Can you write a poem

Can you write a poem?


Whether or not a person can write poetry is entirely relevant to how much effort they put into learning the craft.
Furthermore, it is important that one appreciates the difference between writing poetry and constructing poetic prose.
In the case of the latter, which is perfectly acceptable as a medium of expression and enjoyed widely by many, one needs only to understand what separates an impactful statement from an impactful sentence.
Here’s an example:
“I left my house this afternoon and found my dog dead on the lawn”
Ordinary sentence? How about this:
“I left my house
the other day
and found my dog dead
on the lawn”
Or try:
“I left my house the other day
and found
my dog dead on the lawn”
Or:
“I left my house the
other day and
found my dog dead,
on the lawn.

You see, there are many combinations.
The point is that an ordinary sentence can be broken down into a series of impactful statements that incite different emotions in the reader.
The problem is that this isn’t really poetry, It’s just a way of expressing yourself in a poetic format.

Think of your poem as a series of cliffs that you’re trying to convince your reader to descend.
Suppose they could turn around on any given cliff and be air-lifted to safety.
The incentive you provide for them to continue is in the construction of each cliff.
They must all be worth the time it takes to reach them, and they must all inspire the journey down, no matter how far down they may go.

“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of autumn leaves”
Cliff 1: Lush trees! Beautiful! I wonder what I’ll find on the next cliff.

Cliff 2: Oh, what a gentle breeze.
So peaceful.
I must go on!
Cliff 3: The graceful whirl? Of what?
Cliff 4: Oh, leaves! Autumn leaves! That’s a nice image.
I’m really glad I decided to climb down and investigate!
…you get the idea.
This is a nature poem.
It’s full of images that are pleasant to the reader.
This type of poetry is not necessarily considered ‘bad,’ although It is often dismissed as simple and commonplace.
It requires about as much thought as it does understanding of the fundamentals of writing poetry.
Suppose we modified it slightly:
“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of Autumn leaves”
So we’ve had our trees and our breeze and then wham – death.
The reader is compelled, intrigued.
What could be dying in this wonderful place? And what dies gracefully at all?? Cliff 4: Oh, leaves… Oh! Beauty in death! That’s sort of profound!
…So the reader gets a kick of serotonin for connecting the dots.
There is an ‘A-ha!’ moment.
Everyone claps.
You get the idea.

Here’s a lovely little poem by Nayyirah Waheed:
“I don’t pay attention to the world ending.

It has ended for me many times,
And began again in the morning”
Cliff 1: What an impact! What is she getting at?
Cliff 2: I must know more!
Cliff 3: Clever! That must be why she’s the poet!
…You see, this is an example of poetry that stands the test of time.
Why? When was the last time someone patted you on the shoulder when you were sad and said, “Don’t worry, tomorrow’s another day!” Didn’t you just want to smack them? One of the things this poem manages to do is refresh that cliché, and give it a totally different body.
After awhile, clichés begin to rot; they grow stale within our minds.
Partly because we’ve heard them our whole lives, but also because they’re practically universal.
Every culture has their own respective variations.
Finding a poem like this is like finding gold, the kind that you’ll never be able to spend in a lifetime.
It becomes your own little mantra.
It’s delightful.

So basically, yes, anyone can write poetry, but not everyone can sit down and write something like that.
At least not initially.
I believe that we all have poems like Nayyirah’s banging around inside of our heads.
But It takes some people years of hard work to actually put it into words.
Building your vocabulary, understanding nuance, and hunting for synonyms is a major part of this work.
But above all, you must write, and write.
And then write some more.
Never leave your house without a notepad and a pen.
Ordinary paper will do, but choose your pens wisely.
That’s my advice, anyways.

I recommend reading “Politics and the English Language” by George Orwell.
He was by no means a poet (although he did write some) however the essay is an indispensable tool for recognizing and obliterating the hackneyed phrases and clichés that have been pumped into your head by the world around you since you first came into it.
It will help you think with clarity and, more importantly, write with clarity.

Write with clarity, my friend.
Know what you’re saying.
Make each precious line count.
Make it mean something to you, or don’t expect it to mean anything to anyone else.
Get a dictionary and a thesaurus, or if you’re able, download the Merriam-Webster dictionary and thesaurus app on your phone/ tablet.
It’s free, and extremely useful.
It provides synonyms, as well as antonyms.
I don’t know how much you know about those, but here's a brief rundown:
Synonyms: Words that mean the same thing (Happy, Delighted)
Antonyms: Words that oppose (Hot, cold)
Syllables: A u-nit of or-ga-ni-za-tion for a se-quence-of-sounds.
Clap = one syllable.
Hand-ful = 2 syllables.
Ha-ppi-ness = 3 syllables.
So on and so forth.

In summary, when you ask ‘can anyone write poetry,’ It’s a bit like asking if anyone can breath or speak or learn the alphabet.
If you can make the conscious decision to write a poem, then there’s nothing stopping you from doing it.
Whether or not you can publish it or win an award is a different question entirely.
You must ask yourself who (and possibly what) you are writing for, and why.
George Orwell has another essay, “Why I Write,” which might help you on your journey.

One final thing that I have neglected to mention is that apart from writing, you must read, read, read.
There is something called The Delphi Classics Collection, and It’s basically a massive collection of “Complete Works” by various authors and poets for under 5$ each.
Here’s a list of what’s available: Complete Catalogue
I have an android and download them for Google Books but there’s probably other options if you don’t have an android.
When all else fails, hit your local library.

The collection is mostly classic literature, but I believe firmly that it is essential to read these men and women, as they were the inspiration for what is being written now.
Some people benefit from copying the style of a favorite poet until they get a feel for their own and branch off.
It’s really up to you.
There’s a difference between stealing someone’s work and being inspired.

GET INSPIRED.

Check out poets.
org
, there’s some useful information there.

Here’s something interesting as well:
50 Essential Books of Poetry That Everyone Should Read
If you need anymore pointers, you can send me an e-mail at mike.
[email protected]
.
com, and I’ll very gladly do my best to help you.

Regards,
-Mike Robbins-


I wrote this poem today.
I haven't thought of a title yet.
Suggestions are most welcome.

I entered the door with a bouquet, while you waited there holding a knife
I never knew that you were a foe, disguised as my beloved beautiful wife
With a swift stroke of your hand, my gushing blood splattered on the wall
How could you stain everything that mattered, for something so small
Bleeding, I swinged my sword, and things got from bad to worse
What seemed like a blessing, had turned out to be a curse
I kept hurting you, when I could have simply nipped it in the bud
Hurt and tired, we both fell on the floor juxtaposed with a thud
Waking up after this emotional bloodbath, I came back to my senses
Instead of bringing down our walls, we have been putting up fences
With all the spiteful words, we have allowed our love to be gnawed
Pointing fingers at each other, when we ourselves, are flawed
I looked into your hazel eyes, guilt and regret took over the grudge
Falling in love is easy, staying in love is where one shouldn't budge
Anger only begets resentment, so we should get rid of this rancour
Our ship has been out in the storm for too long, let us get back to the shore


I have short poems, hope that's okay?
Poem 1
Pain is my enemy, it's also my friend.

Pain makes me suffer, it also makes me stronger.

The question is, which do I prefer?
And how much pain am I willing to go through to get stonger?
Pain hurts, so how does it help in the end?
Why do I have to be strong because the world is pain?
Can everyone become stronger than pain?
I know when I say this, I'm just like all the rest.

I wanna be strong, but the world feels stonger.

We all have questions.

But the real question is,
will we ever know what true pain is?
Poem 2
I been waiting for this for so long.

Waiting to know where I belong.

Know that I'm here.

Know that I'm there.

I'm where ever you want me to appear.

I need you more than ever.

I love you more than I can show.

You mean more than the rest.

How would I show that?
I hope I'm not too late.

It's not a lie when I say, I'm afraid.

Afraid to lose everything.

Everything we had ever create.

Cause what we create, means everything.

Like you mean to me.

Poem 3
Loneliness has brought you down.

Your life is filled with sorrows,
Which are drowning.

You said “where did my life go wrong?”
I'm saying “it wasn't your past that you did wrong”
“It's your presence that's down in a hole,
Cause you let loneliness take a huge toll.

You said “life isn't worth living.

I saidlife is worth living
“Your just being blind,
you're filling your head with nonsense every night,
words that you have no right, filling your mind.

You say “ life is hard living with no one by your side.

I say “ Wrong.

“ I been here this whole time.

Helpful these are good.
Thank you for reading.


Yes I can! And I’ve even wrote two poems.

Here is one of them:
Serendipity…
Sitting at my workstation I kept swirling my chair around,
 Battling the strenuous drowse that tried to yoke me to the ground,
 “How could this happen? This is the first hour of my job,” I wondered,
 I chuckled.
“How fool of me! It’s Monday today,” I remembered.

I peeked to my left to see an empty chair,
 “No-one to talk around; hey, that’s so unfair!”

I cringed viscerally at the thought of spending the day without uttering a word,
 I tried to re-task my focus on my computer screen when a soft voice I heard,
 Made me turn, and as I did, I veered myself to the source of the euphonic voice,
 I felt the dumbfoundedness of a person bewitched by a magical spell, twice.

For some moments I couldn’t decrypt the words that her lips uttered,
 As I just kept staring into her graceful eyes, helpless and all cluttered.

She asked with a soft smile, “Is this person absent today?” and motioned to the workstation on my left,
 I felt my dopamine surge at the possibility of what might happen next,
 I nodded as soon as I realised my tongue has gone numb,
 She ensconced herself and smiled, her cheeks as rotund as a plum.

I swallowed a lump in my throat that I didn’t realise had formed,
 I wasn’t hoping for anything like this but I liked what my day had unboxed.

“What is she? Are humans allowed to be this beautiful?” I questioned my mind,
 Was she a manifestation of my dreams or an angel in disguise!
 It seemed like her eyes possessed a power in them like Midas in his hands,
 A sight of innocence that could even force the flying time to land.

I leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of her pretty brown eyes,
 She turned to me with a gaze of a doe and my tongue again got tied.

“Any problem?” She questioned me with a raise of her brow,
 “Yes, your eyes.
They’re too beautiful,” the response I couldn’t let out,
 Instead I shook my head and turned my eyes away from her,
 My peripheral could see her blushing; it seemed the bubble has finally burst.

I tried to venture a conversation but failed to remember the morphemes,
 The anonymity between us allowed the nervousness to sweep in.

I sighed deeply and turned about to do what I’m paid for,
 But her presence beside me made it harder for me to stay calm,
 An unexpected “Hello” came from my left and an introduction followed the greet,
 Although stunned by the suddenness I tried to smile at her, from cheek to cheek.

We exchanged our names and conversed a little for a while,
 Before she got engaged in her work and I in mine.

After hours of punching the keyboard buttons I stretched my arms and yawned,
 She giggled at me and I took it as a cue to move my first pawn,
 I embarked, “I’m going to the cafeteria to have some tea”,
 I hesitated for a moment and resumed, “would you like to come with me?”

She rolled her eyes and I understood she has refused my kind and genuine offer,
 I began to walk away.
“Wait a minute, let me lock my PC,” and then I saw her got up.

We walked our way to the cafeteria, slower than two people normally would,
 My chivalry erupted as I held the door open for her as she entered the room,
 We occupied a table for two and it appeared like a date-night is about to happen,
 With she in front of me and the stories that we shared, it seemed like all the troubles in the world didn’t matter.

I mulled over the thought that I might have a crush on her smile,
 But there was an absolute certainty that I had fallen in love with her eyes.

She shared some cheerful stories about her childhood and also the moments in her life she remorse,
 She had a way of crinkling her nose adorably that made her appear cuter than she was before,
 “You may have a body of a woman but you have a sweetness of a child,” I abruptly blurted out,
 She smiled deep into my eyes and I could feel the brightest smile I ever had form on my mouth.

“That’s the sweetest thing someone has ever said about me,” she blushed a little while she said this,
 It took us a moment to realise that we’re holding hands; the touch of hers was something I couldn’t resist.

We got up as we finished our beverages and sauntered our way back to our daily routine,
 I tried to rein my thoughts that our day was about to end, but my efforts were all just futile,
 I just wished this night shall never pass as I wanted to spend more of my time with her,
 We logged out of our PC’s as our shift ended but I craved for one last conversation with this girl.

While ambling towards the exit in silence I turned on my heels to look into her beautiful brown eyes,
 I sighed as I looked at her and tried to settle down the feeling to hug her that was about to rise,
 “I spent this beautiful day with a beautiful girl I wish I could see more of,” I said with truthfulness in my voice,
 She smiled at the ground and then looked up, “You will.
Tomorrow at 8.
Here’s my number.
The place is your choice.


TO BE LIKE YOU, Jimmy.

When I saw you today on the monkey bars it was all eyes on you.
The girls, the teachers and every lad including me adored Jimmy McShue.
He was bright and funny with millions of wits and I couldn't look away, no way, not from Jimmy McShue.
When I grow up guess what I what I want to be? You know it, just like you.

Jimmy played baseball and excelled, he was natural with a bat.
I joined the team and tried so hard, but damnit I can't even put on the stiff brimmed hat.
They cheered for you and laughed at me.
Next year, sixth grade guess what I want to be?
Football and foursquare your feet are like wings.
God so many girls your praise they would sing.
Facemasked at practice again and again.
“You're a loser!" “Am I?” “Who me?” “My name's Leon, but my friends call me Lee:)” “Seventh grade “ You're Peon" that was my name, damn I was blue.
I still kept on trying, mirroring Jimmy McShue.

High school a pube, pheromones in the air.
Boys eyes wide open, girls legs everywhere.
They invited me to a party hosted by Mr.
McShue.
Damn, maturity? Finally a friend.
Maybe? Fingers crossed? They were hard to cross broken, at the hands of his crew.
Yeah, he ordered it, Jimmy McShue.

Silence, a snail, head burried in tears.
That's how I moped around for one plus one years.
Now all of that moping gave this junior now senior time to think.
Alone with my friends, invisible you'd say.
That's only cause when you look I order them, they're hidden away.
Back to our thoughts on Jimmy McShue, hmmmm, what then should “crackle fingers" secretly do?
I followed him once, then twice, night after night.
It wasn't enough a fair fist fight.
He laughed at us, get him! Remove all his air! Squeeze him, tie him to a chair! So I saw him smiling, pretty teeth and rosy cheeks.
I'm gonna get him early next week.
Right before college, so he's pretty for his pictures.

My heart's racing in the bushes Jimmy McShue.
I've waited six years to be like you.
We could have been friends, lover's, companions, God we all adore you.
Now it's my turn to assume you.
He's coming, I'm shaking and I peed in my jeans.
I squeezed his mouth so he wouldn't scream.
I drug him into the bushes at his parents place.
He just wouldn't stop screaming, so I started hitting his face.
It wasn't with knuckles, that's for the brave.
I was a coward, it was a rock, his face I did cave.
Smashing and smashing, I was crying for his life.
He took his last breath and I kissed him goodnight.

Leon


Yes I can, and there are many apps on google play store.
I have used almost all of them which are suggested to me.
So here I will share my experience with you.

so will using all of them I came across NOJOTO[1] and finally, I got what I searching for.
This consists of every possible facility that a writer wants to showcase his/her talent, like a variety of prompts, text fonts, and background images.

The best part of this app is their watermark of writer profile name no one can take credit on your behave.

On add on NOJOTO provides many other facilities like Recording video and only voice with background music if you want to recite your Shayari and poem.

NOJOTO have a huge social presence on social media platform where you can become an upcoming star because of your content and talent.

So if you desire to write and want a interest base audience NOJOTO is best app
Hope my answer is useful to you.

You can download app on google app store.

See you on Nojoto – Talent Sharing App <3 download from here: http://bit.
ly/NojotoApp


Since then!
To recite my tale, I won't take you long back,
the story is still the same,
No solutions to hack.

