I Have a Few Poems of My Own

[Nathrad Sheare]

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.

[Madcap Syzygii]

Do not any of you speak against this poem you see here. I was there when it was written. I LOVE THIS POEM!!! It is so clever! So short, so small, yet screams as high as a soprano! Such beauty lives in this tiny, little poem. I LOVE IT! I love it I love it I love it I love it!!!

[Nathrad Sheare]

Ha, ha, ha!

[gali]

It sounds nice. In the fourth grade?? well done!

[Nathrad Sheare]

I appreciate the feedback! I'll be posting some more poems on here... Just have to do some more editing... Writing poetry is one of the best stress relievers in the world. It's for me what doing a puzzle or playing Luxor on an iPad is for others. I'm sure you feel the same way.

[gali]

Unfortunately I can't write poems, but I understand you. I prefer reading anyway.

[Nathrad Sheare]

Reading is great. No, reading is WONDERFUL! I don't know what I would do if I couldn't write poems. Do you write anything? If not, what's your form of emotional release?

[gali]

I just write reviews and I am satisfied with it.

Readings and discussing books are my form of emotional release. Also jogging and my family.

[Nathrad Sheare]

I know I like to spend time with my mom, sis, and dad whenever I can. Sometimes all you want to do is eat up the ones you love most, am I right?

[Madcap Syzygii]

DON'T EAT ME BROTHER! PLEASE! I WANNA LIVE!! Besides, that is called "cannibalism" my dear brother, and is in fact frowned upon in most societies.

[gali]

I know I like to spend time with my mom, sis, and dad whenever I can. Sometimes all you want to do is eat up the ones you love most, am I right?

Indeed. In my case I meant hub and kids.

-- 19 Dec 2013, 07:44 --

DON'T EAT ME BROTHER! PLEASE! I WANNA LIVE!! Besides, that is called "cannibalism" my dear brother, and is in fact frowned upon in most societies.

lol

[Nathrad Sheare]

Ha, ha, ha! I promise I won't eat you!

[Madcap Syzygii]

POSH TOSH BROTHER!! Edit my foot! You can write a story with one draft and it be perfect...the show-off. Or maybe I'm just the sister and I think everything you do is terrific. YOU CAN'T SAY NOTHIN NOW THAT I'VE SAID IT!! I mean it!

[Nathrad Sheare]

...

-- 22 Dec 2013, 02:58 --

Aria's End
The crash of shattering plates is refined to complement the heart
Of a wailed cry from twenty strings all in prayer to the chill of
September's reign. I've stepped in on the tail of the finale, but I'll raise my hand
Soaked in the bubbles of poison meant to devour tiny lives,
Close my eyes on the pans that are drowning in the mouth of the stainless steel altar
To what's next to godliness, and go back to its start.

I don't know what's the music of the stars, but plucking on a bass,
Rolling of the drums, when they smother the thud of a plate's edge
Against the altar's; when the teeth of the disposable's grave are shut
By the roars, the whispers, the whistling of winds, in the tumult I hear
The rage of the place people hope to die and see, but few will,
The castle, above the earth, of the angels.

Then, like something evil's shut all the purest things behind a wall;
They have a toxic need now to become heard and lay their captor flat
With one scream sung for every sufferer piercing all the kingdom
Of the Fall, where there is another curtain that will fall when
All their roaring's done, but no listener will know; just then a spirit of
Colors that can light the world on fire with the voices expiring deep within

A million souls explodes! It's a storm that drags the unwarned from the sand
Up to a spinning sea of mist in the midnight sky. It's a single strand
Of a place where poetry is the universe and the universe isn't a ghost
Of theories lost or alight in questioning minds,
No, but there, the mind is only a shadow, and idols are made to the heart and soul.
The force of winds and wails whirls as the high exhalation dies,
The soaring sung breath of a woman stopped under music that closes the curtain
Of my fantasy's stage, and I'm returned to soap and soiled plates
Just as they are, to my life full of the music of the everyday
That'll be until it's killed, too, and another begun, yet only with a whisper.

-- 22 Dec 2013, 02:59 --

Aria's End
The crash of shattering plates is refined to complement the heart
Of a wailed cry from twenty strings all in prayer to the chill of
September's reign. I've stepped in on the tail of the finale, but I'll raise my hand
Soaked in the bubbles of poison meant to devour tiny lives,
Close my eyes on the pans that are drowning in the mouth of the stainless steel altar
To what's next to godliness, and go back to its start.

I don't know what's the music of the stars, but plucking on a bass,
Rolling of the drums, when they smother the thud of a plate's edge
Against the altar's; when the teeth of the disposable's grave are shut
By the roars, the whispers, the whistling of winds, in the tumult I hear
The rage of the place people hope to die and see, but few will,
The castle, above the earth, of the angels.

