Write Your Poems To Here
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PineconeKing
Sergeant
Beige-coloured forums
Disagreements and fighting
This is amusing
Not a perfect haiku, because no dictionary online or otherwise that I can see counts a word's morae, so I'm running off of syllables.
Disagreements and fighting
This is amusing
Not a perfect haiku, because no dictionary online or otherwise that I can see counts a word's morae, so I'm running off of syllables.
Well its been awhile since anyone has posted here 
Thought I would add a little one, from the struggles of our journeys from this life.
The things that get me down....
will make you drown.
Gotta keep swinging....
moving all around.
Don't lose your ground....
Its just another round.
Thought I would add a little one, from the struggles of our journeys from this life.
The things that get me down....
will make you drown.
Gotta keep swinging....
moving all around.
Don't lose your ground....
Its just another round.
Shamelessly stolen and translated into English, because its deepness knows no bounds:
The Sun is shining in a country
On a girl who's on a pool party
The girl lacks any sunscreen
Skin cancer
This poem rhymes
Second verse rhymes
Third verse rhymes
And fourth verse also rhymes
How great flower, a dandelion
never killed one nor million
Even though it's often trampled
Unlike Adolf Hitler
The Sun is shining in a country
On a girl who's on a pool party
The girl lacks any sunscreen
Skin cancer
This poem rhymes
Second verse rhymes
Third verse rhymes
And fourth verse also rhymes
How great flower, a dandelion
never killed one nor million
Even though it's often trampled
Unlike Adolf Hitler
About an hour ago I did some some less-than-sober soul searching and reached the conclusion that the world needed some really, really ****ty poetry that's fruitier than a cherry orchard operated solely by offensively stereotypical homosexual men in pink coveralls. This is the result:
One by Wire, One by Road
One by wire, and one by road long as I care I've strode
And one knows some and the other others my secrets that I've told
Confident confidants these many years have been
And equal parts in separate ways have proved my dearest friends
The sight of one I know by heart
The other most by words
Of all the throngs and crowds I've known they've shown above the herds
I've known the love of God above
And dreamed of Eve below
But truer bonds have failed to form than those for these I know
It's probably of scant appeal to either them or you
But without the company they've supplied I'd like to've hit my due
I'm not so good with words when used in manners more informal
But I cannot overstate the fact that through them I've known some normal
Several others I cater to and hold in high esteem
But memories and fondness more from none I've ever gleaned
I recall the meeting of each in mind and smile at the thoughts
Years have many come and went and sure in time were lost
With one I've through field and forest walked
The other I've sustained with high and lofty talks
One is greater than the next on any passing day
But when I think of them alone the balance comes the same
Both, I'm sure, are bound to move, and doubtless so shall I
But if I imagined my affection wain, I'd name the thought a lie
We three are common in the fact that life is frequent cruel
But found in them I have lessons forsook in school
When passing from this earthly frame and moving on above
I'd likely sooner linger here were they forbade to come
So meeting one by way of road
And other by way of wire
No solace I've yet to find to contest with these suppliers
"What madness have you wrought," my slowly returning sobriety begged.
"The kind that will certainly be well-received by people who aren't growing their first pubic stubble," I replied, in my desperate longing for attention.
One by Wire, One by Road
One by wire, and one by road long as I care I've strode
And one knows some and the other others my secrets that I've told
Confident confidants these many years have been
And equal parts in separate ways have proved my dearest friends
The sight of one I know by heart
The other most by words
Of all the throngs and crowds I've known they've shown above the herds
I've known the love of God above
And dreamed of Eve below
But truer bonds have failed to form than those for these I know
It's probably of scant appeal to either them or you
But without the company they've supplied I'd like to've hit my due
I'm not so good with words when used in manners more informal
But I cannot overstate the fact that through them I've known some normal
Several others I cater to and hold in high esteem
But memories and fondness more from none I've ever gleaned
I recall the meeting of each in mind and smile at the thoughts
Years have many come and went and sure in time were lost
With one I've through field and forest walked
The other I've sustained with high and lofty talks
One is greater than the next on any passing day
But when I think of them alone the balance comes the same
Both, I'm sure, are bound to move, and doubtless so shall I
But if I imagined my affection wain, I'd name the thought a lie
We three are common in the fact that life is frequent cruel
But found in them I have lessons forsook in school
When passing from this earthly frame and moving on above
I'd likely sooner linger here were they forbade to come
So meeting one by way of road
And other by way of wire
No solace I've yet to find to contest with these suppliers
"What madness have you wrought," my slowly returning sobriety begged.
