#readaloud - Hello Poetry

A chortle is a slythy gleeblish burstle of verbivore snickerdazzle daufter. To chortle is to gigglenuzzle bubbles of snottish glimmerguts that tickletwist speworling belly happyspritz and vorment fuzzlefizzes out your nose.

0

Apr 19, 2025

Apr 19, 2025 at 10:53 AM UTC

MonkeyWrites

A chortle is

A chortle is a slythy gleeblish burstle of verbivore snickerdazzle daufter. To chortle is to gigglenuzzle bubbles of snottish glimmerguts that tickletwist speworling belly happyspritz and vorment fuzzlefizzes out your nose.

12

Some nights I wring my hands in worry, thinking the same thoughts again and again “It hurts to believe I still haven’t found my purpose, my, calling, my reason for being.” In a world where “I don’t know” is the Scarlet letter and “not having a plan” is a badge of shame It’s a load of crap to think, that at 23, I got a ******* understanding of how any of this works, where I'm going, or when I'm gonna get there. Spent a year at a store, making some cash then a year at school, dealing in trash I found myself hating everything structured found my critiques were full of self appointed experts and my craft was to shape into their expectation of art as if another twenty-something could possibly know everything about how to structure my mind. I believe there is a problem here but it ain’t with me, it’s with how we write life it all comes down to image of us about who we put into the universe about what bright shining star we want to be instead of the bright shining star we actually are. And I blame the twenty analogies of academia I've come to hear every start of every year “it’s for your future. it’s about shaping you into— When I was your age When I studied My college was My theory is My My My” “Hey teach, I came here to learn don’t preach, I didn’t come for the psalms.” And there is not a doubt in my mind that if you were aware of how little I cared about your spiritual awakening in Ali-Baba's Tomb you’d give me this speech again. “It’s for my future it’s about shaping me into— When you were my age When you studied Your college was Your Theory is Your Your Your” I came to here to write! Teach me to write! Tell me to write!” Cause when I get of a taste of the verse, that’s all it takes! It’s the kind of mood you can’t get with prescription one hell of addiction and it ain’t the kind of drug you can just, kick. I can feel the words gnawing at the edges of mind and the hands, I got, start shaking and twitching until the next time I find a pen. So let me find the verb for this noun and express my tension, past tense, as it moves from present to future I don’t have the time to polish my grammar I propose preposterous prepositions, purely to pontificate, a precious pittance of a second more. I think, sometimes, of all the ink I’ve laid and erased, I could tear down my bookshelf and place a compendium of failed and tortured lines in its place. It’s a memorial to how far I’ve come, maybe that’s why I still dwell in the past, I’m more comfortable with my failures so far, and worry too much about my future ones, that I can't know exist yet I think that’s why I can never write a decent ending.

0

Sep 19, 2015

Sep 19, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC

n-schlegel

Failing as a Poet

Some nights I wring my hands in worry, thinking the same thoughts again and again “It hurts to believe I still haven’t found my purpose, my, calling, my reason for being.” In a world where “I don’t know” is the Scarlet letter and “not having a plan” is a badge of shame It’s a load of crap to think, that at 23, I got a ******* understanding of how any of this works, where I'm going, or when I'm gonna get there. Spent a year at a store, making some cash then a year at school, dealing in trash I found myself hating everything structured found my critiques were full of self appointed experts and my craft was to shape into their expectation of art as if another twenty-something could possibly know everything about how to structure my mind. I believe there is a problem here but it ain’t with me, it’s with how we write life it all comes down to image of us about who we put into the universe about what bright shining star we want to be instead of the bright shining star we actually are. And I blame the twenty analogies of academia I've come to hear every start of every year “it’s for your future. it’s about shaping you into— When I was your age When I studied My college was My theory is My My My” “Hey teach, I came here to learn don’t preach, I didn’t come for the psalms.” And there is not a doubt in my mind that if you were aware of how little I cared about your spiritual awakening in Ali-Baba's Tomb you’d give me this speech again. “It’s for my future it’s about shaping me into— When you were my age When you studied Your college was Your Theory is Your Your Your” I came to here to write! Teach me to write! Tell me to write!” Cause when I get of a taste of the verse, that’s all it takes! It’s the kind of mood you can’t get with prescription one hell of addiction and it ain’t the kind of drug you can just, kick. I can feel the words gnawing at the edges of mind and the hands, I got, start shaking and twitching until the next time I find a pen. So let me find the verb for this noun and express my tension, past tense, as it moves from present to future I don’t have the time to polish my grammar I propose preposterous prepositions, purely to pontificate, a precious pittance of a second more. I think, sometimes, of all the ink I’ve laid and erased, I could tear down my bookshelf and place a compendium of failed and tortured lines in its place. It’s a memorial to how far I’ve come, maybe that’s why I still dwell in the past, I’m more comfortable with my failures so far, and worry too much about my future ones, that I can't know exist yet I think that’s why I can never write a decent ending.

75

i remember you by pigment and dye , the days that raven became an inappropriate frame for your face , now how your face was folded in snow owl feathers . i remember you by(e) a different name made mostly of the same letters , altered just enough to pretend you were safe , a different better , something easier to see you beautiful . i remember you (bye) i remember you .

0

Dec 19, 2014

Dec 19, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC

airin

remember...

i remember you by pigment and dye , the days that raven became an inappropriate frame for your face , now how your face was folded in snow owl feathers . i remember you by(e) a different name made mostly of the same letters , altered just enough to pretend you were safe , a different better , something easier to see you beautiful . i remember you (bye) i remember you .

8

The dreams of many fall upon shoulders of the young and restless, We praise for a new day, everyday, to be a better day... "Today is the better day" I say, But don't quote me on that, It's true It's true, what you hear the beating in your ears, Rhythm... It's there just hold your breathe and listen, Don't forget how important it is to think, But what to think? What if, Who, oh it's pointless to think, Hold that breath I am not finished... What a weight we carry, and look how far we have to go, We call for arms, for peace, for our way... **** our way? My way. This is getting confusing, this teaching That I am speaking I just did that to rhyme... Look at the weight I've shed, how I stand and breathe, Here in front of you, How I can ramble a poem for the teeth, Hear no whispers, just my voice, Today is now, I am perfect now, this is my way... Now Breathe...

0

Aug 2, 2014

Aug 2, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC

kyle-madill-baker

Now Breathe. (A poem to be read aloud)

The dreams of many fall upon shoulders of the young and restless, We praise for a new day, everyday, to be a better day... "Today is the better day" I say, But don't quote me on that, It's true It's true, what you hear the beating in your ears, Rhythm... It's there just hold your breathe and listen, Don't forget how important it is to think, But what to think? What if, Who, oh it's pointless to think, Hold that breath I am not finished... What a weight we carry, and look how far we have to go, We call for arms, for peace, for our way... **** our way? My way. This is getting confusing, this teaching That I am speaking I just did that to rhyme... Look at the weight I've shed, how I stand and breathe, Here in front of you, How I can ramble a poem for the teeth, Hear no whispers, just my voice, Today is now, I am perfect now, this is my way... Now Breathe...

22