting Thanks! 🙂
Here’s a poem I was inspired to write by my “Art and Culture” class. It compares and contrasts the different art forms with writing. Any critique would be appreciated! 🙂
Empty pages stretch before, a canvas yet untainted.
Verbiage heaped on color pallets, waiting to be painted.
Sculptor’s chisel, writer’s red pen, cannot tell apart:
Mental theatre, stories play out, acts about to start.Blueprint or an outline? Structured just the same.
Words dancing across paper to tunes as yet unnamed.
The rhythm of a heartbeat, the symphony of soul.
Composer or an author? – Both are in control.I am not a painter, or a sculptor, or actress.
Nor am I an architect, musician, I confess.
Instead, I am a Wordsmith, holding worlds that I have made.
Crafting stories, memories, whose magic never fades.Writer of stories, weaver of worlds.
I love that poem! It’s amazing.
"A hard heart is no infallible protection against a soft head."
- C. S. Lewis
Wow! That poem is amazing! @writerpiper
@mariposa I could have sworn I already answered this. Mental replies are my new message format, I guess. 😛 I chose the word “sputter” because it sounds more like a faltering struggle than “crackle” to me? But I’m always open to word changes, so I’ll play around with that suggestion and see if anything else jumps out as me as an alternative. 🙂
Also, @everybody-else, great poems!
Ambiverted INFP. Scribbles all the words. Names the plant friends. Secretly Edna the Piguirrel.
A poem..
I sat still starring at the blank page in front of me.
A pen in my hand.
Anticipating to write something Wonderful.
Something Inspiring.
Something Beautiful.
But what?
I have so much in my mind but outwardly so little.
But I want to writer, I need to write.
I gripped the pen harder and put it near the paper.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited for something to come to my mind.
Something Wonderful.
Something Inspiring.
Something Beautiful.
Something.
Anything.
But all the filled my mind was Fear.
Fear that it wouldn’t be Wonderful.
Fear that it wouldn’t be Inspiring.
Fear that it wouldn’t be Beautiful.
Fear that even if I poured my time and love into it that it wouldn’t be anything.
Anything good, Anything worthwhile.
Anything Wonderful.
Anything Inspiring.
Anything Beautiful.
The only good of it to be crumpled up and thrown away.
The work the pen and paper helped me with ruined.
With my hands shaking I closed the pen and sat it down.
The blank piece of paper blurring as my eyes filled with tears.
I couldn’t do it.
I had failed.
Nothing Wonderful.
Nothing Inspiring.
Nothing Beautiful.
I got up and walked away.
An empty feeling sank into my stomach.
I failed being a writer.
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