Poetry thread

Slithering, undulating, a wretched sight

Down in slime and muck a creature of night

Hatred is it's worth, rage it's equity.

Mired in disgust, sloth and gluttony.

A mandatory parasite, everything it will leech and defile.

All to continue spreading it's filth and bile.

It's reflection vile, a mental stain.

Cursed and wicked it can only feel pain.

Pity, not deserved. Forgiveness? Absurd!

Let it marinate in torment and squalor.

And we shall rejoice when in agony it screams and hollers.

It is worthy of less, we are being nice I confess.

For this dastardly creature, contempt is kindness and all that is cruel is all it can ever possess.

Was a bad time.  Lol

I've been going along attending a local poetry appreciation group here for a year now (very handy as I've had very little appreciation of poetry so far). Members recite poems at the front on a set theme each month. I'd avoided public speaking since I was a student 30 years ago so was very wary how it would go (i.e. very badly like at that time). It's been rough but there have been more positives+light with it so far, surprisingly and refreshingly so that's good news+ a great relief. I'm still finding I prefer to follow the poem with my finger on the paper while I'm reading it at the lectern and I don't bother making eye contact with the audience (I've got enough on just following and reading the poem etc) and I'm happy with that. I don't put a lot of performance into it either, I prefer to do it e.g. like Simon Armitage, just read it and let the words be the most important thing / do the talking 

Perfection.

Surely nothing, but a road with no end.

Something worth finding, the roads have some bends.

i hate to type words, if I am constantly rereading.

fleeting like birds, rip out the seedling.

The feeling is unpleasant, I have to give it more thought.

look up at the moon’s crescent, perhaps perfection I’ve caught?

no, there’s more to find, there has to be more.

It’s the way I sit and unwind, contact the concrete floor.

it’s cold, and uncomfortable, but this is the price to pay.

Clean the spotty spectacles, rinse off the day.

as I lay in my bed, to try and get some deep sleep.

the anger makes me bright red, and I don’t get a peep.

how can I find the meaning, when it’s new every day?

to loved ones I am leaning, something I hate to say.

admit, speak, and let yourself be heard.

I’ve never been weak, to me it’s absurd.

the banging the clatter, it must be a sign.

and the constant chatter, why must it rhyme.

i hate the knowledge that I was born with a curse.

but only I acknowledge, true depth to the word.

i need to rest, so I’m signing off now.

i tried my best, i’ll find it somehow.

It wears a different shirt, but it feels the same.

no, this time it’s dirt, it’s a beast I can tame.

i felt it yesterday, the day before, and on Thursday.

don’t go just yet there’s more, listen to what I have to say.

it feels like an itch, but not just a scratch.

Plans I’ll have to ditch, because of this awful rash.

burning sensation but not from a hob.

I need clarification, can’t sit here and sob.

i lift up my hand, and place it on my face.

it’s as rough as sand, I think I know the case.

i smooth out my beard, using the vitamins.

i bite back the tears, thanking the glycerin.

i have to go now, there’s no more I can say.

but I hope I lifted your frown, enjoy your day.

To what do you speak, are flowers a friend?

do petals you seek, for a sweet end?

pink, ocean blue, purple or deep red,

maybe I’ll take two, “£5” the cashier said.

actually i’ll take a bunch, i’m feeling in need.

the next words felt like a punch, as the cashier smiles with greed.

“20 pounds please”, I was taken aback.

this made me cease, I felt under attack.

I smiled so nicely and passed them the money.

“It’s a little pricey, I’m not being funny”

lesson learned, as I left but not with a hop.

My wallet is burned, next time I’ll go to a different shop.

Not many lines in and I thought is this the florist shop?

It's so lovely to have such a special place to visit every week. 

It's quite obvious how much these florist encounters mean to you. 

What a wonderful environment to have a meaningful conversation in. Probably a bit chilly tho. (⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠)

How big is too small, how low is too tall, all things in their place, there is enough space.
The beams are of oak, the space is quite old, new windows up front to keep out the cold.
Some days cause the damp on glass to condense, hazing the view; the mice need some vents.
A room is above the one underneath, the flowers all wait along with the wreaths.

A counter to serve and bunches to make, it serves as a place in which to create.
In watery jars the stems dip their toes, awaiting a home, to tickle a nose.
There is a lily, there is a rose, there are some others with which they can pose.
More stand outside still watching the day, the people who pass, the traffic at play.

The plants in their pots some facing the rain, the sun they'd prefer will come once again.
House plants all inside, should happier be, but facing due north less light do they see.
A smile and a wave and sticky the door, more flowers to save I guess I'll have more.
An interesting place I look forward to see, a place to go talk, my florist and me.

This is my best one. I wrote it while eating breakfast

Words fall onto the page, futuristic parchment.

I’m living in an age, of digital advancement.

Tell myself to stay warm, be out of the cold.

I am in strong form, time to be bold.

It’s the weekend, relax, enjoy the day.

Sit, eat, learn facts, there’s more to say.

