A poem you wrote or like?

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Here's mine


Remember Me


My name is gossip. I have no respect for justice. I maim without killing. I break hearts and ruin lives.

I am cunning, malicious and gather strength with age.
The more I am quoted, the more I am believed.

I flourish at every level of society, my victims are helpless; they can't protect themselves, for I have no face or name.

To track me down is impossible, the harder you try the more elusive I become.

I am nobody's friend. When I tarnish a reputation it is never the same. I topple governments, wreck marriages, ruin careers, cause sleepless nights, indigestion and heartache.

I spawn suspicion and generate grief. I make innocent people cry in their pillows.

I hurt innocent children needlessly; cause confusion and doubt, fear and suffering; destroy trust and create discention. There is no limit to my destruction!! !

Even my name hisses needlessly; cause confusion and doubt, fear and suffering; destroy trust and create discention. There is no limit to my destruction!! !

Even my name hisses. I am called GOSSIP: Office gossip, party gossip, shop gossip, ETC.

I make headlines and heartaches.

So before you repeat a story ask yourself "Is it true", "Is it fair", "Is it necessary"?

If Not Shutup!

"Fruit of the Flower" by Countee Cullen

My father is a quiet man
With sober, steady ways;
For simile, a folded fan;
His nights are like his days.
My mother's life is puritan,
No hint of cavalier,
A pool so calm you're sure it can
Have little depth to fear.

And yet my father's eyes can boast
How full his life has been;
There haunts them yet the languid ghost
Of some still sacred sin.

And though my mother chants of God,
And of the mystic river,
I've seen a bit of checkered sod
Set all her flesh aquiver.

Why should he deem it pure mischance
A son of his is fain
To do a naked tribal dance
Each time he hears the rain?

Why should she think it devil's art
That all my songs should be
Of love and lovers, broken heart,
And wild sweet agony?

Who plants a seed begets a bud,
Extract of that same root;
Why marvel at the hectic blood
That flushes this wild fruit?

Good one.

"Alone" by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

Edgar Allan Poe rocks.

Honestly, outside of writing it myself, I don't know a lot about poetry except that I think John Cooper Clarke is s**t. I've always preferred the overlap between poetry and lyrics.

I think that my finest work as a poet is one I wrote called 'Girls':

Girls.

Tall girls, small girls.
Model girls, modern girls.
Fat girls, fag addicted girls.

Girls.

Makeup girls.
Heroin chic girls.
Slim girls, rake girls,
As much personality as one too, girls.
Unattractive supermodel makeup caked f**k you girls.

Girls.

Lingerie girls.
Real girls, buxom girls.
Enough bodyweight to measure on a scale girls.
Pretty, makeupless, blonde-brunette-red-haired girls.
Lace silk leather whip g-thong girls.

Girls.

Porno girls.
Fake girls, bad girls.
Girl on girl girls, suicide girls.
Silicone to bone cellulite in the right white light girls.
Fat thin foot fetish strawberry sucking tight assfuck creamer girls.
Do it in a burger king toilet if it won’t fit in my mouth girls.
Milk urine skat girls.

Girls.

Dream girls.
Made up in your mind girls.
No fake no cake girls,
Perfect size girls,
Messy ponytail girls,
Broken girls
Do it if I must, girls
Swallow don’t spit, miss you when you’re gone, love you all my life….girls.

Girls.

I like anything that involves creative writing. Any works you've done or seen that appeal to you.

Well, this was actually a fanfic I made, but it has the form of a poem, so here it is:

The scent of your body when falling asleep on our bed
Once my sweetest embrace, it became my torment instead
My days are restless, I can’t help waking up cold and wet
Dreaming of San Francisco, the bay where our eyes first met
My knees are weak, for too much time I’ve been walking alone
My mind and eyes are filled with all the places where I’ve gone
But none of them is good enough if with me you don’t come
For you too, my dearest lady, have been my only home.

HOMAGE TO EDGAR ALLEN POE

Somewhere between the cracks of chronic comic cosmic cackling
Seeps blood and choosy boozie floozie oozy fluids down the wall
To pool and run across the floor and corridor
To convert the bureaucrats to acrobats in spats and hats
So they slip and trip and skip and drip
And dance in funny capers dropping all their papers
Stained and mashed and crushed and trashed to make a mess galore.

But upper echelons of bosses
Look up from their naughts and crosses
Hexed and vexed by jerky clerks
Who pirouette and dance quadrilles
Across the floor, on window sills,
And slither here and there and thither.

"Goddamn!" They slam their bulky hams with palms so sly -
Threaten with their power drills to make round holes above the eye.
The clerks all scream, "It's just a dream we're all a team
And don't ask why." And so they cower in the shower
Confounded over corporate power,
Wheezing, coughing, sneezing, freezing -
Hoping that they!ll soon be coping as they gracefully go loping
Round the wet and soppy soapy sloppy tessellated shower floor.

