I Have a Few Poems of My Own

[Nathrad Sheare]

I just love to write poetry... really, that's it. I love the words, the music, everything. It's my favorite thing to read and my favorite thing to compose. I just can't get enough of it. Sometimes I'll spend HOURS reading it and playing with lines I've thrown together in a few spare minutes. I used to put a theme to a few poems at a time, but, now, I like to let my imagination run freely. I love to experiment, too. If I see a style I like in an anthology or on the web, I press and pull it until something I can live with comes out. Poetry is just.. just... magic.

You write poetry, too? I'd love to see it one way or another. You can create a forum for it or post some here. We'll have a great discussion all about it! I really don't think the creative impulse is something one can describe in words, which is pretty funny when that impulse is for language arts... Art really just... happens... I guess, doesn't it? Loreena McKennit described it as a visit. Fitting enough

[suzy1124]

Greetings Nathrad!

i always enjoy reading your posts....

your " sidewalk " poem was reminiscent of one of my favorites " Ogden Nash "...i really enjoyed it!...hard to believe how young you were...

just curious, do you resemble Maria Callas?...i've always been a great fan of hers too...

[Nathrad Sheare]

I didn't know you were a fan, Suzy. I've been one for about two years now. Do I resemble her? Hm... No... I'm just me, and her face is much better to look at. I can't get enough of her music! I'm glad to see another someone who agrees she's great.

As for my poem, I'm glad you found the humor in it. I was going for that as I was writing it... If that's what reminded you of that Duke of the humorous poetry circle, Nash. He's pretty darn funny in my book, anyway. I've enjoyed your posts, too. This online book club has been a fun experience.

[Cheryl Rendone]

Sorry it took me so long to reply, yes I do write poetry, I love it. I have A LOT of poems, I keep them in a folder. I'll have to get them out and make a forum on here fir everyone to read, I'd be happy for you to read them!!

[Nathrad Sheare]

I look forward to it, Cheryl.

[kaylahar6]

I like your poem.

[Cheryl Rendone]

Nathrad Sheare, I have posted about 2 poems in my own little forum I think lol. you should check them out

[DreamWeaver121]

Okay, so I've decided to start posting some of my own poetry. I can do that, right? Here goes... This is one I wrote in the fourth grade, the shortest I've ever put to paper...

Sidewalks

They are humble and silent servants
Though we cut off their limbs
To walk on their faces.

Oooh I like, post more man

[kavance]

I love that poem! So clever and funny, I definitely wasn't writing anything that good in 4th grade.

[Nathrad Sheare]

Thank you, kavance, and welcome to the site! I love writing poetry. I've been working on some others that I'll post soon. I'm glad to see so many poets her taking chances.

[Timea]

Okay, so I've decided to start posting some of my own poetry. I can do that, right? Here goes... This is one I wrote in the fourth grade, the shortest I've ever put to paper...

Sidewalks

They are humble and silent servants
Though we cut off their limbs
To walk on their faces.

In a way it is harder for short poems to impress because they have less time to connect with the reader, but this can be used to their advantaged. Your ”Sidewalks” is indeed short, but it has a punch, it is just as long as it needs to be I like how all the verses start with a ”t” and end with an ”s”, it is very playful. And the playful structure of it comes nicely in contrast with the darker message and feel of the poem. So very well done to the 4th grader you (it is very impressive, indeed that you wrote this when you did!)

P.S. as children we censor ourselves far less than we do as adults, I find it useful to regress closer to that state, at least for the first draft of a piece. Or as Hemingway said: ”Write drunk; edit sober”

[Nathrad Sheare]

My sentiments exactly. It's good to just give everything you have in the first place and take the time to make it all right later. Works for me.

I've been told the rest of the poems I've posted here are a little hard to read. I wrote them and edited them a couple of times, each in a single sitting. I'm kinda bad sometimes when it comes to deadlines... I was taking another writing class simultaneously, so...

You're right when you say short poems don't easily impress, and they can be DANG hard to write... But that day, the words just came out, I guess, and felt right when they were finished. Thanks for the positive thoughts.

Poetry has always been kind of special to me, almost like a friend. Whenever I've needed to yell at the world or to have someone to be miserable with, it's been there. I love poetry and I love writing it, though I've written much less of late. Maybe I should take it up again more diligently... They say that if you can write a good poem you can write an excellent short story...

-- 19 Jun 2014, 05:15 --

p.s. It was fun reading an analysis of my work... You have a good way of noticing the details... I'd like to see you try it out on my other poems, if you want? I don't mind criticism at all. I'm always looking to improve. Thank you so much for taking what time you have already. I think I'm going to read all your reviews now...

