Any Poets Here?

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I started at 14.
At 47, I'm still at it.| gueass that makes me a poet.
I've been published in small places here and there.
I don't think that's the point, though.
I couldn't stop if I tried.
Ryming poetry is way out of style, but that's mostly what I write. (Not all, though.)
I supose I'd have become a singer songwriter expect that I can't sing or pay an instriment.

SHARKS COVE

When I swam in the ocean
I used to think
it was just me and the elements.
Now
it is only the elements.

Surely I have, but I rarely do anymore.

My best ever, sober or otherwise, was called "Quicksilver." Many more are clever, humorous, beautiful in language, but this was the truest one:

A point,
crafted of quicksilver frozen in time by desire
Polished, precise poke.
Once this stake pierces earthen flesh,
once her vitality-bearing rivers are infected, streaming swirls of purity & nature braided with rivulets of poison and pleasure (unpaid and illusory),
Once the vile barbarian-souled general charges her senses,
She bears the scars forever; she is eternally robbed of dove's innocence, a victim to the terraforming of her soul.
Forever a captive, forever his whore,
unending in slaughtered spirits; debts, tithes, taxes, weighty as her heart.
A slave to the foreign master,
the Beaten - indigent and eroded and erased
From serpentine conquest.


That is the first page. It is easy to see why I scorn Walt Whitman, as his so-called techniques were things I often failed to ward off. It doesn't matter. I've got pounds of alliterative cataloging.

There are four more pages, but I haven't truly read it in about eight years, so I'm a bit weird about the whole thing right now.

Next time, the humor! Some five-line poems and such included.

I used to write poetry all the time as a teenager. It helped me deal with things. I stupidly threw it all out when I was in a mood one day. I can only remember one poem:

Alchemy
No alchemy in the world
can change this gold to lead
I ambitiously proclaimed
to anyone that dared
take up the illogical challenge;
yet as the light of reason
let rays fall on what is
I realise that all I hold
is really only lead.

My random take at poetry:
(My guitar helps me, but it's not written in the lyrics)

My random poetry is a mess
Like all I try, I confess
I try to write but it's just wrong
I fail at everything all along
They say I'm good at something, well
It has to be something that no one cares
About, and then I feel at home
With my failure, my love, my own

I don't want to pity myself
There are a couple of books there on my shelf
That I chose to read, rejected others
Because for me they have more to offer
I don't want to sound like that
I value myself, despite the debt
I'd so much promise to fulfill
I still believe I'll climb that hill

I like to contradict myself
Apparently, I'm someone else
Because I'm trying to be he
Who makes no sense, he's not the real me
So who'm I trying to be here
I feel the end is coming near
It's always coming, no surprise
I don't even care if it's tomorrow in disguise

I've lost my sense of trying to live
Of trying to be part of this thing
I don't care no more, I've no goals anyway
It's just for my parents, to satisfy away
There is no meaning I live for
The motivation I want more
It's just a game, my pills support
I'm heading for eternity, this life abort

Wrote this in 5 minutes. I'm not a poet, though.

The Garden:

You came to me in a shower of blue
up and across, sailing through.

Lying still in the raven hearse,
my dead eyes, began to converse.


Of a time far faster than space could hold
where life as a child began once you got old

My being a nothingness in life's grand scheme
darting across millenia in a flourescent beam.


When I reached the point of transcendance
I saw all that were in attendance

The sight before me carried such weight
the spirit within began to gravitate


In Eden's wispy folds lay such fruit
A strange kind, which bore no root

Taking in the pleasures with relative ease
Amidst the beauty, my mind found peace.

I'm not good at poetry but I love writing it, I sometimes make poems that would fit into an existing tune from a song so it's easier to think of rythems and that.
Here's a couple of examples of my least embarrassing ones:
Adrenaline junky (it's about someone who's close to me)
I look in your eyes
Just to feel my heart pounding
I want you to touch me
To feel the shocks tingling
I’m standing on the edge of the plane
Ready to jump tied to this bungee rope
I’m an adrenaline junky and you are my outlet
The bad becomes good
What was hard is now easy
We have never followed those rules
Together we do our own thing
But I crave those eyes of yours and I’m confused
How something so frightful can feel so good
Keep your hands on me and don’t let go
I can feel everything 10-fold
I used it all to my advantage
The need to pull away had become the excuse to carry on
I am always Dracula avoiding the sunlight
Talking to the wallpaper and conversing with the carpet
But you have the effect to make it all go away
Just for a day
I am quick, I am witty and outgoing
I’m everything we shouldn’t be
We both should be glitching
But it’s going so perfectly

Group work
I’ve been listening for too long
Months have passed
And I’m still sitting on this same chair
Listening to you talking about everything
But what I want to hear, what we were told to do
Over hyped horror films
And hilarious drunken escapades
I’m writing in my clipboard facts and points
I can reply to you, I hate that film
Then I go back to waiting
Sitting, staring
Millions of minutes have come and gone
No one’s focusing on the task
I don’t want to bother, like you don’t
Talking about badly acted soaps
Instead of the writings of Plato
I’m only listening until I leave
And do this goddamn project on my own!

I write a lot of poems. The themes tend to center around whatever I'm thinking of at the time, and I almost never write about my past experiences, or how I feel. Here's something I wrote not long ago:

The World Fell to Pieces as we Longed for the Sun
The sun rose unnoticed to the world
Hidden behind black skies
The ground shook apart
And millions of lives seeped through the cracks
Fire poured from holes in the earth
Reducing the empires of man to ashes
Men, women and children looked to each other
As the life left their eyes and bodies
Animals fled to nowhere
As they were engulfed in the destruction
Great forests fell,
Leaving but stubs of trees and ashes of life
Lightning fell from the blackened skies
Further defacing this scorched planet
A small few remained alive
By luck or by strength or by smarts
In dark tunnels and dirty basements we slept
Sheltered by the work of our fathers and grandfathers
As fire and ash rained from the heavens
Burning all the strings that tied us to the world
Over time the air cleared and we sensed a change
Crawling up from our graves
Slowly we found each other
Wandering aimlessly across our unrecognizable Earth
All our slates wiped clean
Regret began to seep into our souls
A thousand days and a thousand nights we sat and stared
Holding in our minds these visions of an apocalyptic nature
And then we saw the sun
Coming up over the crimson horizon