It starts since then,
When our breasts are upright,
Harrased we are while walking on lonely paths at night.

Since then our skirts go long,
Sights on the floor,
Barred we get,
This society wants to see us behind the doors…
Their hoarse voice and musculine abs,
They do flaunt,
In daydreams so bright, These stray minds are too quick to haunt…
They have a heart of Wolf, so they mask their face,
And talk about our liberty, all with shameless grace.

They have hands wet in blood so they put them in their pockets,
Presence of a beauty make their eyes escape the eye ball socket.

It all starts since then,
when our tummies go flat and thin,
Prey you are with any colour of skin…
They talk of moon,
But live in centuries back,
For them women are play toys,
And their existence is just to get attacked.

It starts since then,
When our phone is ringed every hour… to know whether everything is fine???
Since then every women's heart cries in despondence,
Of the fear of being harrased and molested.

Still we bow and thankyou,
For making this heaven even worse than hell.

We don't have a heart of iron,
Or a body of gold,
For us too, these vibes are cold…
But despite of this pain,
you'll never realise….

The bane of your mother's womb.

The existence of men is the live evidence,
That women are strong.

I feel pitty for them who think….
.
That they pardon their sympathy on us!
~Akshita.

(P.
S.
– I am not Generalizing every one, this is in context to those, who really need to get over their dirty mindset.
)

☮️


I wrote it according to my point of view.
Hope you'll like it.

A plant
FRIENDS are the flowers of our life,
With whom becomes melodious the fife.

Who are with us in our hard times,
Those who put a smile when we cry.

Whose visages differ according to our mood,
They protect us like a goalkeeper do.

Those who indulge us in nonsense fights,
Before whom we behave like a Knight!
~~
PARENTS are the roots of our life,
With whom we have a hell lot of fights.

Their efforts can't be measured with naked eye,
As they are high like the sky.

They can show their wrath well but not love,
It needs a lot to understand their harsh words.

If you loose some valuable things, they can show their anger,
But by committing suicide or hurting yourself, you make them a beggar!
:(:


Yes, why not! Let's give it a try.

I searched for you everywhere but no where you were found.

Worn out, I sat on that shattered bench,
Where once we both sat, hand in hand,
Where your eyes met mine, and they said to me that not all the broken things are worth whine.

Lost in our memories, I didn't feel your touch until you tapped on my shoulder for the second time,
Sitting beside, I whispered to you – I live this night every night!
You held my hand, came close to kiss and gave me all those butterflies and everything I miss,
But suddenly, I opened my eyes!


Labour Party
The resuscitaire is beeping
The lights dash from the ceiling
Her walls are fidgeting
Her condition is threatening
Her water breaks,some call it bottles popping
Her cervix trapped, she soon feels she's flopping
Shes in the farthest star,but she just can't shout it.

She shouldn't be shy ,it's a labour party.

The nurses are shaky ,but they try to fake it.

The doctor feels flaccid yet hopes he can make it.

The latest father smiles, oops! it's still a maybe
The latest mother pants, for nine months she craved this.

The foetus is racing, it's shunning its grassroots.

The cord is amazing until it is cut loose.

A baby is being born,life begins a fast boot.

Oh Daddy is crying, his tears feel like hot booze.

A woman A saviour A mother A true one
She laid down in silence and took in a spermdrop
In worry and agony, she popped out a live one.

A martyr A heroine raced on through a ram's horn.

The whole ward is gay now, melancholy erased.

Even she has forgotten the agony she faced
In a year,you ll see us being suddenly chatty.

Remember before then was a labour party.

Source : Labour Party – Steemit


Well, this poem describes the turmoil running in the head of a broken girl and how she decides to take action and takes control of it.

HER (PART 1)
EYES
I look into her eyes-pitch black,
Fluttering, flickering, flinching,
Unstable, unsteady, uncertain,
Is the only way into her soul's veracity
Reflecting her gloom back.

All the words she uttered,
Lies she swallowed, spewed, snaked,
Smiles she forced, faltered, faked
Did her no good to hide back
When the pair were in contact.

Makeup smeared,smeared tears,
Eyes -windows of her soul
Show her earnest desire
To shout, scream and howl
All that her heart within mewl,
Stand tall gates of her heart
Clamping her mouth shut,
She hides behind the veils of the dark.

HER (PART 2)
KALEIDOSCOPE
In her dense black eyes
I see a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Now she is lost in the deep ocean of conception
And I in her black and white eyes globes
Filled with elation.

Happy, light-hearted, mellifluous
Her nostalgic expression.

With her eyes swollen she
Blushes,
Looks through her lashes she
Flushes,
With merry memories that
Rushes.

Nothing lasts forever.

Good times end; smiles fade.

Hers fade with a look of
depression, distress, and disgust.

Then I'm filled with fascination
Of the sudden swerve in her deep eye-oceans,
Fills her with something powerful.

Cold eyes stare back,
Wrath from the bowels of her heart
Shines luminous,
Malicious, vicious, venomous.

Her stare is like an alpha in command
Her gaze is now fixed and focused.

She changes in front of me,
Changes in her kaleidoscope ends.

THANKS, IF YOU READ ALL THE WAY.
IT MEANS A LOT TO ME.

.

.


This is a poem I wrote in poem writing competition conducted on 28.
10.
2017 in my school on topic Future.

FUTURE
“What will be their future?”
I often think;
On seeing-
Few of my classmates.

On seeing the ones
Who shout in the class;
On seeing the ones
Who disturb the class;
On seeing the ones
Who use foul language;
On seeing the ones
Who fight with each other;
On seeing the ones
Who disrespect their teacher;
On seeing the ones
Who bunk the class.

According to me,
A person is never bad -
But
Her/his conditions make him/her bad.

So these pupils might be mentally frustrated or disappointed,
That’s why they behave like this.

But the question is-
“What will be their future?”
Our future is defined by
What we do today ,
And this is done by these pupils.

Blessings are worth,
But will these pupils be blessed ,
Or will they be cursed,
By the ones whom they hurt.

Time changes
Those who laugh today
Disturbing the class,
Will be laughed at
In the future.

Future will let them know
The importance of a teacher.

Future will make them
Pay the price for their current acts.

We cannot predict our future
But we can surely create it.

THANKYOU.

This poem I wrote after getting inspired from my classroom.

Rakhil.


The Chance (Original Poem)
Treading water, my face barely above it
My mind drifting, thinking about why
Everything everybody ever told me was a lie
As my life events flash before me eyes
I think about what it must be like to die
Then in an instant, what it's like to live
Live without worry but something's gotta give
Then, with calmness, I relax and begin to float
No longer thinking about sinking, making a mental note
To walk on water you gotta get outta the boat
With new-found strength I swim toward the shore
Defeat and discouragement holding me back no more
With your helping hand, I come up on dry land
Thankful that you cared enough to take a stand
Know that your kindness was more than happenstance
All I ever wanted and needed was the chance
The chance to realize my true worth
A gift given to all equally from birth
But equality is skewed for some in life
Living with more than their fair share of strife
But then again, it's still possible to win
If at first you don't succeed try, try again
Quit crying and complaining about life's hard knocks
Instead, engage your mind and think out of the box
These are the times when anyone can succeed
The chance to do so is all that you need
Be ready when opportunity knocks on your door
Identify and sharpen your skills, even the score
Everybody's good at something, it's true
Find out and develop what's good for you
Take any chance you are given
Be tenacious and be driven
You'll see you can do it if you try
Try like you mean it and that's no lie
Your power to succeed will be enhanced
If you engage your power when given the chance
By Amarie
Seize opportunities.
Seek them out.
Never give up.

Thank you for visiting.
You are very much appreciated.

Image Source


Original piece of work by me :)
Unspoken Words… .

Endless searching lights
Surrounds me for a hell fight,
Yelling at me to live in the real world…
But how can I?…when I don’t belong to this nostalgic earth!
Those unspoken words,
Blew my mind like a smoking cigar…
But what it left behind,a grieving body for souvenir!
I wish someday,I’ll hear to my pleading heart…
But how can I?.
.
when my future is handwritten at the very start!
They say,it’s useless to think out of the box…
But then is it useful to suffocate in the 4×4 stifling box?!
Captious eyes are all stuck upon me,
How will I rise…when my wings were cut off right in front of me!
Ferry your words,not my thoughts
Because this extrovert turned introvert girl will rise unknowingly.

And the power will roar like a lion through her poetry…
Do check this amateur poet’s other works :)
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.
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But you'll never be able to know
What's here in my mind
What hurt and what upset
Because I'll never be strong enough to say.

You'll always see me happy
You'll always think of me smiling in your head
Because I'll never be strong enough to say
the numerous things that have made me feel this way,
the smallest of things that have made me cry.

What you'll never understand is that how it felt
Because I'll never be strong enough
to make you feel the same.

You'll see my eyes filled with love.

But you'll never know the sadness they hold.

You'll listen to my voice so chirpy and glad,
But what you'll never know is the point that it breaks,
Because I'll make my mouth shut the very same moment.

I'll even hate myself sometimes for times like these,
But still you'll never be able to know.

Because I'll never be strong enough to say.

Just a little effort! Please do upvote if you like it.


I have written around 100 bad poems so far.
But I believe that writing be it short stories or poems or anything gets better with practice, as does most things.
Here goes one of my latest poems-

Sponge
Half past midnight-
 As the night lengthens, the drizzle morphs into rain.

 The neon lady blows a kiss, in the general direction;
 (Primordial marketing)
 “Drink my beer” says the sign.

 Sure I would but not for the sign, for myself.
.
.

Three down three more to go-
 The lady in neon kisses again, her lips more iridescent than ever;
 The mother in the opposite apartment rebukes her child,
 Homework was classwork, apparently.

 Changed roles happily.

 The girl in the verandah blushes on phone, our glances meet, she shifts hers away.

 I laugh in my mind.
.
.

 Below, the caretaker of the apartment is gilling the fish humming an old song
I like looking at people, following their daily life, oblivious to and of anyone.

 “Artistic voyeurism”, I retort to myself.

 I'm simply enjoying the flavors life has to offer, (to others)
I stumble my way to bed,
 Tomorrow's an important day, I must soak up everything of this place today.

(We're all sponges of flesh, blood and bone, soaking up experiences on the road to eternity.
)
~Biswadeep
Please visit my WordPress blog for more:- The Pretentious Panda's Blog [Biswadeep Ghosh Hazra]
You can also check out my blog here on Quora:- Biswa Writes (Rather Poorly)


Her talks, her smiles,
I can still hear them from miles!
Oh god do you know?
Why is she not saying 'Goodnights' anymore?
Listening to her voice,
Her aura and her chimes,
Oh god do you know?
Why they don't appear to have life anymore?
That breath, that laugh,
Even the sweet sorries on her behalf.

Oh God do you know?
Why's she not looking for me in the crowd anymore?
The promises made not to be broken,
And the secrets shared away.

Oh God do you know?
Why doesn't she seem to be sad without me anymore?
Portraits I drew for the most beautiful,
And the cards my prettiest made in plentiful,
Oh God do you know?
Why aren't they making me smile anymore?
The smoothest words I ever heard,
The lovely flirting done with my nerd.

Oh God do you know?
Why's the moon been ever since so dull?
Leaving me to cry,
Murdering me inside,
Oh god do you know?
Why she bid me a good bye?
~ Prisoner of Ishkabaksha


Can you write a poem?


Whether or not a person can write poetry is entirely relevant to how much effort they put into learning the craft.
Furthermore, it is important that one appreciates the difference between writing poetry and constructing poetic prose.
In the case of the latter, which is perfectly acceptable as a medium of expression and enjoyed widely by many, one needs only to understand what separates an impactful statement from an impactful sentence.
Here’s an example:
“I left my house this afternoon and found my dog dead on the lawn”
Ordinary sentence? How about this:
“I left my house
the other day
and found my dog dead
on the lawn”
Or try:
“I left my house the other day
and found
my dog dead on the lawn”
Or:
“I left my house the
other day and
found my dog dead,
on the lawn.

You see, there are many combinations.
The point is that an ordinary sentence can be broken down into a series of impactful statements that incite different emotions in the reader.
The problem is that this isn’t really poetry, It’s just a way of expressing yourself in a poetic format.

Think of your poem as a series of cliffs that you’re trying to convince your reader to descend.
Suppose they could turn around on any given cliff and be air-lifted to safety.
The incentive you provide for them to continue is in the construction of each cliff.
They must all be worth the time it takes to reach them, and they must all inspire the journey down, no matter how far down they may go.

“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of autumn leaves”
Cliff 1: Lush trees! Beautiful! I wonder what I’ll find on the next cliff.

Cliff 2: Oh, what a gentle breeze.
So peaceful.
I must go on!
Cliff 3: The graceful whirl? Of what?
Cliff 4: Oh, leaves! Autumn leaves! That’s a nice image.
I’m really glad I decided to climb down and investigate!
…you get the idea.
This is a nature poem.
It’s full of images that are pleasant to the reader.
This type of poetry is not necessarily considered ‘bad,’ although It is often dismissed as simple and commonplace.
It requires about as much thought as it does understanding of the fundamentals of writing poetry.
Suppose we modified it slightly:
“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of Autumn leaves”
So we’ve had our trees and our breeze and then wham – death.
The reader is compelled, intrigued.
What could be dying in this wonderful place? And what dies gracefully at all?? Cliff 4: Oh, leaves… Oh! Beauty in death! That’s sort of profound!
…So the reader gets a kick of serotonin for connecting the dots.
There is an ‘A-ha!’ moment.
Everyone claps.
You get the idea.

Here’s a lovely little poem by Nayyirah Waheed:
“I don’t pay attention to the world ending.

It has ended for me many times,
And began again in the morning”
Cliff 1: What an impact! What is she getting at?
Cliff 2: I must know more!
Cliff 3: Clever! That must be why she’s the poet!
…You see, this is an example of poetry that stands the test of time.
Why? When was the last time someone patted you on the shoulder when you were sad and said, “Don’t worry, tomorrow’s another day!” Didn’t you just want to smack them? One of the things this poem manages to do is refresh that cliché, and give it a totally different body.
After awhile, clichés begin to rot; they grow stale within our minds.
Partly because we’ve heard them our whole lives, but also because they’re practically universal.
Every culture has their own respective variations.
Finding a poem like this is like finding gold, the kind that you’ll never be able to spend in a lifetime.
It becomes your own little mantra.
It’s delightful.

So basically, yes, anyone can write poetry, but not everyone can sit down and write something like that.
At least not initially.
I believe that we all have poems like Nayyirah’s banging around inside of our heads.
But It takes some people years of hard work to actually put it into words.
Building your vocabulary, understanding nuance, and hunting for synonyms is a major part of this work.
But above all, you must write, and write.
And then write some more.
Never leave your house without a notepad and a pen.
Ordinary paper will do, but choose your pens wisely.
That’s my advice, anyways.

I recommend reading “Politics and the English Language” by George Orwell.
He was by no means a poet (although he did write some) however the essay is an indispensable tool for recognizing and obliterating the hackneyed phrases and clichés that have been pumped into your head by the world around you since you first came into it.
It will help you think with clarity and, more importantly, write with clarity.

Write with clarity, my friend.
Know what you’re saying.
Make each precious line count.
Make it mean something to you, or don’t expect it to mean anything to anyone else.
Get a dictionary and a thesaurus, or if you’re able, download the Merriam-Webster dictionary and thesaurus app on your phone/ tablet.
It’s free, and extremely useful.
It provides synonyms, as well as antonyms.
I don’t know how much you know about those, but here's a brief rundown:
Synonyms: Words that mean the same thing (Happy, Delighted)
Antonyms: Words that oppose (Hot, cold)
Syllables: A u-nit of or-ga-ni-za-tion for a se-quence-of-sounds.
Clap = one syllable.
Hand-ful = 2 syllables.
Ha-ppi-ness = 3 syllables.
So on and so forth.