[Timea]

I will gladly read (all) your other poems too, I always enjoy a good read

One of my favorite short poems is ”Acceptance” by Langston Hughes, do you know it? It is soo witty...

Sometimes a break is good (even from writing), and distancing a bit yourself gives you a different perspective... do you have any of your short stories around here, somewhere?

) thanks for your p.s.

[Nathrad Sheare]

Most of them are on paper... I have trust issues when it comes to computers... It would take a bit to copy them onto the screen, so... don't worry, though. I'll post a couple of excerpts when I can. Here is one of my complete personal essays. It only went through two drafts, though... It's not perfect, but it's mine. I don't intend to publish it or anything... It was just something I had to get down. The emotions were very strong, you know? Here it is...

Tempo d'Amore

I remember when I taught my hands to play love. I remember it was the month before my parents' anniversary when I was fantasizing on the colors of ivory and ebony in the living room. The sun was singing on the walls about the blue outside and I was trying to drown it out with thoughts of autumn. Autumn is my season. In autumn the sky is raked with silver and the clarity reserved for it during summer days is taken by the breeze to bless my forehead and lungs when I'm out on the cement walk that snakes through the graves of grass blades around home. In autumn's chill I can see places where reality intermingles with the truth of someone high and supernatural to whom I owe my life but can never see, places where the smoke of fire reigns with a scepter of terror during summer. In autumn I am touched by shades of love when spearheads dance over my face on their way to nowhere particular in the wind.

Autumn is my mother's season. In the sound of its wind in the trees she hears the stewpot boiling. Spice cake is the scent her nose catches in the atmosphere. In the blanket of sleeping life over the soil under the bushes around the yard she sees Sedona. When I think of autumn, I think of the peace of many memories she's made for me.

It is with thoughts of autumn that my fingers touch colors of ivory and ebony again and again. The poetry they play is without pentameter, devoid of passion, only a picture of the desires with which the altar of human expression beneath them has been presented. There is not a taste of the days when life seemed a monster and a mom-and-son embrace was my concealment from it. There is not a sound of the hours of gameplay and dancing in the garage. There isn't the scent of Handel, home cooked Mexican under the vanilla of candles on the dining room table at 6:00.

Then an accident occurs. From the mess of arpeggios, andantes, and moderatos, a couple of scales emerges, along with the idea that the beauty of any heart is demonstrated by its modesty during its highs and its endurance of its lows. The simplicity of the scales' sequence is such that much else can be built on it.

I think of the spot by the brook where we gathered on a boulder to inhale the scent of the forest water and listen to the sound of wind rushing out from under earth and cattail blades, and my melody begins to glisten as if it were a ghostly wrinkle of light on crystal halving a sylvan floor. I think of the time we gathered around the settee in front of the bay window by the kitchen to watch the sun set, and new scales are born from the colors of the divine throne. Then I think of the times we washed the cars in the garage with the door cracked and danced in soap to sounds of the Celts, and I begin to dance in my heart, my fingers pounding on the keys to a rhythm of times ancient. These joys connect me to them, my family, and make them one with me.

I end the piece with its theme after a descent into the bass tones for a reminder of what is soon to be, what we will together weather. There is no question in my mind as to what love is in music, the love of a son for a mother. I have taught my hands to play it.

[Timea]

This is a very lovely piece, it has the pleasant lazy feel of autumn (by the way autumn is my favorite season too ). There are some beautiful images throughout the text, one of my favorites was ”In autumn I am touched by shades of love when spearheads dance over my face on their way to nowhere particular in the wind.” I also really liked: ”The sun was singing on the walls about the blue outside and I was trying to drown it out with thoughts of autumn.” It involves so many of the senses, and it bridges together the outside, nature, with the inside, your thoughts and feelings. It is truly a great sentence

It does, however feel a bit too cluttered, I had to read it twice to make sure I got it properly, and I am glad I did because I missed a few things during the first read. For instance, ”In autumn the sky is raked with silver and the clarity reserved for it during summer days is taken by the breeze to bless my forehead and lungs when I'm out on the cement walk that snakes through the graves of grass blades around home.” this seems to me a bit too long and busy, I think it would become more breezier and powerful if you split it into two sentences.

I love how you described your autumn and your mum's autumn, it is great to see the comparison. And I so agree with ”beauty of any heart is demonstrated by its modesty during its highs and its endurance of its lows.” To see this in someone is quite overwhelming. Also, it is brilliant how all of these images, thoughts and feelings are encompassed in a bubble of music.