"The kind that will certainly be well-received by people who aren't growing their first pubic stubble," I replied, in my desperate longing for attention.
Translating a poem, would appreciate any help. Problematic parts in bold
Her wife phoned Suleymen:
- It’s me,
Me, Fahire.
Did you not recognize my voice?
I screamed all of a sudden, is that so?
Screaming?
Maybe ...
No,
The kids are not sick.
Listen to me:
Stop working and come here,
But hurry up.
I can not speak on the phone,
I can’t.
There’s still an eternity until the evening.
Hours, hours
As long as the doom.
Don’t ask.
Listen to me ...
If you can’t find a ferry right away
Take a boat to Uskudar.
Take a taxi.
If you don’t have money
Get an advance from your boss.
Do not think anything on the road,
Try to come without lies as much as possible.
Lies must be told to the strong
Now, I am weak.
Do not tease me, darling.
Yes it will snow,
Yes,
The weather is nice.
Not as the man on whose chest I slept,
Not as my husband
But come as my elder one, my intelligent one, my father
2nd
Süleyman came,
Fahire asked her husband, Süleyman:
- Is it true?
- Yes.
- Thank you, Suleyman.
Look, I'm relieved.
Look, I don’t cry anymore.
Where did you meet?
- At a hotel.
- On the side of Beyoglu?
- Yes.
- How many times?
- Three or four.
- Is it three or four?
- I don’t know.
-Is it so difficult to remember that Suleyman?
- I don’t know.
- In a hotel room then.
Who knows how dirty the sheets were.
I read in an English novel,
In that kind of hotels
There are broken bathtubs.
Was there any in yours Suleyman?
- I don’t know.
- Try to remember,
A broken tub with spring pink flowers?
- Yes.
- Did you ever give her a gift?
- No.
- Chocolate or anything else?
- Once.
- Did you love her?
- Love?
No ...
- Are there others, Suleyman?
- No.
-Noone?
- No.
-So you loved that one
If there were others
I would feel more comfortable ...
Was she screwing so well?
- No.
- Tell me the truth, look how brave I am ...
- I'm telling the truth ...
- They already showed me.
More like a cow than a woman.
Her legs larger than my waist ...
But it's a matter of taste ...
One more thing, Suleyman:
Why?
- I don’t know ...
In the darkness of the window
A snowy, heavy pine branch.
It's been a while since
the clock chimed twelve in the living room.[was supposed to rhyme]
3
Süleyman's wife Fahire
Told her husband in the next day:
- ... The compassion I felt for myself,
became an unbearable pain
Now that I have decided to die, Süleyman ...
My mother, my children and you
would find my footprints in the snow.
Guard, cops, a wooden ladder
And you would carry out the corpse of a woman
From the well in the backyard.
Is it easy?
Walking towards the a well in the night
then stopping at the edge
diving into the darkness upsidedown?
But if you did not
find my footprints in the snow
It's not because I was scared.
Guard, stairs, cops,
Gossip, scene,
The suicide of a cheated wife:
Comical.
Explaining why I died is arduous.
To who? To everyone, to you.
One can’t stop thinking of others
Even when deciding to die
You were sleeping in the bed
Your face was comfortable,
Just like how you always sleep,
Before her and with her.
It started to snow outside.
Going out to the balcony with a single dress:
Pnuemonia the next day,
To die without any show or fanfare.
No,
I never thought it was possible to just get a cold.
I lighted the stove.
One must get warm first.
Then the lungs crack just like a glass.
I'm looking at the window, the snow:
«Like a bird that lost his mate,
the snow,
searches the past days of the spring... »
My father loved this poem very much.
You do not like it at all.
«From the right to the left, from the left to the right ...»
I walked to the balcony with the lights on.
«As snow
falls and cries ... »
I sat at the balcony.
The air is silent as the dead.
The darkness was all white.
As if I’m in a sleep.
As if a person I like very much
Fearing to wake me up
walks around softly.
I was not feeling cold.
My sorrow was settling
Getting clearer.
