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  • #33951
    Anonymous

      @theresa-play Are you alia from KP??

      #33981
      Mariposa Aristeo
      @mariposa

      @scribbles Yes! I like that new line! 🙂💜 Except I’m not sure how I like “sputter”; I think “crackle” could work well though.

      I think dinosaurs are cooler than dragons. 🦖

      #34129
      Angelina Vita
      @angelina-vita

        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

        "It is better to deserve honors and not have them then to have them and not deserve them." - Mark

        #34204
        Theresa Play
        @theresa-play

          @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

          #34252
          Anonymous

            @theresa-play Yes, I recognized your beautiful poem! *tacklehugs*

            #34322
            Theresa Play
            @theresa-play

              @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. Lewis

              #35177
              Evelyn
              @evelyn

              Poems 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.

               

              #35225
              Linyang Zhang
              @devastate-lasting

              @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

              #35226
              Evelyn
              @evelyn

              @devastate-lasting Thanks! 🙂

              #35238
              writerpiper
              @writerpiper

                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.

                #35240
                Sarah Inkdragon
                @sarah-inkdragon

                @writerpiper

                I love that poem! It’s amazing.

                "A hard heart is no infallible protection against a soft head."

                - C. S. Lewis

                #35247
                Evelyn
                @evelyn

                Wow! That poem is amazing! @writerpiper

                #35443
                writerpiper
                @writerpiper

                  Thank you both!

                  Writer of stories, weaver of worlds.

                  #35571
                  Rachel Rogers
                  @scribbles

                    @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.

                    #39422
                    Katthewriter
                    @katthewriter

                    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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