In summary, when you ask ‘can anyone write poetry,’ It’s a bit like asking if anyone can breath or speak or learn the alphabet.
If you can make the conscious decision to write a poem, then there’s nothing stopping you from doing it.
Whether or not you can publish it or win an award is a different question entirely.
You must ask yourself who (and possibly what) you are writing for, and why.
George Orwell has another essay, “Why I Write,” which might help you on your journey.

One final thing that I have neglected to mention is that apart from writing, you must read, read, read.
There is something called The Delphi Classics Collection, and It’s basically a massive collection of “Complete Works” by various authors and poets for under 5$ each.
Here’s a list of what’s available: Complete Catalogue
I have an android and download them for Google Books but there’s probably other options if you don’t have an android.
When all else fails, hit your local library.

The collection is mostly classic literature, but I believe firmly that it is essential to read these men and women, as they were the inspiration for what is being written now.
Some people benefit from copying the style of a favorite poet until they get a feel for their own and branch off.
It’s really up to you.
There’s a difference between stealing someone’s work and being inspired.

GET INSPIRED.

Check out poets.
org
, there’s some useful information there.

Here’s something interesting as well:
50 Essential Books of Poetry That Everyone Should Read
If you need anymore pointers, you can send me an e-mail at mike.
[email protected]
.
com, and I’ll very gladly do my best to help you.

Regards,
-Mike Robbins-


I wrote this poem today.
I haven't thought of a title yet.
Suggestions are most welcome.

I entered the door with a bouquet, while you waited there holding a knife
I never knew that you were a foe, disguised as my beloved beautiful wife
With a swift stroke of your hand, my gushing blood splattered on the wall
How could you stain everything that mattered, for something so small
Bleeding, I swinged my sword, and things got from bad to worse
What seemed like a blessing, had turned out to be a curse
I kept hurting you, when I could have simply nipped it in the bud
Hurt and tired, we both fell on the floor juxtaposed with a thud
Waking up after this emotional bloodbath, I came back to my senses
Instead of bringing down our walls, we have been putting up fences
With all the spiteful words, we have allowed our love to be gnawed
Pointing fingers at each other, when we ourselves, are flawed
I looked into your hazel eyes, guilt and regret took over the grudge
Falling in love is easy, staying in love is where one shouldn't budge
Anger only begets resentment, so we should get rid of this rancour
Our ship has been out in the storm for too long, let us get back to the shore


Since then!
To recite my tale, I won't take you long back,
the story is still the same,
No solutions to hack.

It starts since then,
When our breasts are upright,
Harrased we are while walking on lonely paths at night.

Since then our skirts go long,
Sights on the floor,
Barred we get,
This society wants to see us behind the doors…
Their hoarse voice and musculine abs,
They do flaunt,
In daydreams so bright, These stray minds are too quick to haunt…
They have a heart of Wolf, so they mask their face,
And talk about our liberty, all with shameless grace.

They have hands wet in blood so they put them in their pockets,
Presence of a beauty make their eyes escape the eye ball socket.

It all starts since then,
when our tummies go flat and thin,
Prey you are with any colour of skin…
They talk of moon,
But live in centuries back,
For them women are play toys,
And their existence is just to get attacked.

It starts since then,
When our phone is ringed every hour… to know whether everything is fine???
Since then every women's heart cries in despondence,
Of the fear of being harrased and molested.

Still we bow and thankyou,
For making this heaven even worse than hell.

We don't have a heart of iron,
Or a body of gold,
For us too, these vibes are cold…
But despite of this pain,
you'll never realise….

The bane of your mother's womb.

The existence of men is the live evidence,
That women are strong.

I feel pitty for them who think….
.
That they pardon their sympathy on us!
~Akshita.

(P.
S.
– I am not Generalizing every one, this is in context to those, who really need to get over their dirty mindset.
)

☮️


I have short poems, hope that's okay?
Poem 1
Pain is my enemy, it's also my friend.

Pain makes me suffer, it also makes me stronger.

The question is, which do I prefer?
And how much pain am I willing to go through to get stonger?
Pain hurts, so how does it help in the end?
Why do I have to be strong because the world is pain?
Can everyone become stronger than pain?
I know when I say this, I'm just like all the rest.

I wanna be strong, but the world feels stonger.

We all have questions.

But the real question is,
will we ever know what true pain is?
Poem 2
I been waiting for this for so long.

Waiting to know where I belong.

Know that I'm here.

Know that I'm there.

I'm where ever you want me to appear.

I need you more than ever.

I love you more than I can show.

You mean more than the rest.

How would I show that?
I hope I'm not too late.

It's not a lie when I say, I'm afraid.

Afraid to lose everything.

Everything we had ever create.

Cause what we create, means everything.

Like you mean to me.

Poem 3
Loneliness has brought you down.

Your life is filled with sorrows,
Which are drowning.

You said “where did my life go wrong?”
I'm saying “it wasn't your past that you did wrong”
“It's your presence that's down in a hole,
Cause you let loneliness take a huge toll.

You said “life isn't worth living.

I saidlife is worth living
“Your just being blind,
you're filling your head with nonsense every night,
words that you have no right, filling your mind.

You say “ life is hard living with no one by your side.

I say “ Wrong.

“ I been here this whole time.

Helpful these are good.
Thank you for reading.


Original piece of work by me :)
Unspoken Words… .

Endless searching lights
Surrounds me for a hell fight,
Yelling at me to live in the real world…
But how can I?…when I don’t belong to this nostalgic earth!
Those unspoken words,
Blew my mind like a smoking cigar…
But what it left behind,a grieving body for souvenir!
I wish someday,I’ll hear to my pleading heart…
But how can I?.
.
when my future is handwritten at the very start!
They say,it’s useless to think out of the box…
But then is it useful to suffocate in the 4×4 stifling box?!
Captious eyes are all stuck upon me,
How will I rise…when my wings were cut off right in front of me!
Ferry your words,not my thoughts
Because this extrovert turned introvert girl will rise unknowingly.

And the power will roar like a lion through her poetry…
Do check this amateur poet’s other works :)
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to Do you have a favorite dark poem?
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to What is your favourite poem that you wrote?
Subconscious Mind….
.
by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World

#2018 by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World
LOVE Yourself… by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to Can you write a short poem in 4 lines?
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to What is the shortest (less than 12 lines) sad poem you have ever written?
Thanks for scrolling down!


Yes I can! And I’ve even wrote two poems.

Here is one of them:
Serendipity…
Sitting at my workstation I kept swirling my chair around,
 Battling the strenuous drowse that tried to yoke me to the ground,
 “How could this happen? This is the first hour of my job,” I wondered,
 I chuckled.
“How fool of me! It’s Monday today,” I remembered.

I peeked to my left to see an empty chair,
 “No-one to talk around; hey, that’s so unfair!”

I cringed viscerally at the thought of spending the day without uttering a word,
 I tried to re-task my focus on my computer screen when a soft voice I heard,
 Made me turn, and as I did, I veered myself to the source of the euphonic voice,
 I felt the dumbfoundedness of a person bewitched by a magical spell, twice.

For some moments I couldn’t decrypt the words that her lips uttered,
 As I just kept staring into her graceful eyes, helpless and all cluttered.

She asked with a soft smile, “Is this person absent today?” and motioned to the workstation on my left,
 I felt my dopamine surge at the possibility of what might happen next,
 I nodded as soon as I realised my tongue has gone numb,
 She ensconced herself and smiled, her cheeks as rotund as a plum.

I swallowed a lump in my throat that I didn’t realise had formed,
 I wasn’t hoping for anything like this but I liked what my day had unboxed.

“What is she? Are humans allowed to be this beautiful?” I questioned my mind,
 Was she a manifestation of my dreams or an angel in disguise!
 It seemed like her eyes possessed a power in them like Midas in his hands,
 A sight of innocence that could even force the flying time to land.

I leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of her pretty brown eyes,
 She turned to me with a gaze of a doe and my tongue again got tied.

“Any problem?” She questioned me with a raise of her brow,
 “Yes, your eyes.
They’re too beautiful,” the response I couldn’t let out,
 Instead I shook my head and turned my eyes away from her,
 My peripheral could see her blushing; it seemed the bubble has finally burst.

I tried to venture a conversation but failed to remember the morphemes,
 The anonymity between us allowed the nervousness to sweep in.

I sighed deeply and turned about to do what I’m paid for,
 But her presence beside me made it harder for me to stay calm,
 An unexpected “Hello” came from my left and an introduction followed the greet,
 Although stunned by the suddenness I tried to smile at her, from cheek to cheek.

We exchanged our names and conversed a little for a while,
 Before she got engaged in her work and I in mine.

After hours of punching the keyboard buttons I stretched my arms and yawned,
 She giggled at me and I took it as a cue to move my first pawn,
 I embarked, “I’m going to the cafeteria to have some tea”,
 I hesitated for a moment and resumed, “would you like to come with me?”

She rolled her eyes and I understood she has refused my kind and genuine offer,
 I began to walk away.
“Wait a minute, let me lock my PC,” and then I saw her got up.

We walked our way to the cafeteria, slower than two people normally would,
 My chivalry erupted as I held the door open for her as she entered the room,
 We occupied a table for two and it appeared like a date-night is about to happen,
 With she in front of me and the stories that we shared, it seemed like all the troubles in the world didn’t matter.

I mulled over the thought that I might have a crush on her smile,
 But there was an absolute certainty that I had fallen in love with her eyes.

She shared some cheerful stories about her childhood and also the moments in her life she remorse,
 She had a way of crinkling her nose adorably that made her appear cuter than she was before,
 “You may have a body of a woman but you have a sweetness of a child,” I abruptly blurted out,
 She smiled deep into my eyes and I could feel the brightest smile I ever had form on my mouth.

“That’s the sweetest thing someone has ever said about me,” she blushed a little while she said this,
 It took us a moment to realise that we’re holding hands; the touch of hers was something I couldn’t resist.

We got up as we finished our beverages and sauntered our way back to our daily routine,
 I tried to rein my thoughts that our day was about to end, but my efforts were all just futile,
 I just wished this night shall never pass as I wanted to spend more of my time with her,
 We logged out of our PC’s as our shift ended but I craved for one last conversation with this girl.

While ambling towards the exit in silence I turned on my heels to look into her beautiful brown eyes,
 I sighed as I looked at her and tried to settle down the feeling to hug her that was about to rise,
 “I spent this beautiful day with a beautiful girl I wish I could see more of,” I said with truthfulness in my voice,
 She smiled at the ground and then looked up, “You will.
Tomorrow at 8.
Here’s my number.
The place is your choice.


TO BE LIKE YOU, Jimmy.

When I saw you today on the monkey bars it was all eyes on you.
The girls, the teachers and every lad including me adored Jimmy McShue.
He was bright and funny with millions of wits and I couldn't look away, no way, not from Jimmy McShue.
When I grow up guess what I what I want to be? You know it, just like you.

Jimmy played baseball and excelled, he was natural with a bat.
I joined the team and tried so hard, but damnit I can't even put on the stiff brimmed hat.
They cheered for you and laughed at me.
Next year, sixth grade guess what I want to be?
Football and foursquare your feet are like wings.
God so many girls your praise they would sing.
Facemasked at practice again and again.
“You're a loser!" “Am I?” “Who me?” “My name's Leon, but my friends call me Lee:)” “Seventh grade “ You're Peon" that was my name, damn I was blue.
I still kept on trying, mirroring Jimmy McShue.

High school a pube, pheromones in the air.
Boys eyes wide open, girls legs everywhere.
They invited me to a party hosted by Mr.
McShue.
Damn, maturity? Finally a friend.
Maybe? Fingers crossed? They were hard to cross broken, at the hands of his crew.
Yeah, he ordered it, Jimmy McShue.

Silence, a snail, head burried in tears.
That's how I moped around for one plus one years.
Now all of that moping gave this junior now senior time to think.
Alone with my friends, invisible you'd say.
That's only cause when you look I order them, they're hidden away.
Back to our thoughts on Jimmy McShue, hmmmm, what then should “crackle fingers" secretly do?
I followed him once, then twice, night after night.
It wasn't enough a fair fist fight.
He laughed at us, get him! Remove all his air! Squeeze him, tie him to a chair! So I saw him smiling, pretty teeth and rosy cheeks.
I'm gonna get him early next week.
Right before college, so he's pretty for his pictures.

My heart's racing in the bushes Jimmy McShue.
I've waited six years to be like you.
We could have been friends, lover's, companions, God we all adore you.
Now it's my turn to assume you.
He's coming, I'm shaking and I peed in my jeans.
I squeezed his mouth so he wouldn't scream.
I drug him into the bushes at his parents place.
He just wouldn't stop screaming, so I started hitting his face.
It wasn't with knuckles, that's for the brave.
I was a coward, it was a rock, his face I did cave.
Smashing and smashing, I was crying for his life.
He took his last breath and I kissed him goodnight.

Leon


Yes I can, and there are many apps on google play store.
I have used almost all of them which are suggested to me.
So here I will share my experience with you.

so will using all of them I came across NOJOTO[1] and finally, I got what I searching for.
This consists of every possible facility that a writer wants to showcase his/her talent, like a variety of prompts, text fonts, and background images.

The best part of this app is their watermark of writer profile name no one can take credit on your behave.

On add on NOJOTO provides many other facilities like Recording video and only voice with background music if you want to recite your Shayari and poem.

NOJOTO have a huge social presence on social media platform where you can become an upcoming star because of your content and talent.

So if you desire to write and want a interest base audience NOJOTO is best app
Hope my answer is useful to you.

You can download app on google app store.

See you on Nojoto – Talent Sharing App <3 download from here: http://bit.
ly/NojotoApp


I wrote it according to my point of view.
Hope you'll like it.

A plant
FRIENDS are the flowers of our life,
With whom becomes melodious the fife.

Who are with us in our hard times,
Those who put a smile when we cry.

Whose visages differ according to our mood,
They protect us like a goalkeeper do.

Those who indulge us in nonsense fights,
Before whom we behave like a Knight!
~~
PARENTS are the roots of our life,
With whom we have a hell lot of fights.

Their efforts can't be measured with naked eye,
As they are high like the sky.

They can show their wrath well but not love,
It needs a lot to understand their harsh words.

If you loose some valuable things, they can show their anger,
But by committing suicide or hurting yourself, you make them a beggar!
:(:


Yes, why not! Let's give it a try.

I searched for you everywhere but no where you were found.

Worn out, I sat on that shattered bench,
Where once we both sat, hand in hand,
Where your eyes met mine, and they said to me that not all the broken things are worth whine.

Lost in our memories, I didn't feel your touch until you tapped on my shoulder for the second time,
Sitting beside, I whispered to you – I live this night every night!
You held my hand, came close to kiss and gave me all those butterflies and everything I miss,
But suddenly, I opened my eyes!


Labour Party
The resuscitaire is beeping
The lights dash from the ceiling
Her walls are fidgeting
Her condition is threatening
Her water breaks,some call it bottles popping
Her cervix trapped, she soon feels she's flopping
Shes in the farthest star,but she just can't shout it.

She shouldn't be shy ,it's a labour party.

The nurses are shaky ,but they try to fake it.

The doctor feels flaccid yet hopes he can make it.

The latest father smiles, oops! it's still a maybe
The latest mother pants, for nine months she craved this.

The foetus is racing, it's shunning its grassroots.

The cord is amazing until it is cut loose.

A baby is being born,life begins a fast boot.

Oh Daddy is crying, his tears feel like hot booze.

A woman A saviour A mother A true one
She laid down in silence and took in a spermdrop
In worry and agony, she popped out a live one.

A martyr A heroine raced on through a ram's horn.

The whole ward is gay now, melancholy erased.

Even she has forgotten the agony she faced
In a year,you ll see us being suddenly chatty.

Remember before then was a labour party.

Source : Labour Party – Steemit


Well, this poem describes the turmoil running in the head of a broken girl and how she decides to take action and takes control of it.