- It’s me,
Me, Fahire.
Did you not recognize my voice?
I screamed all of a sudden, is that so?
Screaming?
Maybe ...
No,
The kids are not sick.
Listen to me:
Stop working and come here,
But hurry up.
I can not speak on the phone,
I can’t.
There’s still an eternity until the evening.
Hours, hours
As long as the doom.
Don’t ask.
Listen to me ...
If you can’t find a ferry right away
Take a boat to Uskudar.
Take a taxi.
If you don’t have money
Get an advance from your boss.
Do not think anything on the road,
Try to come without lies as much as possible.
Lies must be told to the strong
Now, I am weak.
Do not tease me, darling.
Yes it will snow,
Yes,
The weather is nice.
Not as the man on whose chest I slept,
Not as my husband
But come as my elder one, my intelligent one, my father
2nd
Süleyman came,
Fahire asked her husband, Süleyman:
- Is it true?
- Yes.
- Thank you, Suleyman.
Look, I'm relieved.
Look, I don’t cry anymore.
Where did you meet?
- At a hotel.
- On the side of Beyoglu?
- Yes.
- How many times?
- Three or four.
- Is it three or four?
- I don’t know.
-Is it so difficult to remember that Suleyman?
- I don’t know.
- In a hotel room then.
Who knows how dirty the sheets were.
I read in an English novel,
In that kind of hotels
There are broken bathtubs.
Was there any in yours Suleyman?
- I don’t know.
- Try to remember,
A broken tub with spring pink flowers?
- Yes.
- Did you ever give her a gift?
- No.
- Chocolate or anything else?
- Once.
- Did you love her?
- Love?
No ...
- Are there others, Suleyman?
- No.
-Noone?
- No.
-So you loved that one
If there were others
I would feel more comfortable ...
Was she screwing so well?
- No.
- Tell me the truth, look how brave I am ...
- I'm telling the truth ...
- They already showed me.
More like a cow than a woman.
Her legs larger than my waist ...
But it's a matter of taste ...
One more thing, Suleyman:
Why?
- I don’t know ...
In the darkness of the window
A snowy, heavy pine branch.
It's been a while since
the clock chimed twelve in the living room.[was supposed to rhyme]
3
Süleyman's wife Fahire
Told her husband in the next day:
- ... The compassion I felt for myself,
became an unbearable pain
Now that I have decided to die, Süleyman ...
My mother, my children and you
would find my footprints in the snow.
Guard, cops, a wooden ladder
And you would carry out the corpse of a woman
From the well in the backyard.
Is it easy?
Walking towards the a well in the night
then stopping at the edge
diving into the darkness upsidedown?
But if you did not
find my footprints in the snow
It's not because I was scared.
Guard, stairs, cops,
Gossip, scene,
The suicide of a cheated wife:
Comical.
Explaining why I died is arduous.
To who? To everyone, to you.
One can’t stop thinking of others
Even when deciding to die
You were sleeping in the bed
Your face was comfortable,
Just like how you always sleep,
Before her and with her.
It started to snow outside.
Going out to the balcony with a single dress:
Pnuemonia the next day,
To die without any show or fanfare.
No,
I never thought it was possible to just get a cold.
I lighted the stove.
One must get warm first.
Then the lungs crack just like a glass.
I'm looking at the window, the snow:
«Like a bird that lost his mate,
the snow,
searches the past days of the spring... »
My father loved this poem very much.
You do not like it at all.
«From the right to the left, from the left to the right ...»
I walked to the balcony with the lights on.
«As snow
falls and cries ... »
I sat at the balcony.
The air is silent as the dead.
The darkness was all white.
As if I’m in a sleep.
As if a person I like very much
Fearing to wake me up
walks around softly.
I was not feeling cold.
My sorrow was settling
Getting clearer.
Dystopian
Why me said he,
the apple of my eye.
Why did this have to happen,
why did he have to die?
When a Father falls quiet,
Without, (like heroes of old), a chance to be heroic.
A bitter sadness will consume his son,
and turn the man into a poet.
Vacant eyes hide a flurrying mind,
the son grasps his hand and locks his gaze.
A terrible scene for the history of mankind,
the vacancy of life sets his heart ablaze.
God allows a Father to leave his son in such disgrace?
Nay the son himself had failed his father.
