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Anybody here write poetry and maybe want to share it?

Abbie
over 2 years ago

Maybe a weird thread that's somewhere between icebreaker and creativity group... but it could also just be a place to let off some steam really quick I dunno. My idea was that we could share some poetry we've written and maybe discuss it with each other, but I understand if that's asking a lot since we're not all anonymous here. And with no intentions of gatekeeping or judging by style or skill or what have you - it doesn't have to be professional, and you don't have to have done anything with it or intend to ever do anything with it, hell just make something up right now on the spot to vent or whatever. That's all I want this to be.

To keep it 'relevant' the subject could be about autism or how we've been misunderstood, how you interpret certain things due to autism, anything like that... but not necessarily, I don't see why we couldn't just write whatever we feel like. And again, there shouldn't be any barriers due to skill level, perceived or otherwise.

Perhaps some of us are writers/would like to be and we could exchange feedback on each other's poems. Or you can specify you're not looking for critique and you're just having fun/venting. Maybe I'm alone in this but I just enjoy the ways words can be put together and the various ways the same phrases can be interpreted. I love writing, especially if it means being able to evoke emotions in other people and particularly if it conveys to them how the world looks to someone like me.

Here, I'll go first with a personal favourite of mine, short and sweet:

I used to call them fairies;
those little drifting clumps of fluff like the seeds of dandelions.

Even now I see them sometimes and think
"fairies"
and I wonder briefly if they're alive.

And even now I see myself sometimes and think
"fairies"
and I wonder briefly if I'm alive.

Parents
  • over 2 years ago

    About to take a risk by getting extremely personal. Hopefully the formatting still works as that's part of it. It's kind of a long one.

    “Let’s do a poetry exercise.”

    I made up a story

    Of a cat

    That walked

    Along a street.

    Street so long,

    Cat so soft,

    And nothing happened.

    It was content.

    -

    “Let’s do a poetry exercise.”

    I wrote of how frightened he must have been

    Curled up in a trench

    With the world hurling fire upon his head;

    Metaphors of social ghosts and soldiers

    Medieval battles with dragons

    And shooting a coal-lined demon with a revolver point-blank.

    I wrote of fighting for survival in an alien world

    Much like our own

    With just enough passion to make people wonder,

    With just enough anger that people wouldn’t realise,

    Just enough

    To leave his tea untouched,

    To make you weep,

    To woo her into silence,

    And I was

    I was

    I was

    Loved? Perhaps

    I was.

    -

    “Let’s do a poetry exercise.”

    I described your eyes

    As midnight lakes I wished to wade in

    Your lashes as angel wings and

    You smiled and ducked your head:

    “That’s too much.”

    When did the lakes freeze over,

    Warm eyes turn to thousand-degree knives

    Remaining so steel-cold in my skin?

    When did too much become far too much,

    Or not enough, or good and plenty thanks, or

    Whatever it was?

    When did the feathers begin to fall

                          Down

                                       Driftwood

    Leaving me

    Stranded and

    Lone?

    What changed?

    When my heart clouded over

    And I begged for shelter where I’d been offered recluse so many times before,

    You sought to bring not sunshine but a storm

    And crashed a cyclone against the damaged walls

    Brought them down

    -

    And went.

    -

    I don’t think I’m in Oz anymore.

    (I remember, now, that you never wrote poetry about me.)

    -

    “Let’s do a poetry exercise.”

    I write and the ink flows from my veins

    And words come pouring, pouring, gushing,

    As if they never dried

    And I remember I used to love this.

    I used to love.

    I used to

    I used

    I

    i

    i

    can’t

    Speak of what I am and not what I was -

    Abandon the girl who glanced fearfully in the mirror,

    Missing poster on the medicine cabinet:

    Last seen ten minutes ago.

    She’s changed since.

    -

    Nothing means anything and vice versa.

    There aren’t words from me to describe

    The big, the ugly, the empty.

    There are so few words from me.

    I’ve been walking now for so long

    So soft

    But nothing happened.

    And nothing happened.

    And.





    I want

    to be

    Better

    (Loved)

    again.

    But I

    I

    i.

  • over 2 years ago in reply to Abbie

    Really good, and the length, formatting, and regression is very much as valuable as the words and unsaid words.

    Devotion of emotional motion,
    Person, not Persil washed personas,
    Set path to go against the flow,
    Releasing vulnerable herds of words,


  • over 2 years ago in reply to Autimator

    Oh that's beautiful. Maybe I'm biased as an emotional person, but I think this one might be my favourite of yours so far. And thank you for the kind words in return.

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