HER (PART 1)
EYES
I look into her eyes-pitch black,
Fluttering, flickering, flinching,
Unstable, unsteady, uncertain,
Is the only way into her soul's veracity
Reflecting her gloom back.

All the words she uttered,
Lies she swallowed, spewed, snaked,
Smiles she forced, faltered, faked
Did her no good to hide back
When the pair were in contact.

Makeup smeared,smeared tears,
Eyes -windows of her soul
Show her earnest desire
To shout, scream and howl
All that her heart within mewl,
Stand tall gates of her heart
Clamping her mouth shut,
She hides behind the veils of the dark.

HER (PART 2)
KALEIDOSCOPE
In her dense black eyes
I see a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Now she is lost in the deep ocean of conception
And I in her black and white eyes globes
Filled with elation.

Happy, light-hearted, mellifluous
Her nostalgic expression.

With her eyes swollen she
Blushes,
Looks through her lashes she
Flushes,
With merry memories that
Rushes.

Nothing lasts forever.

Good times end; smiles fade.

Hers fade with a look of
depression, distress, and disgust.

Then I'm filled with fascination
Of the sudden swerve in her deep eye-oceans,
Fills her with something powerful.

Cold eyes stare back,
Wrath from the bowels of her heart
Shines luminous,
Malicious, vicious, venomous.

Her stare is like an alpha in command
Her gaze is now fixed and focused.

She changes in front of me,
Changes in her kaleidoscope ends.

THANKS, IF YOU READ ALL THE WAY.
IT MEANS A LOT TO ME.

.

.


Yes.
I write poems every day, every week, every month, and year round, poetry is both vocation and avocation for me.

At present, I have written over 1,500 poems which covers almost all topics from socio-economic, cultural, religious and governmental related activities, environment, animals, health, gender/sexuality, immigration, race, education/learning, science & technology, space exploration, and love.
Issues covered also include International relations and geopolitics.

Not forgetting ancient world of Egypt, Sumerian-site of one of the earliest civilizations located in southernmost part of Mesopotamia; Assyrians, Babylonians, Media-Persia, Greece, Roman Empire, and Africa.

My literary work has taken me conduct research into religions, which fall in to these categories:
Intersently, my work covers various types of poetry:
This is one of my work that focuses on LIFE:
VANITY!
VANITY!
VANITY!
What’s in life that blossom
today,
but fades away tomorrow?
What’s in life full of energy
today,
but reduced to pain,
ache, trouble,
and difficulty by tomorrow?
What joy is there in
life that seems
promising in the morning,
becomes sour in the afternoon,
but turns extremely
bitter at night?
What happiness is
there in life,
when today’s body parts,
teeth, eyes, ears, legs, fingers,
and hands give way to,
aging, sickness, infirmity,
and death?
How sad will it be when man
remembers his
gone youthful days;
but now lie in sick
bed with wrinkles,
flakes, and gray hair?
How unhappy will man be
when he remembers
the clear
sight of yesterday,
which has given way to
concave, convex,
single, bi-focal or
laser lenses?
How frustrating can
it be when man
remembers those good and
happy sounds of yesterday from
functional ears;
but now gone,
or at the very best
assisted by hearing aids?
How incomplete will life be
when man recalls the skips,
dance steps, runs, walks, stands
on those wonderful body frames;
that have now gone weak,
and become feeble?
How disheartening
will it be for man
when those strong
yesteryear fingers,
can barely hold a morsel?
And wonderful hands
of bygone days
can hardly lift or
carry an object?
Can you imagine the
pains, disappointment,
when man recalls the most
powerful body part-
ever-working machine-
HEART that has pumped
Billions of gallons of
oxygenated materials;
now depends on
ventilator, pace-maker,
or battery to function?
Can you imagine the pain,
discomfort,
man goes through
when the lung-
the specially
created air-pipe
refuses to function;
but depends on
oxygen tank and machine
to sustain life?
Can you measure the pain
when the body mill
machine shop-the LIVER,
refuses to pulverize,
reduce to powder,
micronize, granulate,
and sift chemicals,
and other ingested
objects coming in
to the body?
Can you measure
severity of pain and
shame-
when the
City Re-Cycling
Plant-the Kidney
breaks down,
and natural process
of waste filtering and
removal from the body is
artificially and mechanically,
managed through dialysis?
These questions should remind
every living soul that life of:
40, 50, 60, 70,
80 plus is nothing,
but VANITY.

Life will only be
meaningful,
when the love for
God is paramount in
individual’s life.

2).
On Woman:
Make Her:
If
you make her smile,
you receive in hundred
folds,
if you make her laugh,
she makes you laugh,
and laughter becomes
your companion.

If you make her joyful,
happiness surrounds you,
if you give her dance,
she turns your drummer,
if you give her joyful song,
she makes your courtyard,
home-of-benediction.

If you give her love,
she returns thousand times,
if her heart becomes
your home,
she gives you her mind.

BUT
make her cry,
home becomes a
wailing garden,
make her weep,
home turns to rainfall
of cry;
ignore her,
she looks elsewhere,
abuse her,
she turns violent,
betray her,
she leaves you.

When
You keep her in mind,
she shows compassion,
radiates love,
walk with you on kindness
pathway,
gives you peace of mind.

Then
She becomes a blessing,
a garden of roses,
a galaxy,
a sea wave of peace,
a sun-bath in summer,
a rain-of-blessing, and
a drum of beautiful symphony.

3).
On Life:
Naked
Naked I was in the dark
room of life,
without hat, clothing,
socks, and shoes,
I felt no heat,
no cold, no sickness.

Naked-I arrived into
the world,
naked I was received
by waiting guests into
open palms and hands.

Naked are the talents
and potentials stored
on my DNA,
naked is the beauty in
me,
without covering,
I display
my body color.

Without clothe,
my voice is known,
naked is the character,
I will soon exhibit,
naked is the reputation
soon to demonstrate.

Naked all men before
heaven,
naked all women at
labor room,
naked all humans in
the shower,
naked all shall return.


Between the green chilling woods and arid parched desert,
Without a first thought, everyone chooses a greener path.

Filled with green beauty, chirping birds, colourful flowers.

You get fruits from trees, water from ponds, shelter from caves.

You have utmost of all.
No shortage of anything.

This continues everyday, same fruits, same shelter, same house.

The cycle continues, now you are tired of all.

You are frustrated, bored, lack of challenges makes you dull.

You find no point of living, you have everything, your life is perfect.

Another person, chooses desert.
Is being called crazy, but chose it anyhow.

He hates it from beginning.
A land full of nothing but dust.

He walks and walks only to find nothing.

Walks with thirst, walks with hunger, walks with no energy.

The bloody hot burning sun, no tree either to take shelter.

He falls sick, starts to puke, couldn't walk anymore, starts crawling.

He chews cactaceae, to fulfill his thirst.

Its thorns hurt his hand, its taste is damn bitter.

After days of struggle, he spots oasis miles away.

Crawling faster amid no strength, fully exhausted.

Finally reaches a small area of woods, in the middle of vast wasteland.

A small pond surrounded by big trees.
Heaven in the Hades.

Imagine his satisfaction! Choose the path less travelled.

Don’t buy comfort, earn it.


This is a poem I wrote in poem writing competition conducted on 28.
10.
2017 in my school on topic Future.

FUTURE
“What will be their future?”
I often think;
On seeing-
Few of my classmates.

On seeing the ones
Who shout in the class;
On seeing the ones
Who disturb the class;
On seeing the ones
Who use foul language;
On seeing the ones
Who fight with each other;
On seeing the ones
Who disrespect their teacher;
On seeing the ones
Who bunk the class.

According to me,
A person is never bad -
But
Her/his conditions make him/her bad.

So these pupils might be mentally frustrated or disappointed,
That’s why they behave like this.

But the question is-
“What will be their future?”
Our future is defined by
What we do today ,
And this is done by these pupils.

Blessings are worth,
But will these pupils be blessed ,
Or will they be cursed,
By the ones whom they hurt.

Time changes
Those who laugh today
Disturbing the class,
Will be laughed at
In the future.

Future will let them know
The importance of a teacher.

Future will make them
Pay the price for their current acts.

We cannot predict our future
But we can surely create it.

THANKYOU.

This poem I wrote after getting inspired from my classroom.

Rakhil.


Can you write a poem?


I wrote this poem today.
I haven't thought of a title yet.
Suggestions are most welcome.

I entered the door with a bouquet, while you waited there holding a knife
I never knew that you were a foe, disguised as my beloved beautiful wife
With a swift stroke of your hand, my gushing blood splattered on the wall
How could you stain everything that mattered, for something so small
Bleeding, I swinged my sword, and things got from bad to worse
What seemed like a blessing, had turned out to be a curse
I kept hurting you, when I could have simply nipped it in the bud
Hurt and tired, we both fell on the floor juxtaposed with a thud
Waking up after this emotional bloodbath, I came back to my senses
Instead of bringing down our walls, we have been putting up fences
With all the spiteful words, we have allowed our love to be gnawed
Pointing fingers at each other, when we ourselves, are flawed
I looked into your hazel eyes, guilt and regret took over the grudge
Falling in love is easy, staying in love is where one shouldn't budge
Anger only begets resentment, so we should get rid of this rancour
Our ship has been out in the storm for too long, let us get back to the shore


Whether or not a person can write poetry is entirely relevant to how much effort they put into learning the craft.
Furthermore, it is important that one appreciates the difference between writing poetry and constructing poetic prose.
In the case of the latter, which is perfectly acceptable as a medium of expression and enjoyed widely by many, one needs only to understand what separates an impactful statement from an impactful sentence.
Here’s an example:
“I left my house this afternoon and found my dog dead on the lawn”
Ordinary sentence? How about this:
“I left my house
the other day
and found my dog dead
on the lawn”
Or try:
“I left my house the other day
and found
my dog dead on the lawn”
Or:
“I left my house the
other day and
found my dog dead,
on the lawn.

You see, there are many combinations.
The point is that an ordinary sentence can be broken down into a series of impactful statements that incite different emotions in the reader.
The problem is that this isn’t really poetry, It’s just a way of expressing yourself in a poetic format.

Think of your poem as a series of cliffs that you’re trying to convince your reader to descend.
Suppose they could turn around on any given cliff and be air-lifted to safety.
The incentive you provide for them to continue is in the construction of each cliff.
They must all be worth the time it takes to reach them, and they must all inspire the journey down, no matter how far down they may go.

“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of autumn leaves”
Cliff 1: Lush trees! Beautiful! I wonder what I’ll find on the next cliff.

Cliff 2: Oh, what a gentle breeze.
So peaceful.
I must go on!
Cliff 3: The graceful whirl? Of what?
Cliff 4: Oh, leaves! Autumn leaves! That’s a nice image.
I’m really glad I decided to climb down and investigate!
…you get the idea.
This is a nature poem.
It’s full of images that are pleasant to the reader.
This type of poetry is not necessarily considered ‘bad,’ although It is often dismissed as simple and commonplace.
It requires about as much thought as it does understanding of the fundamentals of writing poetry.
Suppose we modified it slightly:
“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of Autumn leaves”
So we’ve had our trees and our breeze and then wham – death.
The reader is compelled, intrigued.
What could be dying in this wonderful place? And what dies gracefully at all?? Cliff 4: Oh, leaves… Oh! Beauty in death! That’s sort of profound!
…So the reader gets a kick of serotonin for connecting the dots.
There is an ‘A-ha!’ moment.
Everyone claps.
You get the idea.

Here’s a lovely little poem by Nayyirah Waheed:
“I don’t pay attention to the world ending.

It has ended for me many times,
And began again in the morning”
Cliff 1: What an impact! What is she getting at?
Cliff 2: I must know more!
Cliff 3: Clever! That must be why she’s the poet!
…You see, this is an example of poetry that stands the test of time.
Why? When was the last time someone patted you on the shoulder when you were sad and said, “Don’t worry, tomorrow’s another day!” Didn’t you just want to smack them? One of the things this poem manages to do is refresh that cliché, and give it a totally different body.
After awhile, clichés begin to rot; they grow stale within our minds.
Partly because we’ve heard them our whole lives, but also because they’re practically universal.
Every culture has their own respective variations.
Finding a poem like this is like finding gold, the kind that you’ll never be able to spend in a lifetime.
It becomes your own little mantra.
It’s delightful.

So basically, yes, anyone can write poetry, but not everyone can sit down and write something like that.
At least not initially.
I believe that we all have poems like Nayyirah’s banging around inside of our heads.
But It takes some people years of hard work to actually put it into words.
Building your vocabulary, understanding nuance, and hunting for synonyms is a major part of this work.
But above all, you must write, and write.
And then write some more.
Never leave your house without a notepad and a pen.
Ordinary paper will do, but choose your pens wisely.
That’s my advice, anyways.

I recommend reading “Politics and the English Language” by George Orwell.
He was by no means a poet (although he did write some) however the essay is an indispensable tool for recognizing and obliterating the hackneyed phrases and clichés that have been pumped into your head by the world around you since you first came into it.
It will help you think with clarity and, more importantly, write with clarity.

Write with clarity, my friend.
Know what you’re saying.
Make each precious line count.
Make it mean something to you, or don’t expect it to mean anything to anyone else.
Get a dictionary and a thesaurus, or if you’re able, download the Merriam-Webster dictionary and thesaurus app on your phone/ tablet.
It’s free, and extremely useful.
It provides synonyms, as well as antonyms.
I don’t know how much you know about those, but here's a brief rundown:
Synonyms: Words that mean the same thing (Happy, Delighted)
Antonyms: Words that oppose (Hot, cold)
Syllables: A u-nit of or-ga-ni-za-tion for a se-quence-of-sounds.
Clap = one syllable.
Hand-ful = 2 syllables.
Ha-ppi-ness = 3 syllables.
So on and so forth.

In summary, when you ask ‘can anyone write poetry,’ It’s a bit like asking if anyone can breath or speak or learn the alphabet.
If you can make the conscious decision to write a poem, then there’s nothing stopping you from doing it.
Whether or not you can publish it or win an award is a different question entirely.
You must ask yourself who (and possibly what) you are writing for, and why.
George Orwell has another essay, “Why I Write,” which might help you on your journey.

One final thing that I have neglected to mention is that apart from writing, you must read, read, read.
There is something called The Delphi Classics Collection, and It’s basically a massive collection of “Complete Works” by various authors and poets for under 5$ each.
Here’s a list of what’s available: Complete Catalogue
I have an android and download them for Google Books but there’s probably other options if you don’t have an android.
When all else fails, hit your local library.

The collection is mostly classic literature, but I believe firmly that it is essential to read these men and women, as they were the inspiration for what is being written now.
Some people benefit from copying the style of a favorite poet until they get a feel for their own and branch off.
It’s really up to you.
There’s a difference between stealing someone’s work and being inspired.

GET INSPIRED.

Check out poets.
org
, there’s some useful information there.

Here’s something interesting as well:
50 Essential Books of Poetry That Everyone Should Read
If you need anymore pointers, you can send me an e-mail at mike.
[email protected]
.
com, and I’ll very gladly do my best to help you.

Regards,
-Mike Robbins-


Since then!
To recite my tale, I won't take you long back,
the story is still the same,
No solutions to hack.

It starts since then,
When our breasts are upright,
Harrased we are while walking on lonely paths at night.

Since then our skirts go long,
Sights on the floor,
Barred we get,
This society wants to see us behind the doors…
Their hoarse voice and musculine abs,
They do flaunt,
In daydreams so bright, These stray minds are too quick to haunt…
They have a heart of Wolf, so they mask their face,
And talk about our liberty, all with shameless grace.

They have hands wet in blood so they put them in their pockets,
Presence of a beauty make their eyes escape the eye ball socket.

It all starts since then,
when our tummies go flat and thin,
Prey you are with any colour of skin…
They talk of moon,
But live in centuries back,
For them women are play toys,
And their existence is just to get attacked.