Given all the ages to give him time and place,
Why hadn't I thought to give a bother?
- Me
the apple of my eye.
Why did this have to happen,
why did he have to die?
When a Father falls quiet,
Without, (like heroes of old), a chance to be heroic.
A bitter sadness will consume his son,
and turn the man into a poet.
Vacant eyes hide a flurrying mind,
the son grasps his hand and locks his gaze.
A terrible scene for the history of mankind,
the vacancy of life sets his heart ablaze.
God allows a Father to leave his son in such disgrace?
Nay the son himself had failed his father.
Given all the ages to give him time and place,
Why hadn't I thought to give a bother?
- Me
how to install mod?
i will pay you, please help
sorry english bad
There was a young Turk on a forum
Who was full of vacational boredom,
So he made an account,
For the blade and the mount,
And got trolled by the resident whoredom.
There once was a thread about butts
Which was home to some horny old mutts.
Their taste was abysmal,
The butts were a bit small,
So the admin team gave it the cut.
There once was a lad from wallonia
Whose posts ranged from Marx to Cat'lonia.
A skull-obsessed kraut
Trolled him inside and out,
'Till the belgian man cried "oh, begone yah!"
There once was a cuckold named Gest
Who had much prose to get off his chest.
"His jokes and his jabs
Range from "okay" to "crap"!"
Said a texan named Crick from the west.
I could do these all day.
i will pay you, please help
sorry english bad
There was a young Turk on a forum
Who was full of vacational boredom,
So he made an account,
For the blade and the mount,
And got trolled by the resident whoredom.
There once was a thread about butts
Which was home to some horny old mutts.
Their taste was abysmal,
The butts were a bit small,
So the admin team gave it the cut.
There once was a lad from wallonia
Whose posts ranged from Marx to Cat'lonia.
A skull-obsessed kraut
Trolled him inside and out,
'Till the belgian man cried "oh, begone yah!"
There once was a cuckold named Gest
Who had much prose to get off his chest.
"His jokes and his jabs
Range from "okay" to "crap"!"
Said a texan named Crick from the west.
I could do these all day.
Cool poem i saw in a ww2 book (war without hate - john bierman)
Sixty years! He's old and out of sorts
But still he smiles to see them on the screen,
The lads they were, tin hats, enormous shorts
As big as bivouacs. Full magazine,
One up the spout, going in at the high port
Through smoke, a newsreel shot in black and white;
A fake for civvies, so he'd always thought,
It wasn't cameras shooting that first night.
And then live interviews - well, just about -
Old men, false teeth and medals, pretty toys
Dangling from their ribbons. Gaunt or stout
They wheeze or croak. Fade out. He hears the noise
Of bugle's rhetoric; then words: Lest we forget.
He snorts, then wonders why his face is wet.
- Vernon Scannell, 51st Highland Division
Also something i just wrote 10 minutes ago while listening to some U2 songs.
Calming down them all
a shoulder to rest on
waiting for the time
its my turn to lean on
racing through the night
like a satellite in the sky
orbiting around my life
without seeing me in plane sight
wasting my days
like the good old ways
im a lost case
queueing up to my fate
contemplating life
a solid routine of mine
clinging to that shine
that blows up in the finale
Sixty years! He's old and out of sorts
But still he smiles to see them on the screen,
The lads they were, tin hats, enormous shorts
As big as bivouacs. Full magazine,
One up the spout, going in at the high port
Through smoke, a newsreel shot in black and white;
A fake for civvies, so he'd always thought,
It wasn't cameras shooting that first night.
And then live interviews - well, just about -
Old men, false teeth and medals, pretty toys
Dangling from their ribbons. Gaunt or stout
They wheeze or croak. Fade out. He hears the noise
Of bugle's rhetoric; then words: Lest we forget.
He snorts, then wonders why his face is wet.
- Vernon Scannell, 51st Highland Division
Also something i just wrote 10 minutes ago while listening to some U2 songs.
Calming down them all
a shoulder to rest on
waiting for the time
its my turn to lean on
racing through the night
like a satellite in the sky
orbiting around my life
without seeing me in plane sight
wasting my days
like the good old ways
im a lost case
queueing up to my fate
contemplating life
a solid routine of mine
clinging to that shine
that blows up in the finale
I Killed Your God
You cling on to a god,
praying for saviour,
he will pick you up,
and make you stand tall.