Then, like something evil's shut all the purest things behind a wall;
They have a toxic need now to become heard and lay their captor flat
With one scream sung for every sufferer piercing all the kingdom
Of the Fall, where there is another curtain that will fall when
All their roaring's done, but no listener will know; just then a spirit of
Colors that can light the world on fire with the voices expiring deep within

A million souls explodes! It's a storm that drags the unwarned from the sand
Up to a spinning sea of mist in the midnight sky. It's a single strand
Of a place where poetry is the universe and the universe isn't a ghost
Of theories lost or alight in questioning minds,
No, but there, the mind is only a shadow, and idols are made to the heart and soul.
The force of winds and wails whirls as the high exhalation dies,
The soaring sung breath of a woman stopped under music that closes the curtain
Of my fantasy's stage, and I'm returned to soap and soiled plates
Just as they are, to my life full of the music of the everyday
That'll be until it's killed, too, and another begun, yet only with a whisper.

-- 22 Dec 2013, 02:59 --

Aria's End
The crash of shattering plates is refined to complement the heart
Of a wailed cry from twenty strings all in prayer to the chill of
September's reign. I've stepped in on the tail of the finale, but I'll raise my hand
Soaked in the bubbles of poison meant to devour tiny lives,
Close my eyes on the pans that are drowning in the mouth of the stainless steel altar
To what's next to godliness, and go back to its start.

I don't know what's the music of the stars, but plucking on a bass,
Rolling of the drums, when they smother the thud of a plate's edge
Against the altar's; when the teeth of the disposable's grave are shut
By the roars, the whispers, the whistling of winds, in the tumult I hear
The rage of the place people hope to die and see, but few will,
The castle, above the earth, of the angels.

Then, like something evil's shut all the purest things behind a wall;
They have a toxic need now to become heard and lay their captor flat
With one scream sung for every sufferer piercing all the kingdom
Of the Fall, where there is another curtain that will fall when
All their roaring's done, but no listener will know; just then a spirit of
Colors that can light the world on fire with the voices expiring deep within

A million souls explodes! It's a storm that drags the unwarned from the sand
Up to a spinning sea of mist in the midnight sky. It's a single strand
Of a place where poetry is the universe and the universe isn't a ghost
Of theories lost or alight in questioning minds,
No, but there, the mind is only a shadow, and idols are made to the heart and soul.
The force of winds and wails whirls as the high exhalation dies,
The soaring sung breath of a woman stopped under music that closes the curtain
Of my fantasy's stage, and I'm returned to soap and soiled plates
Just as they are, to my life full of the music of the everyday
That'll be until it's killed, too, and another begun, yet only with a whisper.

-- 22 Dec 2013, 03:01 --

Aria's End
The crash of shattering plates is refined to complement the heart
Of a wailed cry from twenty strings all in prayer to the chill of
September's reign. I've stepped in on the tail of the finale, but I'll raise my hand
Soaked in the bubbles of poison meant to devour tiny lives,
Close my eyes on the pans that are drowning in the mouth of the stainless steel altar
To what's next to godliness, and go back to its start.

I don't know what's the music of the stars, but plucking on a bass,
Rolling of the drums, when they smother the thud of a plate's edge
Against the altar's; when the teeth of the disposable's grave are shut
By the roars, the whispers, the whistling of winds, in the tumult I hear
The rage of the place people hope to die and see, but few will,
The castle, above the earth, of the angels.

Then, like something evil's shut all the purest things behind a wall;
They have a toxic need now to become heard and lay their captor flat
With one scream sung for every sufferer piercing all the kingdom
Of the Fall, where there is another curtain that will fall when
All their roaring's done, but no listener will know; just then a spirit of
Colors that can light the world on fire with the voices expiring deep within

A million souls explodes! It's a storm that drags the unwarned from the sand
Up to a spinning sea of mist in the midnight sky. It's a single strand
Of a place where poetry is the universe and the universe isn't a ghost
Of theories lost or alight in questioning minds,
No, but there, the mind is only a shadow, and idols are made to the heart and soul.
The force of winds and wails whirls as the high exhalation dies,
The soaring sung breath of a woman stopped under music that closes the curtain
Of my fantasy's stage, and I'm returned to soap and soiled plates
Just as they are, to my life full of the music of the everyday
That'll be until it's killed, too, and another begun, yet only with a whisper.

-- 01 Jan 2014, 03:15 --

Wolves in a Music Globe

The flakes are falling soft with twinkling,
Each sparkling with a sweet jingle that plays
Whilst the key unwinds, the cylinder turns.

In a crystal haven are sitting pups, two wrestling,
Frozen in play, whilst sparkles the sweet jingle that plays
As the key unwinds, the cylinder turns.

A mother, she lies glistening under embers, listening
For a predator hunting, mystic, somewhere beyond the music
Tumbling from her babies' bubble to the floor and vanishing there on the floor.

Her children won't be knowing in their little world snowing
The enemies arcane that somewhere hunt beyond the music
Tumbling from their bubble to the floor and vanishing there on the floor,

For she is helping it; she'll always be there helping it
In that haven she keeps, a place where there's been
No evil, but only a melody with her brand new pups.

Always there will be embers like emeralds glistening,
Touching with a ting the base of their globe when they have fallen
In place of evils, fallen with a melody, down on the brand new pups.

-- 01 Jan 2014, 04:04 --

No duplicate posts this time!

[Cheryl Rendone]

I write my own poetry as well!! I haven't written one in awhile though. What inspired you to write? Is there a specific topic you write about or just go with what you're feeling?