It starts since then,
When our phone is ringed every hour… to know whether everything is fine???
Since then every women's heart cries in despondence,
Of the fear of being harrased and molested.

Still we bow and thankyou,
For making this heaven even worse than hell.

We don't have a heart of iron,
Or a body of gold,
For us too, these vibes are cold…
But despite of this pain,
you'll never realise….

The bane of your mother's womb.

The existence of men is the live evidence,
That women are strong.

I feel pitty for them who think….
.
That they pardon their sympathy on us!
~Akshita.

(P.
S.
– I am not Generalizing every one, this is in context to those, who really need to get over their dirty mindset.
)

☮️


I have short poems, hope that's okay?
Poem 1
Pain is my enemy, it's also my friend.

Pain makes me suffer, it also makes me stronger.

The question is, which do I prefer?
And how much pain am I willing to go through to get stonger?
Pain hurts, so how does it help in the end?
Why do I have to be strong because the world is pain?
Can everyone become stronger than pain?
I know when I say this, I'm just like all the rest.

I wanna be strong, but the world feels stonger.

We all have questions.

But the real question is,
will we ever know what true pain is?
Poem 2
I been waiting for this for so long.

Waiting to know where I belong.

Know that I'm here.

Know that I'm there.

I'm where ever you want me to appear.

I need you more than ever.

I love you more than I can show.

You mean more than the rest.

How would I show that?
I hope I'm not too late.

It's not a lie when I say, I'm afraid.

Afraid to lose everything.

Everything we had ever create.

Cause what we create, means everything.

Like you mean to me.

Poem 3
Loneliness has brought you down.

Your life is filled with sorrows,
Which are drowning.

You said “where did my life go wrong?”
I'm saying “it wasn't your past that you did wrong”
“It's your presence that's down in a hole,
Cause you let loneliness take a huge toll.

You said “life isn't worth living.

I saidlife is worth living
“Your just being blind,
you're filling your head with nonsense every night,
words that you have no right, filling your mind.

You say “ life is hard living with no one by your side.

I say “ Wrong.

“ I been here this whole time.

Helpful these are good.
Thank you for reading.


Well, this poem describes the turmoil running in the head of a broken girl and how she decides to take action and takes control of it.

HER (PART 1)
EYES
I look into her eyes-pitch black,
Fluttering, flickering, flinching,
Unstable, unsteady, uncertain,
Is the only way into her soul's veracity
Reflecting her gloom back.

All the words she uttered,
Lies she swallowed, spewed, snaked,
Smiles she forced, faltered, faked
Did her no good to hide back
When the pair were in contact.

Makeup smeared,smeared tears,
Eyes -windows of her soul
Show her earnest desire
To shout, scream and howl
All that her heart within mewl,
Stand tall gates of her heart
Clamping her mouth shut,
She hides behind the veils of the dark.

HER (PART 2)
KALEIDOSCOPE
In her dense black eyes
I see a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Now she is lost in the deep ocean of conception
And I in her black and white eyes globes
Filled with elation.

Happy, light-hearted, mellifluous
Her nostalgic expression.

With her eyes swollen she
Blushes,
Looks through her lashes she
Flushes,
With merry memories that
Rushes.

Nothing lasts forever.

Good times end; smiles fade.

Hers fade with a look of
depression, distress, and disgust.

Then I'm filled with fascination
Of the sudden swerve in her deep eye-oceans,
Fills her with something powerful.

Cold eyes stare back,
Wrath from the bowels of her heart
Shines luminous,
Malicious, vicious, venomous.

Her stare is like an alpha in command
Her gaze is now fixed and focused.

She changes in front of me,
Changes in her kaleidoscope ends.

THANKS, IF YOU READ ALL THE WAY.
IT MEANS A LOT TO ME.

.

.


TO BE LIKE YOU, Jimmy.

When I saw you today on the monkey bars it was all eyes on you.
The girls, the teachers and every lad including me adored Jimmy McShue.
He was bright and funny with millions of wits and I couldn't look away, no way, not from Jimmy McShue.
When I grow up guess what I what I want to be? You know it, just like you.

Jimmy played baseball and excelled, he was natural with a bat.
I joined the team and tried so hard, but damnit I can't even put on the stiff brimmed hat.
They cheered for you and laughed at me.
Next year, sixth grade guess what I want to be?
Football and foursquare your feet are like wings.
God so many girls your praise they would sing.
Facemasked at practice again and again.
“You're a loser!" “Am I?” “Who me?” “My name's Leon, but my friends call me Lee:)” “Seventh grade “ You're Peon" that was my name, damn I was blue.
I still kept on trying, mirroring Jimmy McShue.

High school a pube, pheromones in the air.
Boys eyes wide open, girls legs everywhere.
They invited me to a party hosted by Mr.
McShue.
Damn, maturity? Finally a friend.
Maybe? Fingers crossed? They were hard to cross broken, at the hands of his crew.
Yeah, he ordered it, Jimmy McShue.

Silence, a snail, head burried in tears.
That's how I moped around for one plus one years.
Now all of that moping gave this junior now senior time to think.
Alone with my friends, invisible you'd say.
That's only cause when you look I order them, they're hidden away.
Back to our thoughts on Jimmy McShue, hmmmm, what then should “crackle fingers" secretly do?
I followed him once, then twice, night after night.
It wasn't enough a fair fist fight.
He laughed at us, get him! Remove all his air! Squeeze him, tie him to a chair! So I saw him smiling, pretty teeth and rosy cheeks.
I'm gonna get him early next week.
Right before college, so he's pretty for his pictures.

My heart's racing in the bushes Jimmy McShue.
I've waited six years to be like you.
We could have been friends, lover's, companions, God we all adore you.
Now it's my turn to assume you.
He's coming, I'm shaking and I peed in my jeans.
I squeezed his mouth so he wouldn't scream.
I drug him into the bushes at his parents place.
He just wouldn't stop screaming, so I started hitting his face.
It wasn't with knuckles, that's for the brave.
I was a coward, it was a rock, his face I did cave.
Smashing and smashing, I was crying for his life.
He took his last breath and I kissed him goodnight.

Leon


Original piece of work by me :)
Unspoken Words… .

Endless searching lights
Surrounds me for a hell fight,
Yelling at me to live in the real world…
But how can I?…when I don’t belong to this nostalgic earth!
Those unspoken words,
Blew my mind like a smoking cigar…
But what it left behind,a grieving body for souvenir!
I wish someday,I’ll hear to my pleading heart…
But how can I?.
.
when my future is handwritten at the very start!
They say,it’s useless to think out of the box…
But then is it useful to suffocate in the 4×4 stifling box?!
Captious eyes are all stuck upon me,
How will I rise…when my wings were cut off right in front of me!
Ferry your words,not my thoughts
Because this extrovert turned introvert girl will rise unknowingly.

And the power will roar like a lion through her poetry…
Do check this amateur poet’s other works :)
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to Do you have a favorite dark poem?
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to What is your favourite poem that you wrote?
Subconscious Mind….
.
by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World

#2018 by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World
LOVE Yourself… by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to Can you write a short poem in 4 lines?
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to What is the shortest (less than 12 lines) sad poem you have ever written?
Thanks for scrolling down!


Yes I can! And I’ve even wrote two poems.

Here is one of them:
Serendipity…
Sitting at my workstation I kept swirling my chair around,
 Battling the strenuous drowse that tried to yoke me to the ground,
 “How could this happen? This is the first hour of my job,” I wondered,
 I chuckled.
“How fool of me! It’s Monday today,” I remembered.

I peeked to my left to see an empty chair,
 “No-one to talk around; hey, that’s so unfair!”

I cringed viscerally at the thought of spending the day without uttering a word,
 I tried to re-task my focus on my computer screen when a soft voice I heard,
 Made me turn, and as I did, I veered myself to the source of the euphonic voice,
 I felt the dumbfoundedness of a person bewitched by a magical spell, twice.

For some moments I couldn’t decrypt the words that her lips uttered,
 As I just kept staring into her graceful eyes, helpless and all cluttered.

She asked with a soft smile, “Is this person absent today?” and motioned to the workstation on my left,
 I felt my dopamine surge at the possibility of what might happen next,
 I nodded as soon as I realised my tongue has gone numb,
 She ensconced herself and smiled, her cheeks as rotund as a plum.

I swallowed a lump in my throat that I didn’t realise had formed,
 I wasn’t hoping for anything like this but I liked what my day had unboxed.

“What is she? Are humans allowed to be this beautiful?” I questioned my mind,
 Was she a manifestation of my dreams or an angel in disguise!
 It seemed like her eyes possessed a power in them like Midas in his hands,
 A sight of innocence that could even force the flying time to land.

I leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of her pretty brown eyes,
 She turned to me with a gaze of a doe and my tongue again got tied.

“Any problem?” She questioned me with a raise of her brow,
 “Yes, your eyes.
They’re too beautiful,” the response I couldn’t let out,
 Instead I shook my head and turned my eyes away from her,
 My peripheral could see her blushing; it seemed the bubble has finally burst.

I tried to venture a conversation but failed to remember the morphemes,
 The anonymity between us allowed the nervousness to sweep in.

I sighed deeply and turned about to do what I’m paid for,
 But her presence beside me made it harder for me to stay calm,
 An unexpected “Hello” came from my left and an introduction followed the greet,
 Although stunned by the suddenness I tried to smile at her, from cheek to cheek.

We exchanged our names and conversed a little for a while,
 Before she got engaged in her work and I in mine.

After hours of punching the keyboard buttons I stretched my arms and yawned,
 She giggled at me and I took it as a cue to move my first pawn,
 I embarked, “I’m going to the cafeteria to have some tea”,
 I hesitated for a moment and resumed, “would you like to come with me?”

She rolled her eyes and I understood she has refused my kind and genuine offer,
 I began to walk away.
“Wait a minute, let me lock my PC,” and then I saw her got up.

We walked our way to the cafeteria, slower than two people normally would,
 My chivalry erupted as I held the door open for her as she entered the room,
 We occupied a table for two and it appeared like a date-night is about to happen,
 With she in front of me and the stories that we shared, it seemed like all the troubles in the world didn’t matter.

I mulled over the thought that I might have a crush on her smile,
 But there was an absolute certainty that I had fallen in love with her eyes.

She shared some cheerful stories about her childhood and also the moments in her life she remorse,
 She had a way of crinkling her nose adorably that made her appear cuter than she was before,
 “You may have a body of a woman but you have a sweetness of a child,” I abruptly blurted out,
 She smiled deep into my eyes and I could feel the brightest smile I ever had form on my mouth.

“That’s the sweetest thing someone has ever said about me,” she blushed a little while she said this,
 It took us a moment to realise that we’re holding hands; the touch of hers was something I couldn’t resist.

We got up as we finished our beverages and sauntered our way back to our daily routine,
 I tried to rein my thoughts that our day was about to end, but my efforts were all just futile,
 I just wished this night shall never pass as I wanted to spend more of my time with her,
 We logged out of our PC’s as our shift ended but I craved for one last conversation with this girl.

While ambling towards the exit in silence I turned on my heels to look into her beautiful brown eyes,
 I sighed as I looked at her and tried to settle down the feeling to hug her that was about to rise,
 “I spent this beautiful day with a beautiful girl I wish I could see more of,” I said with truthfulness in my voice,
 She smiled at the ground and then looked up, “You will.
Tomorrow at 8.
Here’s my number.
The place is your choice.


Yes I can, and there are many apps on google play store.
I have used almost all of them which are suggested to me.
So here I will share my experience with you.

so will using all of them I came across NOJOTO[1] and finally, I got what I searching for.
This consists of every possible facility that a writer wants to showcase his/her talent, like a variety of prompts, text fonts, and background images.

The best part of this app is their watermark of writer profile name no one can take credit on your behave.

On add on NOJOTO provides many other facilities like Recording video and only voice with background music if you want to recite your Shayari and poem.

NOJOTO have a huge social presence on social media platform where you can become an upcoming star because of your content and talent.

So if you desire to write and want a interest base audience NOJOTO is best app
Hope my answer is useful to you.

You can download app on google app store.

See you on Nojoto – Talent Sharing App <3 download from here: http://bit.
ly/NojotoApp


I wrote it according to my point of view.
Hope you'll like it.

A plant
FRIENDS are the flowers of our life,
With whom becomes melodious the fife.

Who are with us in our hard times,
Those who put a smile when we cry.

Whose visages differ according to our mood,
They protect us like a goalkeeper do.

Those who indulge us in nonsense fights,
Before whom we behave like a Knight!
~~
PARENTS are the roots of our life,
With whom we have a hell lot of fights.

Their efforts can't be measured with naked eye,
As they are high like the sky.

They can show their wrath well but not love,
It needs a lot to understand their harsh words.

If you loose some valuable things, they can show their anger,
But by committing suicide or hurting yourself, you make them a beggar!
:(:


Yes, why not! Let's give it a try.

I searched for you everywhere but no where you were found.

Worn out, I sat on that shattered bench,
Where once we both sat, hand in hand,
Where your eyes met mine, and they said to me that not all the broken things are worth whine.

Lost in our memories, I didn't feel your touch until you tapped on my shoulder for the second time,
Sitting beside, I whispered to you – I live this night every night!
You held my hand, came close to kiss and gave me all those butterflies and everything I miss,
But suddenly, I opened my eyes!


Labour Party
The resuscitaire is beeping
The lights dash from the ceiling
Her walls are fidgeting
Her condition is threatening
Her water breaks,some call it bottles popping
Her cervix trapped, she soon feels she's flopping
Shes in the farthest star,but she just can't shout it.

She shouldn't be shy ,it's a labour party.

The nurses are shaky ,but they try to fake it.

The doctor feels flaccid yet hopes he can make it.

The latest father smiles, oops! it's still a maybe
The latest mother pants, for nine months she craved this.

The foetus is racing, it's shunning its grassroots.

The cord is amazing until it is cut loose.

A baby is being born,life begins a fast boot.

Oh Daddy is crying, his tears feel like hot booze.

A woman A saviour A mother A true one
She laid down in silence and took in a spermdrop
In worry and agony, she popped out a live one.

A martyr A heroine raced on through a ram's horn.

The whole ward is gay now, melancholy erased.

Even she has forgotten the agony she faced
In a year,you ll see us being suddenly chatty.

Remember before then was a labour party.

Source : Labour Party – Steemit


Yes.
I write poems every day, every week, every month, and year round, poetry is both vocation and avocation for me.

At present, I have written over 1,500 poems which covers almost all topics from socio-economic, cultural, religious and governmental related activities, environment, animals, health, gender/sexuality, immigration, race, education/learning, science & technology, space exploration, and love.
Issues covered also include International relations and geopolitics.

Not forgetting ancient world of Egypt, Sumerian-site of one of the earliest civilizations located in southernmost part of Mesopotamia; Assyrians, Babylonians, Media-Persia, Greece, Roman Empire, and Africa.

