Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
co'brien May 2019
Let not our humble minds admit
That we are better than the rest;
Lest we ourselves our fates forfeit
To those who jeer and **** and jest.
Let not our thinking hearts believe
Love must belong to fools like them;
Such noble strains as hearts must grieve:
Second to none; none to condemn.
Let not our wills be resolute,
Never able to bend or change;
Pity the strength of duller brutes.
So trust in life’s sordid exchange:
Though we will fall and surely die,
We too, one day, shall live to sigh.
so it's iambic tetrameter, sue me
Filomena Nov 2018
walking the graveyard with a torch and a Sack
I once went with only the clothes on my Back
feeling full Force the weight of the Course
obliged to continue along the the dark Track
Wrote this one in my head while walking home form work a few months ago.
Filomena Nov 2018
Solitary creature in the Wilderness
Scared of even those of your own Kind
Staying out of reach of those too Curious
Singing out at night your haunting Cry

Is there some great secret that you Know about
Try to keep the mystery you Must
Deep and sacred knowledge you would Show about
If only there were someone you could Trust

  Can I tame them? Should I try?
  Can they tell me the reason why
  I Felt as though my heart could break
  All for a common rose's sake

when Someone seems Unique in all the World to me
the Reason is the Time spent making Ties
for Only with the Heart can one the Truth perceive
Essential things are Hidden from the Eyes

  Have they tamed me? Did they try?
  Have they shown me the reason why
  I Felt as though my heart could break
  All for a common rose's sake

I Looked for wisdom but I found a Friend instead
Companionship I know was meant to Be
but Even so, all good things must soon Reach an End
my Dearest friend I will no longer See

  They have tamed me, them have I
  and Now I know the reason why
  I Felt as though my heart would break
  For Naught,
but my very own special Rose's sake

-for the Fox
Inspired by The Little Prince.
Daviaso Feb 2018
I find that paper lends itself
Excellently to flow of thought;
Far better than keystrokes and light.

A screen blasts its presence forward;
Takes what is does not possess and
Flings it into our tired eyes.

Paper takes what it is given
And dutifully holds it close
Until decay does to it part.

Like a soldier brave and hardy
It values its charge most highly
And gives up its life before it.
This is unfinished, both in idea and form.  At some future date I would like to revisit this, flesh it out, and put it in a proper meter instead of this freeform tetrameter.
JR Rhine Jul 2017
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades—
smoke furls and curls among the glass—
before a man belies his fame?

The corner of the room pervades—
imbued with smoke if so to pass—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades?

Visage so cool but starts to jade;
will eyes see through and to surpass,
before a man belies his fame?

Caught in the great aesthetical wake,
the fans will bend and surge en masse—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s Shades?

His words, his voice, depict a sage—
I wonder if the lore will last
before a man belies his fame.

But once the petals cease to sway
and blades blow back a pompous ***—
How long behind Bob Dylan’s shades,
before a man belies his fame?
Paul Butters Jun 2016
Iambic pentameters are quite old
As poetry fashions go now, I must say.
Tetrameters are sharper, yes,
But both are old I must confess.

Make any speech, with force, you’ll surely find
Iambic rhythms: the power of pulse.
Such things are found in common speech for sure.
And lines of ten syllables must endure.

Poetic structures set in stone are not
My way: variety is key I have
To say. Some use of rhyme is okay too.
So how you write, that’s up to you (my friend).

For I prefer to write free verse,
To steer away from doggerel’s curse.
Longer lines are languid, with gravitas.
Short ones clout,
It’s as simple as that.

Paul Butters
As requested by my friend Stephen Chapman. Retitled and stanza added 24\6\16.
Jesse Cox Dec 2015
My eyes are drawn toward your toes
as frequently as lover’s eyes
do meet and tie their souls in knots.

Your toes that grasp and stretch and lift
you up to reach the chocolate chips
you keep behind the chia seeds.

Your toes that press and push and dig
into dirt and earth then sheets at 3
when warm air beckons— take a nap

my eyes are drawn toward your toes
and glide over freckled skin that makes
me scramble after memories,

past parted lips and perfect cheeks
to lurid pools of cerulean
that find us back in bed by noon.
From Fall 2015 portfolio
Sabbathius Aug 2015
I'm here to set all matters right!
For years and years I'll keep this fight!
To bring this city’s **** to light!
To strike them down with righteous might!

These parasites who live concealed
Shall never see their dreams fulfilled!
Shall dig them out, the hand of God!
Shall punish them, the holy rod!

Impending wrath will swiftly fall!
Undo mischiefs of those who crawl!
Defilers of the sacred code,
Are those who I completely loathe!

It is not late, although, to turn
To save yourselves from certain burn!
Receive the blessing of Our Lord
And He’ll put down His fiery sword

From now until the very end
To all of you, my help I’ll lend
The city walls I shall defend!
Be sure! They will forever stand!

*The High Fanatic Speaks... by João Massada is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
This is merely a work of fiction. I am an atheist myself, and it is not at all my goal to turn someone to any group of beliefs.

I have a made a contest out of this poem in another community. In case you are interested:
Sabbathius Jan 2015
Traversing fields of ice and barren lands
Accursed woods so dark and torrid sands
Returned have I, with nothing on my hands
To nothing more than simply make amends

I kept on following the brightest star
Up there it shined undimmed like a cigar
Across those mountains I have ventured far
The struggle, with my strength was not on par

I've faced the cold, I've been through hell and back
I've been so close to have an heart attack
These wounds around my arms, my legs, and neck
Have dripped along, they left this ****** track

Tendeth thee my ailing ills?
I have all lost my way and will
Yet in me lies a passion still
Some fast heart thumps that I can feel
Perhaps desire or the thrill
To happiness in me fulfill

*Of Hope and Failure by João Massada is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Next page