"Back to work!", the bosses rant, ties askew, eyes aslant,
"There's things you do and things you can't!"
But workers wet and workers weary
Fed with practice, jammed with theory,
Red rimmed eyes and vision bleary,
Hungry for a chicken salad topped with sauce but rather pallid,

Stuffed their ears with rubber foam,
Crammed the stairs and elevators,
Tumbled down the escalators,
Grabbed the cabs put on their tabs
And headed straight for spouse and home.

Oh good, another Edgar Allan Poe fan.

This one's about the member of staff that verbaly abused me for 2 years in a supported living scheme =/


Golden Guilt Trip.

This time it’s only right
That the none believers die at night
In the charade of darkness
That plays games with their weakness
There is no better way to go
Than in the dreams that used to show
Illuminate your failings
That are impaled on the cemetery railings
Don’t look into the future where you are dead
Live only for the second in life where you are the red
The red sky in the evening
That brings the good things
I have been left with your regrets
But we together we made our beds
And sailed off the edge of the world
That was the version I was once told
We used to be afraid of each other
The way the line used to alter
Trust was a warped illusion
That only ended in a bottle of poison
For one of us at leased
One day we’ll relive it and die at each other’s feet.

MIDNIGHT WIND AT THE CARNIVAL

The chill air tumbles down from the moon
And splashes through trembling leaves
Tainted by the icebergs of Europa.
Silently, like a frenzied animal,
The nightwind pokes its nose
Into tight corners, stirring debris and dust
To fashion merry whirlwinds
Of candy wrappers,dying balloons
Pigeon feathers, scattered popcorn
And torn fragments of a loser's tickets
To the lottery. Suddenly, as if
With a whoop of joy,
It seizes sheets of tabloid,
Triumphantly kites them high
Above the peaks of the central tent
And, like children playing follow me,
They troop through the brass forest
Of the carousel. A frozen lion
Puts on a cocked hat, a rearing horse
Gains a paper mask. As if tired of the game,
The remaining sheets collapse in chuckles
On the central machinery.
The wind runs its fingertips along a line of lights
To make them dance in sinusoidal glee.
It shakes the canvas posters of the sideshows
Distorting even further the twisted human portraits
And then skoots off into the big top.
With skill it coordinates
The pendulums of trapezes.
It tosses handfulls of sawdust on the empty seats
Which shine in fascination at its high jinks.
Then, bored with play, it exits to the night
And back up to the stars.

Codeine Sunrise


My ears are bleeding from the same old lines
I can only hide from it with lies
Never telling them for fear
I’ll come back before I disappear

Then I saw a face on fire
The sound of a dying last desire
We kept walking round town
Then I go away for a few minutes to drown

I can hear it’s breath on the wind
I am her warm next of kin
I am a sailor marooned on dry land
My ship downed by the marching bands

I sit on the windowsill and watch this sun rise
This world pulled the plug and the colours died
I will never trust anyone else with my soul
She is the warmest sun in the darkest embroil

I am caught in the warm of this sunrise
Burning a fountain of fire deep inside
Losing myself for what I love
Decapitate the ringed dove

I belong to nobody not even you
I am the place you should never walk through
Most victims are alone at night
Dying softly by my side

I am rising with the sun
Delicate and free is the passionate embraced gun
I believe in all I cannot see and I can write the truth
Leave me without her and the heavens will fall through

Landlocked in a cloudless sky
Like a zeppelin climbing high
I love the dream of being with her
On cold nights I am warmed like I wear fur

Open hells gate to melt the rings of Saturn
Oh how I know this was the wrong turn
I cannot go back now it’s done
I am doomed to rise with this burning sun


This is another one by me about my latest addiction =/

He’s gone.

Let the days that showed you life subside
Then it was time to be lead inside
Where the curtains were drawn for the last time
Your days on Earth to become only a shine
We went under the trees
Where we set your soul free
From the jar of fire
The wind blew away my last desire.


and this one is about saying the final goodbye to my late dad

Here's a poem I wrote about this world.


A world of backwards beliefs.

In a world that is so shallow,
Things are often ignored,
Good things dismissed,
Bright ideas floored.

Stereotyping people,
Full time around the clock,
I like to wear black,
So I must be a Goth.

Priorities are diluted,
Things misunderstood,
The rich are given more,
Whilst the poor are “no good”.

Animals treated badly,
Forever painfully abused,
Shut in isolation for,
Only meat to be used.

Everywhere I look,
The different are teased,
Bullied and ridiculed,
Beat onto their knees.

If this does not disturb,
Your train of perfect little thoughts,
Writing has been a waste of time,
To try in change the superficial mind,
Of what we call civil beings of life.


By Brittany.

That rocks!