But I killed your god,
I killed them all.
Once they roamed the Earth,
climbed through every crack,
fed on all your fears,
put you to the wall.
But I killed your god,
I killed them all.
You say He'll punish,
and make me pay,
force me on my knees,
and make me crawl.
But I killed your god,
I killed them all.
They stay in the heavens,
or mountains and clouds,
hiding from the world,
won't answer a call.
but I found your god,
I found them all.
What is left to say?
One final prayer,
one last magic wish,
hoping not to fall.
But I killed the gods,
I killed them all.
I killed your god,
I killed them all.
You cling on to a god,
praying for saviour,
he will pick you up,
and make you stand tall.
But I killed your god,
I killed them all.
Once they roamed the Earth,
climbed through every crack,
fed on all your fears,
put you to the wall.
But I killed your god,
I killed them all.
You say He'll punish,
and make me pay,
force me on my knees,
and make me crawl.
But I killed your god,
I killed them all.
They stay in the heavens,
or mountains and clouds,
hiding from the world,
won't answer a call.
but I found your god,
I found them all.
What is left to say?
One final prayer,
one last magic wish,
hoping not to fall.
But I killed the gods,
I killed them all.
I killed your god,
I killed them all.
(Plagiarising Nietzsche here)
Blackest Crown
I'm told I have no faith,
therefore no morals too.
As if only scriptures
by holy men held truth.
John Locke has more reason,
Beccaria more wits,
than all the old prophets
with all their prejudice.
-
Turn virtues upside down,
they'll be your blackest crown
The antiking in town,
wearing the blackest crown
-
The original sin
made sinners of us all.
The man behind the thought,
the biggest of them all.
It's a moral high ground
built on fear and detest,
with ancient rules and thoughts
that should be laid to rest.
-
Turn virtues upside down,
they'll be your blackest crown
The antiking in town,
wearing the blackest crown
-
You do the will of God,
won't see the evident;
it's the will of power
hungry people's decadence.
So conveniently
the clergy is given
power over people
with promise of heaven.
-
Turn virtues upside down,
they'll be your blackest crown
The antiking in town,
wearing the blackest crown
-
The categorical
imperative by Kant
makes virtue automats,
and lust in high demand.
From a mere pile of dirt
a tall tower rises
but this one's bound to fall,
it is built on vices.
-
Turn virtues upside down,
they'll be your blackest crown
The antiking in town,
wearing the blackest crown
wearing the blackest crown
-
Blackest Crown
I'm told I have no faith,
therefore no morals too.
As if only scriptures
by holy men held truth.
John Locke has more reason,
Beccaria more wits,
than all the old prophets
with all their prejudice.
-
Turn virtues upside down,
they'll be your blackest crown
The antiking in town,
wearing the blackest crown
-
The original sin
made sinners of us all.
The man behind the thought,
the biggest of them all.
It's a moral high ground
built on fear and detest,
with ancient rules and thoughts
that should be laid to rest.
-
Turn virtues upside down,
they'll be your blackest crown
The antiking in town,
wearing the blackest crown
-
You do the will of God,
won't see the evident;
it's the will of power
hungry people's decadence.
So conveniently
the clergy is given
power over people
with promise of heaven.
-
Turn virtues upside down,
they'll be your blackest crown
The antiking in town,
wearing the blackest crown
-
The categorical
imperative by Kant
makes virtue automats,
and lust in high demand.
From a mere pile of dirt
a tall tower rises
but this one's bound to fall,
it is built on vices.
-
Turn virtues upside down,
they'll be your blackest crown
The antiking in town,
wearing the blackest crown
wearing the blackest crown
-
Now all you need is a guitarist and a live drummer (if you're old-school) and you're officially a prog metal lyricist.
There once was a boy called Arvenski,
From America's version of Guernsey.
He gave up the ghost
When he read all my posts,
And chastised my bad habit quite sternly.
There once was a thread about Syria,
Which was deader than northern Siberia.
Then along came the Turks,
Who all acted like jerks,
And created an air of hysteria.
If your argument runs out of pluck,
And you feel like you're fresh out of luck,
Well, keep your phone running!
You know just what's coming:
No matter what, call him a cuck.
From America's version of Guernsey.