My literary work has taken me conduct research into religions, which fall in to these categories:
Intersently, my work covers various types of poetry:
This is one of my work that focuses on LIFE:
VANITY!
VANITY!
VANITY!
What’s in life that blossom
today,
but fades away tomorrow?
What’s in life full of energy
today,
but reduced to pain,
ache, trouble,
and difficulty by tomorrow?
What joy is there in
life that seems
promising in the morning,
becomes sour in the afternoon,
but turns extremely
bitter at night?
What happiness is
there in life,
when today’s body parts,
teeth, eyes, ears, legs, fingers,
and hands give way to,
aging, sickness, infirmity,
and death?
How sad will it be when man
remembers his
gone youthful days;
but now lie in sick
bed with wrinkles,
flakes, and gray hair?
How unhappy will man be
when he remembers
the clear
sight of yesterday,
which has given way to
concave, convex,
single, bi-focal or
laser lenses?
How frustrating can
it be when man
remembers those good and
happy sounds of yesterday from
functional ears;
but now gone,
or at the very best
assisted by hearing aids?
How incomplete will life be
when man recalls the skips,
dance steps, runs, walks, stands
on those wonderful body frames;
that have now gone weak,
and become feeble?
How disheartening
will it be for man
when those strong
yesteryear fingers,
can barely hold a morsel?
And wonderful hands
of bygone days
can hardly lift or
carry an object?
Can you imagine the
pains, disappointment,
when man recalls the most
powerful body part-
ever-working machine-
HEART that has pumped
Billions of gallons of
oxygenated materials;
now depends on
ventilator, pace-maker,
or battery to function?
Can you imagine the pain,
discomfort,
man goes through
when the lung-
the specially
created air-pipe
refuses to function;
but depends on
oxygen tank and machine
to sustain life?
Can you measure the pain
when the body mill
machine shop-the LIVER,
refuses to pulverize,
reduce to powder,
micronize, granulate,
and sift chemicals,
and other ingested
objects coming in
to the body?
Can you measure
severity of pain and
shame-
when the
City Re-Cycling
Plant-the Kidney
breaks down,
and natural process
of waste filtering and
removal from the body is
artificially and mechanically,
managed through dialysis?
These questions should remind
every living soul that life of:
40, 50, 60, 70,
80 plus is nothing,
but VANITY.

Life will only be
meaningful,
when the love for
God is paramount in
individual’s life.

2).
On Woman:
Make Her:
If
you make her smile,
you receive in hundred
folds,
if you make her laugh,
she makes you laugh,
and laughter becomes
your companion.

If you make her joyful,
happiness surrounds you,
if you give her dance,
she turns your drummer,
if you give her joyful song,
she makes your courtyard,
home-of-benediction.

If you give her love,
she returns thousand times,
if her heart becomes
your home,
she gives you her mind.

BUT
make her cry,
home becomes a
wailing garden,
make her weep,
home turns to rainfall
of cry;
ignore her,
she looks elsewhere,
abuse her,
she turns violent,
betray her,
she leaves you.

When
You keep her in mind,
she shows compassion,
radiates love,
walk with you on kindness
pathway,
gives you peace of mind.

Then
She becomes a blessing,
a garden of roses,
a galaxy,
a sea wave of peace,
a sun-bath in summer,
a rain-of-blessing, and
a drum of beautiful symphony.

3).
On Life:
Naked
Naked I was in the dark
room of life,
without hat, clothing,
socks, and shoes,
I felt no heat,
no cold, no sickness.

Naked-I arrived into
the world,
naked I was received
by waiting guests into
open palms and hands.

Naked are the talents
and potentials stored
on my DNA,
naked is the beauty in
me,
without covering,
I display
my body color.

Without clothe,
my voice is known,
naked is the character,
I will soon exhibit,
naked is the reputation
soon to demonstrate.

Naked all men before
heaven,
naked all women at
labor room,
naked all humans in
the shower,
naked all shall return.


Between the green chilling woods and arid parched desert,
Without a first thought, everyone chooses a greener path.

Filled with green beauty, chirping birds, colourful flowers.

You get fruits from trees, water from ponds, shelter from caves.

You have utmost of all.
No shortage of anything.

This continues everyday, same fruits, same shelter, same house.

The cycle continues, now you are tired of all.

You are frustrated, bored, lack of challenges makes you dull.

You find no point of living, you have everything, your life is perfect.

Another person, chooses desert.
Is being called crazy, but chose it anyhow.

He hates it from beginning.
A land full of nothing but dust.

He walks and walks only to find nothing.

Walks with thirst, walks with hunger, walks with no energy.

The bloody hot burning sun, no tree either to take shelter.

He falls sick, starts to puke, couldn't walk anymore, starts crawling.

He chews cactaceae, to fulfill his thirst.

Its thorns hurt his hand, its taste is damn bitter.

After days of struggle, he spots oasis miles away.

Crawling faster amid no strength, fully exhausted.

Finally reaches a small area of woods, in the middle of vast wasteland.

A small pond surrounded by big trees.
Heaven in the Hades.

Imagine his satisfaction! Choose the path less travelled.

Don’t buy comfort, earn it.


This is a poem I wrote in poem writing competition conducted on 28.
10.
2017 in my school on topic Future.

FUTURE
“What will be their future?”
I often think;
On seeing-
Few of my classmates.

On seeing the ones
Who shout in the class;
On seeing the ones
Who disturb the class;
On seeing the ones
Who use foul language;
On seeing the ones
Who fight with each other;
On seeing the ones
Who disrespect their teacher;
On seeing the ones
Who bunk the class.

According to me,
A person is never bad -
But
Her/his conditions make him/her bad.

So these pupils might be mentally frustrated or disappointed,
That’s why they behave like this.

But the question is-
“What will be their future?”
Our future is defined by
What we do today ,
And this is done by these pupils.

Blessings are worth,
But will these pupils be blessed ,
Or will they be cursed,
By the ones whom they hurt.

Time changes
Those who laugh today
Disturbing the class,
Will be laughed at
In the future.

Future will let them know
The importance of a teacher.

Future will make them
Pay the price for their current acts.

We cannot predict our future
But we can surely create it.

THANKYOU.

This poem I wrote after getting inspired from my classroom.

Rakhil.


The Chance (Original Poem)
Treading water, my face barely above it
My mind drifting, thinking about why
Everything everybody ever told me was a lie
As my life events flash before me eyes
I think about what it must be like to die
Then in an instant, what it's like to live
Live without worry but something's gotta give
Then, with calmness, I relax and begin to float
No longer thinking about sinking, making a mental note
To walk on water you gotta get outta the boat
With new-found strength I swim toward the shore
Defeat and discouragement holding me back no more
With your helping hand, I come up on dry land
Thankful that you cared enough to take a stand
Know that your kindness was more than happenstance
All I ever wanted and needed was the chance
The chance to realize my true worth
A gift given to all equally from birth
But equality is skewed for some in life
Living with more than their fair share of strife
But then again, it's still possible to win
If at first you don't succeed try, try again
Quit crying and complaining about life's hard knocks
Instead, engage your mind and think out of the box
These are the times when anyone can succeed
The chance to do so is all that you need
Be ready when opportunity knocks on your door
Identify and sharpen your skills, even the score
Everybody's good at something, it's true
Find out and develop what's good for you
Take any chance you are given
Be tenacious and be driven
You'll see you can do it if you try
Try like you mean it and that's no lie
Your power to succeed will be enhanced
If you engage your power when given the chance
By Amarie
Seize opportunities.
Seek them out.
Never give up.

Thank you for visiting.
You are very much appreciated.

Image Source


This is a poem I wrote as an ode to poetry on World Poetry Day.
Poetry is a powerful tool of literary significance that has evolved through centuries, taking several garbs.
Literature in every language, civilization, dialect and culture is not unaware of poetry.
I come across beautiful writing both in poetry and prose through extensive reading, but when I intend to squeeze out and relieve myself of the deadening vacuum inside, poetry redeems me.

"Why Poetry?"
Poetry is rescue:
When writhing bunch
Of words entrapped
Within
Pave an escape route
Through calculated movements
Of your nerves twitching
And your fingers arranging themselves
To write.

Poetry is a placebo:
Sugar coated metaphors
Arranged in a carefully chosen
Meter, or may be splashed
Upon a page in a rhapsody;
Blobs of letters in an absurd fashion.

It smoothes the wrinkles
On your skin, on your mind,
Imbued with the anxieties
Of unsolved angst.

Poetry is healing:
The wounds that go
Deeper than the
Skin, blood, or bone
And make home
In a dark corner
Of your soul;
The words reach out
The whimpering fragment
Of your 'Self', pleading
For a ray of light.

You can find this poem, and many others on my Instagram account : the.
original.
chaiwaali (@laveenabehl07) • Instagram photos and videos

Thanks for reading!


But you'll never be able to know
What's here in my mind
What hurt and what upset
Because I'll never be strong enough to say.

You'll always see me happy
You'll always think of me smiling in your head
Because I'll never be strong enough to say
the numerous things that have made me feel this way,
the smallest of things that have made me cry.

What you'll never understand is that how it felt
Because I'll never be strong enough
to make you feel the same.

You'll see my eyes filled with love.

But you'll never know the sadness they hold.

You'll listen to my voice so chirpy and glad,
But what you'll never know is the point that it breaks,
Because I'll make my mouth shut the very same moment.

I'll even hate myself sometimes for times like these,
But still you'll never be able to know.

Because I'll never be strong enough to say.

Just a little effort! Please do upvote if you like it.


I have written around 100 bad poems so far.
But I believe that writing be it short stories or poems or anything gets better with practice, as does most things.
Here goes one of my latest poems-

Sponge
Half past midnight-
 As the night lengthens, the drizzle morphs into rain.

 The neon lady blows a kiss, in the general direction;
 (Primordial marketing)
 “Drink my beer” says the sign.

 Sure I would but not for the sign, for myself.
.
.

Three down three more to go-
 The lady in neon kisses again, her lips more iridescent than ever;
 The mother in the opposite apartment rebukes her child,
 Homework was classwork, apparently.

 Changed roles happily.

 The girl in the verandah blushes on phone, our glances meet, she shifts hers away.

 I laugh in my mind.
.
.

 Below, the caretaker of the apartment is gilling the fish humming an old song
I like looking at people, following their daily life, oblivious to and of anyone.

 “Artistic voyeurism”, I retort to myself.

 I'm simply enjoying the flavors life has to offer, (to others)
I stumble my way to bed,
 Tomorrow's an important day, I must soak up everything of this place today.

(We're all sponges of flesh, blood and bone, soaking up experiences on the road to eternity.
)
~Biswadeep
Please visit my WordPress blog for more:- The Pretentious Panda's Blog [Biswadeep Ghosh Hazra]
You can also check out my blog here on Quora:- Biswa Writes (Rather Poorly)


Unbelievable!
In this whole big universe,
I exist on this tiny Earth.

Is life a blessing or a curse?
To be living here, am I worth?
Whenever I see the millions of stars glow,
I realise how small I am,
The reality of this world, will I ever come to know,
Did it really begin with a bang?
So many questions remain unsolved,
How have living beings evolved?
The plants, the fruits and every single flower,
Shows me the nature's great power.

Still, whatever I do makes a little difference,
I wonder how someone has created this all with brilliance.

How the lightening occurs and the clouds rise,
Each and every thing leaves me in surprise.

So big, from head to toe,
How does a creature grow?
Everything appears to be so wonderful,
Yet it is so simple and colorful.

This universe is filled with things which are unbelievable,
Yet, it is so lovable.

Everything here remains unpredictable,
Even with millions of words, it is just indescribable.

Yashasvi Ghadale
(^_^)


Her talks, her smiles,
I can still hear them from miles!
Oh god do you know?
Why is she not saying 'Goodnights' anymore?
Listening to her voice,
Her aura and her chimes,
Oh god do you know?
Why they don't appear to have life anymore?
That breath, that laugh,
Even the sweet sorries on her behalf.

Oh God do you know?
Why's she not looking for me in the crowd anymore?
The promises made not to be broken,
And the secrets shared away.

Oh God do you know?
Why doesn't she seem to be sad without me anymore?
Portraits I drew for the most beautiful,
And the cards my prettiest made in plentiful,
Oh God do you know?
Why aren't they making me smile anymore?
The smoothest words I ever heard,
The lovely flirting done with my nerd.

Oh God do you know?
Why's the moon been ever since so dull?
Leaving me to cry,
Murdering me inside,
Oh god do you know?
Why she bid me a good bye?
~ Prisoner of Ishkabaksha


Can you write a poem?


I wrote this poem today.
I haven't thought of a title yet.
Suggestions are most welcome.

I entered the door with a bouquet, while you waited there holding a knife
I never knew that you were a foe, disguised as my beloved beautiful wife
With a swift stroke of your hand, my gushing blood splattered on the wall
How could you stain everything that mattered, for something so small
Bleeding, I swinged my sword, and things got from bad to worse
What seemed like a blessing, had turned out to be a curse
I kept hurting you, when I could have simply nipped it in the bud
Hurt and tired, we both fell on the floor juxtaposed with a thud
Waking up after this emotional bloodbath, I came back to my senses
Instead of bringing down our walls, we have been putting up fences
With all the spiteful words, we have allowed our love to be gnawed
Pointing fingers at each other, when we ourselves, are flawed
I looked into your hazel eyes, guilt and regret took over the grudge
Falling in love is easy, staying in love is where one shouldn't budge
Anger only begets resentment, so we should get rid of this rancour
Our ship has been out in the storm for too long, let us get back to the shore


Whether or not a person can write poetry is entirely relevant to how much effort they put into learning the craft.
Furthermore, it is important that one appreciates the difference between writing poetry and constructing poetic prose.
In the case of the latter, which is perfectly acceptable as a medium of expression and enjoyed widely by many, one needs only to understand what separates an impactful statement from an impactful sentence.
Here’s an example:
“I left my house this afternoon and found my dog dead on the lawn”
Ordinary sentence? How about this:
“I left my house
the other day
and found my dog dead
on the lawn”
Or try:
“I left my house the other day
and found
my dog dead on the lawn”
Or:
“I left my house the
other day and
found my dog dead,
on the lawn.

You see, there are many combinations.
The point is that an ordinary sentence can be broken down into a series of impactful statements that incite different emotions in the reader.
The problem is that this isn’t really poetry, It’s just a way of expressing yourself in a poetic format.

Think of your poem as a series of cliffs that you’re trying to convince your reader to descend.
Suppose they could turn around on any given cliff and be air-lifted to safety.
The incentive you provide for them to continue is in the construction of each cliff.
They must all be worth the time it takes to reach them, and they must all inspire the journey down, no matter how far down they may go.

“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of autumn leaves”
Cliff 1: Lush trees! Beautiful! I wonder what I’ll find on the next cliff.

Cliff 2: Oh, what a gentle breeze.
So peaceful.
I must go on!
Cliff 3: The graceful whirl? Of what?
Cliff 4: Oh, leaves! Autumn leaves! That’s a nice image.
I’m really glad I decided to climb down and investigate!
…you get the idea.
This is a nature poem.
It’s full of images that are pleasant to the reader.
This type of poetry is not necessarily considered ‘bad,’ although It is often dismissed as simple and commonplace.
It requires about as much thought as it does understanding of the fundamentals of writing poetry.
Suppose we modified it slightly:
“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of Autumn leaves”
So we’ve had our trees and our breeze and then wham – death.
The reader is compelled, intrigued.
What could be dying in this wonderful place? And what dies gracefully at all?? Cliff 4: Oh, leaves… Oh! Beauty in death! That’s sort of profound!
…So the reader gets a kick of serotonin for connecting the dots.
There is an ‘A-ha!’ moment.
Everyone claps.
You get the idea.

Here’s a lovely little poem by Nayyirah Waheed:
“I don’t pay attention to the world ending.

It has ended for me many times,
And began again in the morning”
Cliff 1: What an impact! What is she getting at?
Cliff 2: I must know more!
Cliff 3: Clever! That must be why she’s the poet!
…You see, this is an example of poetry that stands the test of time.
Why? When was the last time someone patted you on the shoulder when you were sad and said, “Don’t worry, tomorrow’s another day!” Didn’t you just want to smack them? One of the things this poem manages to do is refresh that cliché, and give it a totally different body.
After awhile, clichés begin to rot; they grow stale within our minds.
Partly because we’ve heard them our whole lives, but also because they’re practically universal.
Every culture has their own respective variations.
Finding a poem like this is like finding gold, the kind that you’ll never be able to spend in a lifetime.
It becomes your own little mantra.
It’s delightful.

