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Nigel Finn Apr 2016
This is how you write a poem;
First; forget everything
You ever learnt about poems,

                                Such knowledge should be reserved
                                For the minds of critics, and
                                Professors in dusty halls

                                                          ­­           Of universities, where
                                                           ­          They are dissected and re-
                                                             ­        Constructed against their will.

Second; embroil yourself in
Love; it is the only thing
That poetry is born from.

                            Even the saddest songs, and
                            Most bitter lines, are fueled
                            By what we once loved. Loss is

                                                            J­­ust a love that has been lost
                                                            ­­And anger; a love scorned. All
                                                            y­­our words will be born this way.

Thirdly; find a quiet spot;
It doesn't matter much where
As long as it brings comfort,

                             Be it an old desk in a
                             Darkened room, or a field of
                             tall Sunflowers or bluebells,

                                                     ­ ­       Or the last place you saw a
                                                             Loved one, before fate swept them
                                                            ­­ Away to distant valleys.

Next you must make a promise to
Yourself to be brutally
Honest. Only the truth must

                              Be written here. There is no
                              Room for flowery words that
                              Must be thought over to much.

                                                          ­­   If it is true it will be
                                                             Beautiful, and your pen strokes
                                                         ­    Will guide you towards greatness.

Finally, you must hold your
Writing implement of choice
As if it were the most loved

                                 Of possesions, or mighty
                                 Of weapons, or a  child's hand.
                                 I cannot tell you which

                                                          ­­ But you will undoubtedly
                                                     ­      Know which when the time comes. It
                                                           Will strike you as obvious.

Upon following these steps
You will have become a
poet. From now on there

                                Is no turning back. It will
                                Consume you, and thoughts will take
                                You by surprise in lover's

                                                        ­­  Embraces, in sudden deaths,
                                                         ­ Bird songs, and the words of of those
                                                          Y­­ou once thought to be strangers.

Each word will be a gift to
The world, whilst remaining un-
doubtedly yours to own.

                                        Use your power wisely.
                                        Remember; without love
                                        Your poems will start to

                                                             ­        Fall into disrepair
                                                       ­              And, without them you will
                                                            ­­         Lose your capacity to care.

I wish you well.
                                    I wish you poetry.
                                                         ­      ­           I wish you love.
I'm planning on giving this one a rewrite, but I rarely get around to doing such things. I'm posting it mostly as a reminder to myself that I set out to do something. There's a good chance it will remain unfinished though.
Ellie Shelley Nov 2015
Dear tenderfoot, Don’t hurt yourself here
I am the jagged edges you will no doubtedly cut yourself on
Soft hands grabbing me in the night
Take me for a ride, and just drive
Simple sweet sin in the depths of your shallow soul
Fingers tied into yours
Pull me apart at the seems in the thick waves of your chestnut hair
Dear tenderfoot, you haven't earned your name yet so I will not say it
Late night texts turn the wheels in my mind till turning pages with stanza written acrostically for you
You see you are a lot like the paper in the journal I write in
You tear easy
My dear, I am the pen, I can tear through you with my inked words alone
You see, lovely tenderfoot
You are soft and gentle like a chaser
And I have a ***** personality
You are a teddy bear in the talons of a hawk I call my poetry
But you will stay intaced
For now
The hawk will do you no harm
My inked words will not permeate your skin
And frankly I’d like a chaser like you to dilute the punch of my personality
so my lovely tenderfoot
Are you ready to become words on a page
With a star crossed lovers theme?
Or are you ready to give up all these dreams
And drive away with all my metaphors
Whoops I added two lines, I'm reading this for a slam on Wednesday
Ellie Shelley Oct 2015
Dear tenderfoot, Don’t hurt yourself here
I am the jagged edges you will no doubtedly cut yourself on
Soft hands grabbing me in the night
Take me for a ride, and just drive
Simple sweet sin in the depths of your shallow soul
Fingers tied into yours
Pull me apart at the seems in the thick waves of your chestnut hair
Dear tenderfoot, you haven't earned your name yet so I will not say it
Of course your implemented
Personal vulture venture
Seems a merciful release

A talent yearning to be
Greater than all dead Gods

Your realistic natural touch
Stole attenion n'doubtedly
And some lost fly heights
And some table elbow leaned tears
Indulged as Artistic credo of Thy
Genius appologetic mockings
Fighting for few crumbs
Of our emotions
To satisfy thou
glorious
Hunger
Perhaps we were enough. .  .
Emi Mar 2020
Her
Carelessly stricken with a heart so yonder;
Admiration holds our heads with ponder.
Nay we live our life so young,
Doubtedly alone in a time so wrong;
Immediately we search for our one true love.

Lies are spoken with each word,
Yet we disdain information so absurd;
Neither less do we pray upon the old
Nor is there someone less to hold.

Perhaps she is the only true queen;
And her blessed heart raised two teens,
Twice the idiocracy,
Twice the bare,
Opened her arms with loving despair.
Not only is she like no other; no, for she is our mother
Anmol Kiran Aug 2020
Million of sorrows fixed in patches lay
Sister of Hussain (R.A) in a state of sigh

You, the senseless enjoyed Eid's settler
I, the laments highest on bro's martyr

Cruelest, feelings of damns no shell
Thus, getting down see us the fire of hell

Doubtedly, set somewhere in working slash
Dayum horrible light of vivid flash

— The End —