Not staying in the same place, change has always been hard.

Wearing a different face, it has not got me far.

there is a mountain to climb, keep yourself strong.

there’s more out there to find, the journey is long.

the day feels shorter, the nights longer.

I’m not spending a quarter, when I can’t afford water.

there’s nothing to be, only yourself.

it’s what matters to me, building self-wealth.

strength is not born in a physical state.

of this fact I’m not torn, but I still carry the weight.

I feel like a burden, every day is a struggle.

I can’t get a word in, no sunshine, only puddles.

Why can’t I sleep? The dreams are too scary.

Death has to reap, he has another query.

He stands there in black, wielding his scythe.

The Lord is watching my back, he’s giving me might.

it’s a continuous wave, of the good and the bad.

A cut in the nave, I’m bleeding a tad.

it drips out first, then it starts to leak.

my home resides in a hearse, I’m feeling quite bleak.

I stand on my feet, and I stop the next attack.

i won’t let this repeat, I raise my fist and strike hard back.

I feel my faith, shining through my skin.

I once again feel safe, evil will not take this win.

For whom do you write and what does it mean,  a question deceptive inviting a preen.
The answer is simple, unwittingly weird, for who is the you to whom this is geared.
For any and all and those it does strike, but how do I know the who who will like.

In knots I could try myself to now tie, trying to reason the where and the why.
The words will select whomever they choose, and you will discern of whether they move.
But who is the you deciding to read, and wonder if now this fills a small need.

No feedback received no way to foresee, to whom I connect and share some of me.
So into the void the writing is sent, self-seeking the ones for who it is meant.
And if it can talk and helps to feel more, then maybe you're one of the ones that it's for.

No purpose to ramble and go on and on, no more need I speak and waffle along.
For whom do you write and what does it mean, for you do I write and hope to be seen.

I've been playing with this, I am not sure if the wording is 100% there.

.

Images streamed, camera and eye, friends down below, seeing them fly.
Trip of a lifetime, hotel so new, such money'd been made, there were now a few.
Up they'd just come, arriving that day, funding they'd borrowed, forget how to pay.
Through inches so thick, view very clear, a window to show, guests all drew near.

How dark it became, eyes now to spare, another flash gone, blinding the glare.
New pencil lines, criss-crossed the sky, looking so small, from way on high.
An orbital perch where all was serene, all who looked down did silently scream.
Billowing clouds heat driving high, wondering faces, all asking why.

"Will we be spared?" she asked out aloud, but none could respond alone in the crowd.
Mouths all agape in lobby they stared, for tastiest treats no one now cared.
It was not needed, it was unseen, then they were hit it all seemed so mean.

Thanks

Very powerful stuff!

Your poem reminds me of those written by Rumi. Simple yet profound.

Madness

I can’t give you the meaning, there’s not one specific enough.

There’s not one to which I am leaning, all of the choices are tough.

Hitler, Caligula, Nero, they have all had their fair share.

The same beginnings as heroes, but something went wrong somewhere.

There’s multiple layers, but all are given the same name.

We are all players, in this unnatural game.

Give yourself time, most important is your health.

Neglect is a crime, so respect your feelings and yourself.

The image is blurred, my stomach is sick.

Am I finding the word? Is there one that I can pick?

Forgotten about, ignored, being misunderstood.

People getting bored, and tell me “I wish that I could”.

It’s their fault, not mine, I am not to blame.

Lock me away, I’m not fine, I’m giving you all of the shame.

What gives them the right? Why must they be the judge?

They need me out of sight, I’m crawling through the sludge.

I think that I know the feeling, it feels like a deep sadness.

But the thoughts that come reeling, always lead to…

…Madness.

Piercing pain.

I felt it again, it’s a familiar face.

I first met them when I was ten, I can’t seem to finish this race.

The warmth makes me relax and the ice is a harsh reminder.

The inescapable facts, surely death is kinder.

Is it supposed to mean that I’m alive?

I trace along my fingers, every one of the five.

Can you hear death calling? The taunt of the black crow.

It’s time for your judgement, God knows where you’ll go.

[content removed by moderator]

I know at this rate, that I won’t see thirty.

The circle continues, give a dog a fucking bone.

There’s no point going forward, when I spend every day…

…alone.

Masked lies.

I have found a new friend. How long will this last?

But have I met them before? Perhaps a lost fragment from my past?

I have worn this face once already, it came to no good end,

Only me who suffers, only my mind that it bends.

I am not given an option, I need to fit in,

I must be accepted, I can’t stay rotting in this bin.

They cut me, scratched me, bit me, and then they threw me away,

I gave too much to them, there was no more that I could say.

My faith keeps me going, it’s strong, it has great might,

It’s the one true thing, that keeps the devil out of sight.

I’m ripping it off, it will leave a scar,

A reminder of the lesson that I will carry long and far.

If I put it back on, it will take me back to that door,

That door will stay closed, it will open…

…no more.

More thinking!!

Unfortunately...

¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Tea Time

It's time for tea

T