So basically, yes, anyone can write poetry, but not everyone can sit down and write something like that.
At least not initially.
I believe that we all have poems like Nayyirah’s banging around inside of our heads.
But It takes some people years of hard work to actually put it into words.
Building your vocabulary, understanding nuance, and hunting for synonyms is a major part of this work.
But above all, you must write, and write.
And then write some more.
Never leave your house without a notepad and a pen.
Ordinary paper will do, but choose your pens wisely.
That’s my advice, anyways.

I recommend reading “Politics and the English Language” by George Orwell.
He was by no means a poet (although he did write some) however the essay is an indispensable tool for recognizing and obliterating the hackneyed phrases and clichés that have been pumped into your head by the world around you since you first came into it.
It will help you think with clarity and, more importantly, write with clarity.

Write with clarity, my friend.
Know what you’re saying.
Make each precious line count.
Make it mean something to you, or don’t expect it to mean anything to anyone else.
Get a dictionary and a thesaurus, or if you’re able, download the Merriam-Webster dictionary and thesaurus app on your phone/ tablet.
It’s free, and extremely useful.
It provides synonyms, as well as antonyms.
I don’t know how much you know about those, but here's a brief rundown:
Synonyms: Words that mean the same thing (Happy, Delighted)
Antonyms: Words that oppose (Hot, cold)
Syllables: A u-nit of or-ga-ni-za-tion for a se-quence-of-sounds.
Clap = one syllable.
Hand-ful = 2 syllables.
Ha-ppi-ness = 3 syllables.
So on and so forth.

In summary, when you ask ‘can anyone write poetry,’ It’s a bit like asking if anyone can breath or speak or learn the alphabet.
If you can make the conscious decision to write a poem, then there’s nothing stopping you from doing it.
Whether or not you can publish it or win an award is a different question entirely.
You must ask yourself who (and possibly what) you are writing for, and why.
George Orwell has another essay, “Why I Write,” which might help you on your journey.

One final thing that I have neglected to mention is that apart from writing, you must read, read, read.
There is something called The Delphi Classics Collection, and It’s basically a massive collection of “Complete Works” by various authors and poets for under 5$ each.
Here’s a list of what’s available: Complete Catalogue
I have an android and download them for Google Books but there’s probably other options if you don’t have an android.
When all else fails, hit your local library.

The collection is mostly classic literature, but I believe firmly that it is essential to read these men and women, as they were the inspiration for what is being written now.
Some people benefit from copying the style of a favorite poet until they get a feel for their own and branch off.
It’s really up to you.
There’s a difference between stealing someone’s work and being inspired.

GET INSPIRED.

Check out poets.
org
, there’s some useful information there.

Here’s something interesting as well:
50 Essential Books of Poetry That Everyone Should Read
If you need anymore pointers, you can send me an e-mail at mike.
[email protected]
.
com, and I’ll very gladly do my best to help you.

Regards,
-Mike Robbins-


Since then!
To recite my tale, I won't take you long back,
the story is still the same,
No solutions to hack.

It starts since then,
When our breasts are upright,
Harrased we are while walking on lonely paths at night.

Since then our skirts go long,
Sights on the floor,
Barred we get,
This society wants to see us behind the doors…
Their hoarse voice and musculine abs,
They do flaunt,
In daydreams so bright, These stray minds are too quick to haunt…
They have a heart of Wolf, so they mask their face,
And talk about our liberty, all with shameless grace.

They have hands wet in blood so they put them in their pockets,
Presence of a beauty make their eyes escape the eye ball socket.

It all starts since then,
when our tummies go flat and thin,
Prey you are with any colour of skin…
They talk of moon,
But live in centuries back,
For them women are play toys,
And their existence is just to get attacked.

It starts since then,
When our phone is ringed every hour… to know whether everything is fine???
Since then every women's heart cries in despondence,
Of the fear of being harrased and molested.

Still we bow and thankyou,
For making this heaven even worse than hell.

We don't have a heart of iron,
Or a body of gold,
For us too, these vibes are cold…
But despite of this pain,
you'll never realise….

The bane of your mother's womb.

The existence of men is the live evidence,
That women are strong.

I feel pitty for them who think….
.
That they pardon their sympathy on us!
~Akshita.

(P.
S.
– I am not Generalizing every one, this is in context to those, who really need to get over their dirty mindset.
)

☮️


I have short poems, hope that's okay?
Poem 1
Pain is my enemy, it's also my friend.

Pain makes me suffer, it also makes me stronger.

The question is, which do I prefer?
And how much pain am I willing to go through to get stonger?
Pain hurts, so how does it help in the end?
Why do I have to be strong because the world is pain?
Can everyone become stronger than pain?
I know when I say this, I'm just like all the rest.

I wanna be strong, but the world feels stonger.

We all have questions.

But the real question is,
will we ever know what true pain is?
Poem 2
I been waiting for this for so long.

Waiting to know where I belong.

Know that I'm here.

Know that I'm there.

I'm where ever you want me to appear.

I need you more than ever.

I love you more than I can show.

You mean more than the rest.

How would I show that?
I hope I'm not too late.

It's not a lie when I say, I'm afraid.

Afraid to lose everything.

Everything we had ever create.

Cause what we create, means everything.

Like you mean to me.

Poem 3
Loneliness has brought you down.

Your life is filled with sorrows,
Which are drowning.

You said “where did my life go wrong?”
I'm saying “it wasn't your past that you did wrong”
“It's your presence that's down in a hole,
Cause you let loneliness take a huge toll.

You said “life isn't worth living.

I saidlife is worth living
“Your just being blind,
you're filling your head with nonsense every night,
words that you have no right, filling your mind.

You say “ life is hard living with no one by your side.

I say “ Wrong.

“ I been here this whole time.

Helpful these are good.
Thank you for reading.


TO BE LIKE YOU, Jimmy.

When I saw you today on the monkey bars it was all eyes on you.
The girls, the teachers and every lad including me adored Jimmy McShue.
He was bright and funny with millions of wits and I couldn't look away, no way, not from Jimmy McShue.
When I grow up guess what I what I want to be? You know it, just like you.

Jimmy played baseball and excelled, he was natural with a bat.
I joined the team and tried so hard, but damnit I can't even put on the stiff brimmed hat.
They cheered for you and laughed at me.
Next year, sixth grade guess what I want to be?
Football and foursquare your feet are like wings.
God so many girls your praise they would sing.
Facemasked at practice again and again.
“You're a loser!" “Am I?” “Who me?” “My name's Leon, but my friends call me Lee:)” “Seventh grade “ You're Peon" that was my name, damn I was blue.
I still kept on trying, mirroring Jimmy McShue.

High school a pube, pheromones in the air.
Boys eyes wide open, girls legs everywhere.
They invited me to a party hosted by Mr.
McShue.
Damn, maturity? Finally a friend.
Maybe? Fingers crossed? They were hard to cross broken, at the hands of his crew.
Yeah, he ordered it, Jimmy McShue.

Silence, a snail, head burried in tears.
That's how I moped around for one plus one years.
Now all of that moping gave this junior now senior time to think.
Alone with my friends, invisible you'd say.
That's only cause when you look I order them, they're hidden away.
Back to our thoughts on Jimmy McShue, hmmmm, what then should “crackle fingers" secretly do?
I followed him once, then twice, night after night.
It wasn't enough a fair fist fight.
He laughed at us, get him! Remove all his air! Squeeze him, tie him to a chair! So I saw him smiling, pretty teeth and rosy cheeks.
I'm gonna get him early next week.
Right before college, so he's pretty for his pictures.

My heart's racing in the bushes Jimmy McShue.
I've waited six years to be like you.
We could have been friends, lover's, companions, God we all adore you.
Now it's my turn to assume you.
He's coming, I'm shaking and I peed in my jeans.
I squeezed his mouth so he wouldn't scream.
I drug him into the bushes at his parents place.
He just wouldn't stop screaming, so I started hitting his face.
It wasn't with knuckles, that's for the brave.
I was a coward, it was a rock, his face I did cave.
Smashing and smashing, I was crying for his life.
He took his last breath and I kissed him goodnight.

Leon


Original piece of work by me :)
Unspoken Words… .

Endless searching lights
Surrounds me for a hell fight,
Yelling at me to live in the real world…
But how can I?…when I don’t belong to this nostalgic earth!
Those unspoken words,
Blew my mind like a smoking cigar…
But what it left behind,a grieving body for souvenir!
I wish someday,I’ll hear to my pleading heart…
But how can I?.
.
when my future is handwritten at the very start!
They say,it’s useless to think out of the box…
But then is it useful to suffocate in the 4×4 stifling box?!
Captious eyes are all stuck upon me,
How will I rise…when my wings were cut off right in front of me!
Ferry your words,not my thoughts
Because this extrovert turned introvert girl will rise unknowingly.

And the power will roar like a lion through her poetry…
Do check this amateur poet’s other works :)
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to Do you have a favorite dark poem?
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to What is your favourite poem that you wrote?
Subconscious Mind….
.
by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World

#2018 by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World
LOVE Yourself… by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to Can you write a short poem in 4 lines?
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to What is the shortest (less than 12 lines) sad poem you have ever written?
Thanks for scrolling down!


Yes I can, and there are many apps on google play store.
I have used almost all of them which are suggested to me.
So here I will share my experience with you.

so will using all of them I came across NOJOTO[1] and finally, I got what I searching for.
This consists of every possible facility that a writer wants to showcase his/her talent, like a variety of prompts, text fonts, and background images.

The best part of this app is their watermark of writer profile name no one can take credit on your behave.

On add on NOJOTO provides many other facilities like Recording video and only voice with background music if you want to recite your Shayari and poem.

NOJOTO have a huge social presence on social media platform where you can become an upcoming star because of your content and talent.

So if you desire to write and want a interest base audience NOJOTO is best app
Hope my answer is useful to you.

You can download app on google app store.

See you on Nojoto – Talent Sharing App <3 download from here: http://bit.
ly/NojotoApp


Well, this poem describes the turmoil running in the head of a broken girl and how she decides to take action and takes control of it.

HER (PART 1)
EYES
I look into her eyes-pitch black,
Fluttering, flickering, flinching,
Unstable, unsteady, uncertain,
Is the only way into her soul's veracity
Reflecting her gloom back.

All the words she uttered,
Lies she swallowed, spewed, snaked,
Smiles she forced, faltered, faked
Did her no good to hide back
When the pair were in contact.

Makeup smeared,smeared tears,
Eyes -windows of her soul
Show her earnest desire
To shout, scream and howl
All that her heart within mewl,
Stand tall gates of her heart
Clamping her mouth shut,
She hides behind the veils of the dark.

HER (PART 2)
KALEIDOSCOPE
In her dense black eyes
I see a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Now she is lost in the deep ocean of conception
And I in her black and white eyes globes
Filled with elation.

Happy, light-hearted, mellifluous
Her nostalgic expression.

With her eyes swollen she
Blushes,
Looks through her lashes she
Flushes,
With merry memories that
Rushes.

Nothing lasts forever.

Good times end; smiles fade.

Hers fade with a look of
depression, distress, and disgust.

Then I'm filled with fascination
Of the sudden swerve in her deep eye-oceans,
Fills her with something powerful.

Cold eyes stare back,
Wrath from the bowels of her heart
Shines luminous,
Malicious, vicious, venomous.

Her stare is like an alpha in command
Her gaze is now fixed and focused.

She changes in front of me,
Changes in her kaleidoscope ends.

THANKS, IF YOU READ ALL THE WAY.
IT MEANS A LOT TO ME.

.

.


Yes, why not! Let's give it a try.

I searched for you everywhere but no where you were found.

Worn out, I sat on that shattered bench,
Where once we both sat, hand in hand,
Where your eyes met mine, and they said to me that not all the broken things are worth whine.

Lost in our memories, I didn't feel your touch until you tapped on my shoulder for the second time,
Sitting beside, I whispered to you – I live this night every night!
You held my hand, came close to kiss and gave me all those butterflies and everything I miss,
But suddenly, I opened my eyes!


Labour Party
The resuscitaire is beeping
The lights dash from the ceiling
Her walls are fidgeting
Her condition is threatening
Her water breaks,some call it bottles popping
Her cervix trapped, she soon feels she's flopping
Shes in the farthest star,but she just can't shout it.

She shouldn't be shy ,it's a labour party.

The nurses are shaky ,but they try to fake it.

The doctor feels flaccid yet hopes he can make it.

The latest father smiles, oops! it's still a maybe
The latest mother pants, for nine months she craved this.

The foetus is racing, it's shunning its grassroots.

The cord is amazing until it is cut loose.

A baby is being born,life begins a fast boot.

Oh Daddy is crying, his tears feel like hot booze.

A woman A saviour A mother A true one
She laid down in silence and took in a spermdrop
In worry and agony, she popped out a live one.

A martyr A heroine raced on through a ram's horn.

The whole ward is gay now, melancholy erased.

Even she has forgotten the agony she faced
In a year,you ll see us being suddenly chatty.

Remember before then was a labour party.

Source : Labour Party – Steemit


I wrote it according to my point of view.
Hope you'll like it.

A plant
FRIENDS are the flowers of our life,
With whom becomes melodious the fife.

Who are with us in our hard times,
Those who put a smile when we cry.

Whose visages differ according to our mood,
They protect us like a goalkeeper do.

Those who indulge us in nonsense fights,
Before whom we behave like a Knight!
~~
PARENTS are the roots of our life,
With whom we have a hell lot of fights.

Their efforts can't be measured with naked eye,
As they are high like the sky.

They can show their wrath well but not love,
It needs a lot to understand their harsh words.

If you loose some valuable things, they can show their anger,
But by committing suicide or hurting yourself, you make them a beggar!
:(:


Yes.
I write poems every day, every week, every month, and year round, poetry is both vocation and avocation for me.

At present, I have written over 1,500 poems which covers almost all topics from socio-economic, cultural, religious and governmental related activities, environment, animals, health, gender/sexuality, immigration, race, education/learning, science & technology, space exploration, and love.
Issues covered also include International relations and geopolitics.

Not forgetting ancient world of Egypt, Sumerian-site of one of the earliest civilizations located in southernmost part of Mesopotamia; Assyrians, Babylonians, Media-Persia, Greece, Roman Empire, and Africa.

My literary work has taken me conduct research into religions, which fall in to these categories:
Intersently, my work covers various types of poetry:
This is one of my work that focuses on LIFE:
VANITY!
VANITY!
VANITY!
What’s in life that blossom
today,
but fades away tomorrow?
What’s in life full of energy
today,
but reduced to pain,
ache, trouble,
and difficulty by tomorrow?
What joy is there in
life that seems
promising in the morning,
becomes sour in the afternoon,
but turns extremely
bitter at night?
What happiness is
there in life,
when today’s body parts,
teeth, eyes, ears, legs, fingers,
and hands give way to,
aging, sickness, infirmity,
and death?
How sad will it be when man
remembers his
gone youthful days;
but now lie in sick
bed with wrinkles,
flakes, and gray hair?
How unhappy will man be
when he remembers
the clear
sight of yesterday,
which has given way to
concave, convex,
single, bi-focal or
laser lenses?
How frustrating can
it be when man
remembers those good and
happy sounds of yesterday from
functional ears;
but now gone,
or at the very best
assisted by hearing aids?
How incomplete will life be
when man recalls the skips,
dance steps, runs, walks, stands
on those wonderful body frames;
that have now gone weak,
and become feeble?
How disheartening
will it be for man
when those strong
yesteryear fingers,
can barely hold a morsel?
And wonderful hands
of bygone days
can hardly lift or
carry an object?
Can you imagine the
pains, disappointment,
when man recalls the most
powerful body part-
ever-working machine-
HEART that has pumped
Billions of gallons of
oxygenated materials;
now depends on
ventilator, pace-maker,
or battery to function?
Can you imagine the pain,
discomfort,
man goes through
when the lung-
the specially
created air-pipe
refuses to function;
but depends on
oxygen tank and machine
to sustain life?
Can you measure the pain
when the body mill
machine shop-the LIVER,
refuses to pulverize,
reduce to powder,
micronize, granulate,
and sift chemicals,
and other ingested
objects coming in
to the body?
Can you measure
severity of pain and
shame-
when the
City Re-Cycling
Plant-the Kidney
breaks down,
and natural process
of waste filtering and
removal from the body is
artificially and mechanically,
managed through dialysis?
These questions should remind
every living soul that life of:
40, 50, 60, 70,
80 plus is nothing,
but VANITY.