He gave up the ghost
When he read all my posts,
And chastised my bad habit quite sternly.
There once was a thread about Syria,
Which was deader than northern Siberia.
Then along came the Turks,
Who all acted like jerks,
And created an air of hysteria.
If your argument runs out of pluck,
And you feel like you're fresh out of luck,
Well, keep your phone running!
You know just what's coming:
No matter what, call him a cuck.
Last time I posted a poem I made here I considered deleting my account upon sobering up, Let's see if this one makes me an hero my forum account.
Anything I wanted, and everything I could be
You all told me it was well-within my reach
A stumble here, a tripping stone
No matter, just carry on
Now it's time, I've come to see
All those words were lies to me
For whose sake did you dole them out
To make me strong, to make you proud?
Well now it feels so much so
All your assurances were just a load
I'm nothing more than I ever was
And that was never going to be enough
Not after the greatness you swore awaited
Never come and yet abated
Would it have been so bad to say
That I'm alright, and that's okay
But instead you said to be it all
The best, the greatest, with steeled resolve
It wasn't enough to get me there
and now I find I just can't care
I don't resent you, I think you tried
But was it for me or your own damn pride?
Couldn't I've just gone on and been
Anything that defines us men
Truly, the rank and file
Not so much the top of the pile
It's lonely at the top, I think
But I wouldn't know
I wouldn't know
But it's lonely down here, with the other lows
All the same, the same as me
Promised they'd be anything
Anything I wanted, and everything I could be
You all told me it was well-within my reach
A stumble here, a tripping stone
No matter, just carry on
Now it's time, I've come to see
All those words were lies to me
For whose sake did you dole them out
To make me strong, to make you proud?
Well now it feels so much so
All your assurances were just a load
I'm nothing more than I ever was
And that was never going to be enough
Not after the greatness you swore awaited
Never come and yet abated
Would it have been so bad to say
That I'm alright, and that's okay
But instead you said to be it all
The best, the greatest, with steeled resolve
It wasn't enough to get me there
and now I find I just can't care
I don't resent you, I think you tried
But was it for me or your own damn pride?
Couldn't I've just gone on and been
Anything that defines us men
Truly, the rank and file
Not so much the top of the pile
It's lonely at the top, I think
But I wouldn't know
I wouldn't know
But it's lonely down here, with the other lows
All the same, the same as me
Promised they'd be anything
That's dark. Are you okay?
Be and reach don't rhyme.
Stone and on don't rhyme.
Out and proud don't rhyme.
So and load don't rhyme.
Was and enough don't rhyme.
All and resolve don't rhyme.
Been and men don't rhyme.
Know and know are the same.
Know and lows don't rhyme.
Me and anything don't rhyme.
Stone and on don't rhyme.
Out and proud don't rhyme.
So and load don't rhyme.
Was and enough don't rhyme.
All and resolve don't rhyme.
Been and men don't rhyme.
Know and know are the same.
Know and lows don't rhyme.
Me and anything don't rhyme.
Dystopian
pedantic upon pedantic isn't funny
Here Lived A God
1.
Here lived a god,
among the trees.
Carefree he had
reason to be.
2.
Humans would come
to praise and sing,
dance with the god
under his wing.
3.
Now all's quiet,
they do not show.
The magic's gone,
nothing will grow.
4.
His echo rings
still from the hills,
as he lies dead
banished and killed.
5.
A burned out star,
he flickers yet,
but soon to fade,
as sun to set.
6.
The longest night,
the darkest day.
He sleeps eternal
in slow decay.
7.
This forest here,
this house of Pan.
A kingdom lost,
a no man's land.
8.
Here lived a god,
not long ago.
He walked these woods,
but who would know?
1.
Here lived a god,
among the trees.
Carefree he had
reason to be.
2.
Humans would come
to praise and sing,
dance with the god
under his wing.
3.
Now all's quiet,
they do not show.
The magic's gone,
nothing will grow.
4.
His echo rings
still from the hills,
as he lies dead
banished and killed.
5.
A burned out star,
he flickers yet,
but soon to fade,
as sun to set.
6.
The longest night,
the darkest day.
He sleeps eternal
in slow decay.
7.
This forest here,
this house of Pan.
A kingdom lost,
a no man's land.
8.
Here lived a god,
not long ago.
He walked these woods,
but who would know?
