<p>As the title says...what kind of poetry do people on CC write, if any? I'd be especially interested to know if anyone here studies haiku...</p>
<p>i wrote this poem. i am a man, but i wrote it in the point of view of a woman. it was an assignment that we had to do for english class. my teacher told me, when i asked her, that she felt that this poem really captured the essence of a woman. and that she was proud of me. i'm really proud of this one too, since there are so many metaphors and personifications and poetic devices. i am looking to get it published i think.</p>
<p>here it is:</p>
<p>"You left me, you hurt me, you beautiful bastard"</p>
<p>Day 1
Our bodies entwined
Like two pieces of rice meshed together
Our breaths so heavy
Like something that weighs so much, yet so little
Your man-legs so tender
Like that of my own
They match.
Our legs do match, like a wonderful fashion accessory.
Together, we are like like the wardrobe that never malfunctions</p>
<p>Day 2
You twirl me in the crisp cold air
Breathing in the silky soy-bean smell of me
You know that wonderful, but sour smell of italian dressing?
You, my dear, smell like it.
Wonderful, you are like italian dressing in yourself.
Pieces of you, mixed into a filmy concoction of love.
We are meant to be.
Like Romeo and Juliet,
You were meant for me
and I was meant for you.
I hold you in the same way that I hold a compass
Because you.... are my compass, you point me in the direction love.</p>
<p>Day 3
The days of love are long gone.
You forsook me, you left me, you hurt me
You beautiful bastard
How DARE you do this to me?
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts
Like a thousand needles punching into my skin under a sewing machine
Like five hundred pirhanas eating away at my flesh
Like a lobster clamping down on my hands of love
Like an alligator chomping down.
No longer do I hold you like a hold a compass
My compass is broken, you beautiful bastard
I hate you as much as I hate my uncle
Don't be my uncle, you bastard. It's the last thing I want
You tore out my heart,
ripping out my placenta of sadness
Our relationship was a miscarriage.
How could I be so fooled?</p>
<p>Day 4
You hide under your umberella of passion,
Shielded away from the rain of tears which I weep
No longer are we like black and white.
For we do not match.
We are now black and brown.
But, dear....
My cold-hearted dear....
How could I hate you?
Yes, yes, yes. I do love you
So much... I do.</p>
<p>Day 5
Are you there? I called you.
Are you there now? I called you again.
Are you there, are you there, are you there!?
I called you and left so many messages.
I am your bringer of happiness
Don't extinguish the flame on my candle!
Please, respond...
Be my compass once more.
Be mine, Valentine.
Be mine, like the wine of the grapes.
Be mine again. Be.... mine.
Don't churn my grapes of wrath.
Don't be my catcher in the rye.
Don't be my pride in my prejudice.
Don't be the disgusting beans in my chilli.
Be mine, valentine.</p>
<p>Day 6
So you do love me afterall?
Our bodies entwined again
You are the rice
I am the nori
Together, we are one once again.
You are my compass once more.
Darling....</p>
<p>comments and critiques are welcome. is there any way to imrpove my poem?
should i send it in to colleges?</p>
<p>i wrote a poem about the resemblance of this jock in my class to a neandarthal the other day.</p>
<p>it's 4 lines, and i'm very proud of it.</p>
<p>actually, i later extended it to 8 lines, which includes him hunting a bird, and a description of the arrow in the air.</p>
<p>parkrunner...I especially like Day 4.</p>
<p>Write prose-like poetry. </p>
<p>parkrunner- it seemed pretty normal except for the rice metaphors, lol.</p>
<p>I write a combination of descriptive and narrative poetry. My poems are generally inclined more towards nature, emotion, thought, life, and so forth.</p>
<p>I used to write poetry and win contests. I never felt as though I was that good though. Then I started getting paid to write lyrics for a local band. And now I feel sold out and low so I stopped. Writing poetry was liking putting my soul on to paper, writing lyrics is just ink to paper.</p>
<p>To the OP: I never really understood haiku. I don't like having to put X amount of syllables on each line, it felt restricting.</p>
<p>I wrote bad (no, truly awful) poetry in eighth and ninth grade and haven't since, except for this English assignment at the beginning of junior year-- we had to write the first two stanzas of a sestina. It's terribly melodramatic, but I'll post it anyway for your entertainment. :rolleyes:</p>
<hr>
<p>A November night's girl sits alone in a window
Shuffling pages of a newspaper.
She stains the pages with editor's ink
Annotating the margins and sipping her tea.
"It's you and me," she says to the cat
Who agrees and curls up to cover the page.</p>
<p>The words start to twist and blur on the page
And she draws the curtains to cover the window.
She curls up in bed, says goodnight to the cat,
And dreams of the boy who writes in the newspaper.
"It's so silly," she says over her morning tea
Red-eyed and white-faced, hands covered in ink.</p>
<hr>
<p>I had a crush on the newspaper editor. How embarrassing.</p>