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Author Topic: Poetry Prompts  (Read 49963 times)

Parsely

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #120 on: November 02, 2016, 01:22:11 pm »

Montreal Doesn't Know Shit About Crêpes

cook me a warm crepe
pour a crepe out of ubi
it is made of shit

ubi = Ubisoft
« Last Edit: November 02, 2016, 01:33:50 pm by GUNINANRUNIN »
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apiks

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #121 on: November 02, 2016, 01:58:11 pm »

A man of silence
Wears a grin of valence
His work before him
Giving a joy so grim

His handicraft so exquisite
That a master butcher would be proud
Of a craft so excellent
That a man be endowed

A woman lay stretched
With blood oozing away
Of markings etched
In a body from life belayed


Prompt: A siege
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birdy51

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #122 on: November 03, 2016, 01:18:07 pm »

A surprise my love!
Two turtle doves for Christmas.
Guess what you'll get next?
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Parsely

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #123 on: November 03, 2016, 01:24:21 pm »

Haikus are fun. Now whenever I write a short sentence I stop and count syllables.
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birdy51

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #124 on: November 04, 2016, 12:10:11 am »

Aye, there is truth there.
It's fun to convey meaning,
With few syllables.
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TD1

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #125 on: November 04, 2016, 12:20:29 pm »

Tea Party:

The silver slipper slouches, half reposed,
The foot that holds it easy clad.
Make way, make way, the Dame is come
From out the Snow of Mustergrad
And she is weary from her journey,
Give her seat and give her tea.
Let her converse with young Joline,
The treasure we possess in this country.

And still the silver slipper slouches, half asleep
Uncaring of the world around.
Sits now the Dame, her name of highest Fame
And not to mention known for Wealth -
But for unlucky chance, and someone else was crowned,
She might have been the Queen of all of France!
Where e'er she goes, she rests assured, all drink her health.
She sips her tea, and gazes 'round, engaging with her speech
The fairest maid, so it is said, in all that precious country!

Still slouches on that silver slipper, unaware
(Or maybe simply without care)
That there sits next to her one step from royalty.
Her answers satisfy, her speech is sure
And all would sigh to see
The fairest in the land conversing well
With one one step from royalty,
Her youthful face, while flushed, suffused with surety.

Yet unbeknownst, the silver slipper slumbers on
Hidden beneath the table on the lawn.
Yet not alone, for opposite there sits
A golden slipper, casual, unremarked
Slouching solemn beside the silver,
Sleeping subtle without rebuttal.


A Surprise

How unremarkable the land is bare around
Where oceans once held mystery
And mountains screamed in storms that told
Of some adventure long ago,
Some long forgotten fact lost now to history.

The clouds are made of vapour, water tracks the skies
Basalt, granite, all igneous and ignoble are the mountains,
The geysers tamed to fit a fountain's frame
And all the cosmos probed by Satellites.
What is there left for us, the frontier lovers?

Nothing. The West is dust, and all the elements accounted
And Everest has been besieged by hikers, the ocean floor
Has now relinquished all its store, and talk of gold is lies
(We now know where to find material, no need for such prospecting)
And all we see is known, nothing left to imagination
Nothing to know or love, nothing that's new or comes as some welcome
Surprise.

A siege:
Ten thousand men the hand has bled
To keep from off the wall -
There one stood tall, the one who led
The men before the fall.

And aye, amassed were spears of war
And he was wounded, red
With the defeat unthought of in his lore.
He stood against the siege, and led.

Ten thousand more were thrust, and cruel
The fates had twisted all.
His men came yet, followed his rule
As men had done before the fall.

Now come another ten, he can't
Believe his eyes, his tears
Belie his stirring will to stand.
Confront them and your fears.

Ten thousand more without the walls,
Yet he stands still to kill,
Tears in the blood and hand of red.
Where he has led, so mankind falls.

And yet he knows, as dark the evening falls
That if he had a choice again
He would have taken on them all
And lived to stand, 'til he was slain.

For tomorrow: Academia.

Edit!:
Haikus are fun. Now whenever I write a short sentence I stop and count syllables.
Let me give you reason
To wish that I were dead or gone -
Haiku's out of season.
« Last Edit: November 04, 2016, 12:26:53 pm by Th4DwArfY1 »
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TD1

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #126 on: November 06, 2016, 02:37:29 pm »

The scribe has written all he may
When Byron led literature's course
And Keats in some old Grecian Urn
Saw all the truth he would endorse
Flowing in swiftness through the paint.

Yeats has written of modern magic,
Shelley of nature and of fire.
Prometheus has been caught and chained
By that most unassuming scribe
Who strummed with chains their ire.

All courses of that mighty river
Flow from off the writer's hand -
Though he may know it not, it's true
That he remembers that most solemn band
Who first had writ, and been a scribe.

For tomorrow: An Anapestic poem (rather than iambic, it's da da DUM).
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birdy51

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #127 on: November 06, 2016, 08:22:58 pm »

Yo, school is for fools.
It likes ah, totally drools.
Now, hobos, are cools.
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TD1

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #128 on: November 06, 2016, 08:37:50 pm »

Maybe not one of your most inspired :P
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birdy51

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #129 on: November 06, 2016, 09:55:33 pm »

Academia.
It has no use to me, no!
I need, but hobos.
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Tomasque

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #130 on: November 07, 2016, 12:44:11 pm »

I really have forgotten to write something here in a while.

Love's a bucket, my dear.
Ours holds only tears.
Life's not good as it seems.
To me death is a dream.

Jeez, this is harder than iambic pentameter. I'll probably make a longer poem later. This one was based off of something said on this blog.

 EDIT: "Ours" is meant to be read as 2 syllables.
« Last Edit: November 08, 2016, 12:16:36 pm by Tomasque »
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Urist Mc Dwarf

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #131 on: November 07, 2016, 03:46:53 pm »

Short sharp words
Slip from my mouth
Seeking only to hurt
To waste and to wound

It is kinda hard. For tomorrow: Right a poem that asks a question

apiks

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #132 on: November 08, 2016, 09:33:47 am »

And they said goodbye
With a heart broken the other retorted
"I love you."
Said the woman
"I hate you."
Said the man
"I love you."
The other's glass heart pled
And they said goodbye

Now read it backwards.



Poem with a question:

Beauty hers stained
With the shards shed
Trickling down face unrivaled
Of a dream only read

Before her he smiles
Teeth radiating for miles
He asks on one knee
"Will you marry me?"

« Last Edit: November 08, 2016, 09:49:12 am by apiks »
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birdy51

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #133 on: November 08, 2016, 12:42:46 pm »

Who wears a hat?
What's the point of that?
It just causes people pain,
And falls off in the rain.

It doesn't hide baldness.
Nor the face of shyness.
Your solution is inconclusive,
And by all means quite elusive.

So why, why wear a hat?
It just makes you look fat.
I pain to say it again, and again,
But it's all so silly and vain.

A hat is for the bureaucrats,
Those who are lazy, like cats.
They don't do their hair,
So that's neither here nor there.

It's lazy and crude,
To dress like a prude,
And bespeck your skull
With a hateful hat dull.

It's draining I know,
But it just goes to show,
Why wear a hat?
You're just too good for that.
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Tomasque

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Re: Poetry Prompts
« Reply #134 on: November 08, 2016, 01:07:33 pm »

An Anapestic poem:

Give me torch and crowbar. Off to scorching sands far!
We shall seek such treasure of no equal measure.
Ours is that ancient gold, and all what we can hold.
"To the desert?", I say. Who "I" says, will find pay!
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