Letter To A Drowning Victim
I tried my damnedest to save
You but it was not enough
I must've got scared
It you were far too cold
All we should have known
That the overpass was too treacherous
But it would not matter
You would have gone
Wish I might that you were
Better but I have no hope
For the hope was gone
The last time it happened
I took my hands
Across your chest
Forced your breath
All for naught
I always thought blue pallour
Would be an attractive quality
Like almost translucent milky
Skin, but it's sick
I grab my hat, my phone
Fumble the keys
Emergency on the way
Emergency left and gone
I cry every night now
Out of sheer pain, the
Cessations of your breathing killing
Me; I won't forget you
The Selfish Heart
Pen laid down
Paint box covered with dust
The bottle hits the glass.
In the corner
He keeps his muse
In a cage of rust
Waiting for time to pass.
In 7th grade we had to write our own "epitaph".
Never should've touched it
Should've left it in the dip
Never should've looked twice
At that green potato chip.
It sat there so temptingly
It didn't look that bad;
And when I thought about it
All alone, it seemed so sad.
Never thought it'd hurt me,
Never thought it'd do me harm.
So I went ahead and tried it.
And that's how I bought the farm.
My writing teachers liked me a lot. My art teachers (almost) all hated me.
green oh my green
How green are you today
My fair lady
Whom was so tired
That she couldn't
Cut the grass and that had
Feelings of envy for her fellow
Must you be so droll
As to expect me to make
Your day well when you
Are yet so pale and sickly?
How dare you think you're so
Helpless. Dearie dear, you are
As a blight to the firs,
It is any wonder why I
Keep you at all.
My senior English teacher liked this one.
Santa the Pirate King
Santa decided one Christmas Eve
That he was fed up and was going to leave
He was tired of the North Pole and endless snow
And elves badgering him wherever he'd go
He wanted to travel and see new lands
Cliffs and beaches and islands and sands
To travel the world he'd never seen
This was Santa's Ultimate Dream
So he died his beard a ragged black
And stuffed treasure, not toys, into his sack
He wore an eyepatch and started to sing
"Drink up me hearties! I be the Pirate King!
Around the seas I now will roam,
The entire world will be my home!
I can feel the sun and warmth for a start
Instead of building toys that should not come apart!
I'll feel the wind and enjoy the breeze
And go wherever I darn well please!"
Thus said the once jolly old elf
Who laughed with the thought, quite pleased with himself
To further prepare for his upcoming trip
He exchanged his sleigh for a galley ship
Then he left his eight reindeer on solid land
And found himself a crew of able deck hands
"Weigh anchor! Set sails! Check the wind!" he cried
"All hands on deck! Man your stations!" he sighed
"To the seven seas, to the oceans blue,
Now set sail you swabs, every one of you!"
Now Santa's a pirate who sails the Earth
But his eyes still twinkle and he still has his girth
And you can recognize the cry he'll bellow:
"Merry Christmas me hearties! And a Yo Ho Ho!"
I’ve written a Haiku:
There was a young girl
Who tried hard to be funny
She didn’t do so well
awesome haiku :(
Ode to the civil war
In the 1860's Abe said let them be free. The south took up arms against his decree.
Brother against brother fighting with bayonettes causing bloodshed. Brother against brother soon both will be dead.
Hundreds of thousands of injured and casualties. The legacy of a nation for the battle of slavery.
With all the dead bodies hitting the floor and gunshots like someone knocking down a door. So much injustice, violence and gore. This is my ode to the civil war.
(There will be more, once I get on my next break.)
The Civil war was a patch of daisies, the Spanish flu didn't break my heart.
Compared to the time that she left me, all of that is not worth a fart.
There was once an old man named Don
Who put a sign out on his lawn
That said "yard sale"...well,
To shorten this tale, when
He got back the grass was all gone.
That's another from 7th grade, although I took a bit of liberty with the rhyme structure.
she's not mine.
But she's so close. I don't know if she knows just how much she means to me. How I cannot go a minute without thinking about her. How every minute I spend thinking about her makes a girl-shaped hole rip ever wider in my heart. How I think she's the most beautiful girl in the entire world and any flaws she thinks she may have are inconsequential at their worst and serve only to further accentuate her beauty at their best.
But she's not mine.
How I wish my finger tips would melt with hers, then move down her arms, down her sides, to her lovely legs, leaving contrails of tingly sensation in their wake. How her scent brings up within me the memories or everything good. How the mere sight of her instills within me an unparalleled elation, for truly I have never loved any girl as I do her. How my hands would ache, not being able to run themselves over the small of her back.
But she's not mine.
How the way her hair looks when she doesn't straighten it after taking a shower is one of the most beautiful sights I know of, and would surely be the last thing I imagine before I die. How her crystalline eyes belie a soul deeper than anyone before her's. How I love her punches so. And her lips? Oh, how I love her lips. Too shiny. In fact, too good to be true. They're what is good in the world. She is what's good in the world.
But she's not mine.
Even though she is as a beacon of light to me, the pinnacle of human beauty and fascination to me. Even though it would not matter to me whatever indiscretions she may have commited. Even if she was somehow made not as she is now, in an accident that rendered her somehow less aesthetically pleasing, it would not matter
to me. Fifty years from now, I can still see myself looking back on her as one of the best parts of my life, and how I would have given anything for her. I would feel the deepest regret, even if I had done all I could.
But she's not mine.
and I used to be okay with that. To a certain extent, I still am. But it pains me. And yet, the only thing I want is for her to attain every happiness possible, and I could only hope I would die trying to spare her some minute discomfort, such as a splinter or rash. Because, for her, she's entirely worth it.
Babe, you're worth remembering.
Poetry and love are only silly if you're just looking at it and not experiencing it.
I did write a haiku based on my hatred towards liver casserole during literature class back in high school, but it was written in finnish and translating it properly would be a real bitch.
It's an exaggerated view of feelings I have for a certain girl that is not mine, but someone else's.
You're being serious?
Writing is the only thing I know how to do. So yes.
ODE TO FATHOMHERO
POETRY IS FOR WOMEN
FathomZero is a poet
And Misdemonar doesn't know it
He mocked Zero's dream
In a way quite obscene
And drank up a barrel of Moet
Zelda Queen is retarded,
This much is true,
No need to rhyme,
She wouldn't get it anyways.
Me thinks ZQ has an internet crush on Fathom?
This Just On Not
is because different make
not words lines it
poetry. are does good.
I always hated that about poetry.
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