Life will only be
meaningful,
when the love for
God is paramount in
individual’s life.

2).
On Woman:
Make Her:
If
you make her smile,
you receive in hundred
folds,
if you make her laugh,
she makes you laugh,
and laughter becomes
your companion.

If you make her joyful,
happiness surrounds you,
if you give her dance,
she turns your drummer,
if you give her joyful song,
she makes your courtyard,
home-of-benediction.

If you give her love,
she returns thousand times,
if her heart becomes
your home,
she gives you her mind.

BUT
make her cry,
home becomes a
wailing garden,
make her weep,
home turns to rainfall
of cry;
ignore her,
she looks elsewhere,
abuse her,
she turns violent,
betray her,
she leaves you.

When
You keep her in mind,
she shows compassion,
radiates love,
walk with you on kindness
pathway,
gives you peace of mind.

Then
She becomes a blessing,
a garden of roses,
a galaxy,
a sea wave of peace,
a sun-bath in summer,
a rain-of-blessing, and
a drum of beautiful symphony.

3).
On Life:
Naked
Naked I was in the dark
room of life,
without hat, clothing,
socks, and shoes,
I felt no heat,
no cold, no sickness.

Naked-I arrived into
the world,
naked I was received
by waiting guests into
open palms and hands.

Naked are the talents
and potentials stored
on my DNA,
naked is the beauty in
me,
without covering,
I display
my body color.

Without clothe,
my voice is known,
naked is the character,
I will soon exhibit,
naked is the reputation
soon to demonstrate.

Naked all men before
heaven,
naked all women at
labor room,
naked all humans in
the shower,
naked all shall return.


Between the green chilling woods and arid parched desert,
Without a first thought, everyone chooses a greener path.

Filled with green beauty, chirping birds, colourful flowers.

You get fruits from trees, water from ponds, shelter from caves.

You have utmost of all.
No shortage of anything.

This continues everyday, same fruits, same shelter, same house.

The cycle continues, now you are tired of all.

You are frustrated, bored, lack of challenges makes you dull.

You find no point of living, you have everything, your life is perfect.

Another person, chooses desert.
Is being called crazy, but chose it anyhow.

He hates it from beginning.
A land full of nothing but dust.

He walks and walks only to find nothing.

Walks with thirst, walks with hunger, walks with no energy.

The bloody hot burning sun, no tree either to take shelter.

He falls sick, starts to puke, couldn't walk anymore, starts crawling.

He chews cactaceae, to fulfill his thirst.

Its thorns hurt his hand, its taste is damn bitter.

After days of struggle, he spots oasis miles away.

Crawling faster amid no strength, fully exhausted.

Finally reaches a small area of woods, in the middle of vast wasteland.

A small pond surrounded by big trees.
Heaven in the Hades.

Imagine his satisfaction! Choose the path less travelled.

Don’t buy comfort, earn it.


This is a poem I wrote in poem writing competition conducted on 28.
10.
2017 in my school on topic Future.

FUTURE
“What will be their future?”
I often think;
On seeing-
Few of my classmates.

On seeing the ones
Who shout in the class;
On seeing the ones
Who disturb the class;
On seeing the ones
Who use foul language;
On seeing the ones
Who fight with each other;
On seeing the ones
Who disrespect their teacher;
On seeing the ones
Who bunk the class.

According to me,
A person is never bad -
But
Her/his conditions make him/her bad.

So these pupils might be mentally frustrated or disappointed,
That’s why they behave like this.

But the question is-
“What will be their future?”
Our future is defined by
What we do today ,
And this is done by these pupils.

Blessings are worth,
But will these pupils be blessed ,
Or will they be cursed,
By the ones whom they hurt.

Time changes
Those who laugh today
Disturbing the class,
Will be laughed at
In the future.

Future will let them know
The importance of a teacher.

Future will make them
Pay the price for their current acts.

We cannot predict our future
But we can surely create it.

THANKYOU.

This poem I wrote after getting inspired from my classroom.

Rakhil.


The Chance (Original Poem)
Treading water, my face barely above it
My mind drifting, thinking about why
Everything everybody ever told me was a lie
As my life events flash before me eyes
I think about what it must be like to die
Then in an instant, what it's like to live
Live without worry but something's gotta give
Then, with calmness, I relax and begin to float
No longer thinking about sinking, making a mental note
To walk on water you gotta get outta the boat
With new-found strength I swim toward the shore
Defeat and discouragement holding me back no more
With your helping hand, I come up on dry land
Thankful that you cared enough to take a stand
Know that your kindness was more than happenstance
All I ever wanted and needed was the chance
The chance to realize my true worth
A gift given to all equally from birth
But equality is skewed for some in life
Living with more than their fair share of strife
But then again, it's still possible to win
If at first you don't succeed try, try again
Quit crying and complaining about life's hard knocks
Instead, engage your mind and think out of the box
These are the times when anyone can succeed
The chance to do so is all that you need
Be ready when opportunity knocks on your door
Identify and sharpen your skills, even the score
Everybody's good at something, it's true
Find out and develop what's good for you
Take any chance you are given
Be tenacious and be driven
You'll see you can do it if you try
Try like you mean it and that's no lie
Your power to succeed will be enhanced
If you engage your power when given the chance
By Amarie
Seize opportunities.
Seek them out.
Never give up.

Thank you for visiting.
You are very much appreciated.

Image Source


This is a poem I wrote as an ode to poetry on World Poetry Day.
Poetry is a powerful tool of literary significance that has evolved through centuries, taking several garbs.
Literature in every language, civilization, dialect and culture is not unaware of poetry.
I come across beautiful writing both in poetry and prose through extensive reading, but when I intend to squeeze out and relieve myself of the deadening vacuum inside, poetry redeems me.

"Why Poetry?"
Poetry is rescue:
When writhing bunch
Of words entrapped
Within
Pave an escape route
Through calculated movements
Of your nerves twitching
And your fingers arranging themselves
To write.

Poetry is a placebo:
Sugar coated metaphors
Arranged in a carefully chosen
Meter, or may be splashed
Upon a page in a rhapsody;
Blobs of letters in an absurd fashion.

It smoothes the wrinkles
On your skin, on your mind,
Imbued with the anxieties
Of unsolved angst.

Poetry is healing:
The wounds that go
Deeper than the
Skin, blood, or bone
And make home
In a dark corner
Of your soul;
The words reach out
The whimpering fragment
Of your 'Self', pleading
For a ray of light.

You can find this poem, and many others on my Instagram account : the.
original.
chaiwaali (@laveenabehl07) • Instagram photos and videos

Thanks for reading!


Yes I can! And I’ve even wrote two poems.

Here is one of them:
Serendipity…
Sitting at my workstation I kept swirling my chair around,
 Battling the strenuous drowse that tried to yoke me to the ground,
 “How could this happen? This is the first hour of my job,” I wondered,
 I chuckled.
“How fool of me! It’s Monday today,” I remembered.

I peeked to my left to see an empty chair,
 “No-one to talk around; hey, that’s so unfair!”

I cringed viscerally at the thought of spending the day without uttering a word,
 I tried to re-task my focus on my computer screen when a soft voice I heard,
 Made me turn, and as I did, I veered myself to the source of the euphonic voice,
 I felt the dumbfoundedness of a person bewitched by a magical spell, twice.

For some moments I couldn’t decrypt the words that her lips uttered,
 As I just kept staring into her graceful eyes, helpless and all cluttered.

She asked with a soft smile, “Is this person absent today?” and motioned to the workstation on my left,
 I felt my dopamine surge at the possibility of what might happen next,
 I nodded as soon as I realised my tongue has gone numb,
 She ensconced herself and smiled, her cheeks as rotund as a plum.

I swallowed a lump in my throat that I didn’t realise had formed,
 I wasn’t hoping for anything like this but I liked what my day had unboxed.

“What is she? Are humans allowed to be this beautiful?” I questioned my mind,
 Was she a manifestation of my dreams or an angel in disguise!
 It seemed like her eyes possessed a power in them like Midas in his hands,
 A sight of innocence that could even force the flying time to land.

I leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of her pretty brown eyes,
 She turned to me with a gaze of a doe and my tongue again got tied.

“Any problem?” She questioned me with a raise of her brow,
 “Yes, your eyes.
They’re too beautiful,” the response I couldn’t let out,
 Instead I shook my head and turned my eyes away from her,
 My peripheral could see her blushing; it seemed the bubble has finally burst.

I tried to venture a conversation but failed to remember the morphemes,
 The anonymity between us allowed the nervousness to sweep in.

I sighed deeply and turned about to do what I’m paid for,
 But her presence beside me made it harder for me to stay calm,
 An unexpected “Hello” came from my left and an introduction followed the greet,
 Although stunned by the suddenness I tried to smile at her, from cheek to cheek.

We exchanged our names and conversed a little for a while,
 Before she got engaged in her work and I in mine.

After hours of punching the keyboard buttons I stretched my arms and yawned,
 She giggled at me and I took it as a cue to move my first pawn,
 I embarked, “I’m going to the cafeteria to have some tea”,
 I hesitated for a moment and resumed, “would you like to come with me?”

She rolled her eyes and I understood she has refused my kind and genuine offer,
 I began to walk away.
“Wait a minute, let me lock my PC,” and then I saw her got up.

We walked our way to the cafeteria, slower than two people normally would,
 My chivalry erupted as I held the door open for her as she entered the room,
 We occupied a table for two and it appeared like a date-night is about to happen,
 With she in front of me and the stories that we shared, it seemed like all the troubles in the world didn’t matter.

I mulled over the thought that I might have a crush on her smile,
 But there was an absolute certainty that I had fallen in love with her eyes.

She shared some cheerful stories about her childhood and also the moments in her life she remorse,
 She had a way of crinkling her nose adorably that made her appear cuter than she was before,
 “You may have a body of a woman but you have a sweetness of a child,” I abruptly blurted out,
 She smiled deep into my eyes and I could feel the brightest smile I ever had form on my mouth.

“That’s the sweetest thing someone has ever said about me,” she blushed a little while she said this,
 It took us a moment to realise that we’re holding hands; the touch of hers was something I couldn’t resist.

We got up as we finished our beverages and sauntered our way back to our daily routine,
 I tried to rein my thoughts that our day was about to end, but my efforts were all just futile,
 I just wished this night shall never pass as I wanted to spend more of my time with her,
 We logged out of our PC’s as our shift ended but I craved for one last conversation with this girl.

While ambling towards the exit in silence I turned on my heels to look into her beautiful brown eyes,
 I sighed as I looked at her and tried to settle down the feeling to hug her that was about to rise,
 “I spent this beautiful day with a beautiful girl I wish I could see more of,” I said with truthfulness in my voice,
 She smiled at the ground and then looked up, “You will.
Tomorrow at 8.
Here’s my number.
The place is your choice.


But you'll never be able to know
What's here in my mind
What hurt and what upset
Because I'll never be strong enough to say.

You'll always see me happy
You'll always think of me smiling in your head
Because I'll never be strong enough to say
the numerous things that have made me feel this way,
the smallest of things that have made me cry.

What you'll never understand is that how it felt
Because I'll never be strong enough
to make you feel the same.

You'll see my eyes filled with love.

But you'll never know the sadness they hold.

You'll listen to my voice so chirpy and glad,
But what you'll never know is the point that it breaks,
Because I'll make my mouth shut the very same moment.

I'll even hate myself sometimes for times like these,
But still you'll never be able to know.

Because I'll never be strong enough to say.

Just a little effort! Please do upvote if you like it.


I asked him to call me back when free, he denied saying, “Stop counting on me for your glee!”
I asked him to stay back for a little while; he left in haste saying he forgot the work of an important file!
I asked him to text me when he reaches home; he snapped stating, “Leave me alone!”
I asked him, where was he last night; vexed he said, he wanted to be away from my sight!
I asked him if he needs some food; enraged he said my cooking wasn’t good!
I asked him if he needs me anymore; his callous reply burnt me till core!
I asked him to leave and let me live; he came begging “Don’t you have another chance to give?”
Happy Reading! :)


A LOVER'S RECLUSE
The window seat,
The wind messing up your hair,
Your face brightening up,
The cool breeze showering you with incessant kisses.

You stare at the vast nothingness
As we lose sight of the meadows
One after the other.

And when the sun rays caress you
The scarlet hues at play,
Ah! Such a delightful spectacle!
Remember the endless thoughts we used to share?
The ones you'll chuckle at,
The ones that'd well up your eyes
And you'd embrace me, firmly
As our stories would blend
With each breath of yours.

Then, as all good things must end,
So do our journey,
The painful phase of disunion,
Where the stories are no stranger to you,
The lines impressed upon your mind,
The ending all familiar to you.

But the separation is temporary,
I know, you'll come to visit me,
Pick me up from the shelf,
Relive all the words we've shared
Trace your hands on my shoulder
And make me fall for you again.

Then you'll put me back at my place,
My pages still yearning for your touch, yet another time.

It's been an hour and you still haven't flipped over my pages,
How I love it when you read through my words!
Eyes strained but eager,
Immersed in my characters.

So for once,
Hold me close to you,
And savor the aroma,
I've heard people like you love the smell of old books.

-Sampad Dutt


I have written around 100 bad poems so far.
But I believe that writing be it short stories or poems or anything gets better with practice, as does most things.
Here goes one of my latest poems-

Sponge
Half past midnight-
 As the night lengthens, the drizzle morphs into rain.

 The neon lady blows a kiss, in the general direction;
 (Primordial marketing)
 “Drink my beer” says the sign.

 Sure I would but not for the sign, for myself.
.
.

Three down three more to go-
 The lady in neon kisses again, her lips more iridescent than ever;
 The mother in the opposite apartment rebukes her child,
 Homework was classwork, apparently.

 Changed roles happily.

 The girl in the verandah blushes on phone, our glances meet, she shifts hers away.

 I laugh in my mind.
.
.

 Below, the caretaker of the apartment is gilling the fish humming an old song
I like looking at people, following their daily life, oblivious to and of anyone.

 “Artistic voyeurism”, I retort to myself.

 I'm simply enjoying the flavors life has to offer, (to others)
I stumble my way to bed,
 Tomorrow's an important day, I must soak up everything of this place today.

(We're all sponges of flesh, blood and bone, soaking up experiences on the road to eternity.
)
~Biswadeep
Please visit my WordPress blog for more:- The Pretentious Panda's Blog [Biswadeep Ghosh Hazra]
You can also check out my blog here on Quora:- Biswa Writes (Rather Poorly)


Unbelievable!
In this whole big universe,
I exist on this tiny Earth.

Is life a blessing or a curse?
To be living here, am I worth?
Whenever I see the millions of stars glow,
I realise how small I am,
The reality of this world, will I ever come to know,
Did it really begin with a bang?
So many questions remain unsolved,
How have living beings evolved?
The plants, the fruits and every single flower,
Shows me the nature's great power.

Still, whatever I do makes a little difference,
I wonder how someone has created this all with brilliance.

How the lightening occurs and the clouds rise,
Each and every thing leaves me in surprise.

So big, from head to toe,
How does a creature grow?
Everything appears to be so wonderful,
Yet it is so simple and colorful.

This universe is filled with things which are unbelievable,
Yet, it is so lovable.

Everything here remains unpredictable,
Even with millions of words, it is just indescribable.

Yashasvi Ghadale
(^_^)


Memories of Poetic loss
I see you in the distance while walking down the street
Cross the road quite swiftly for fear that we might meet.

Though we shared a classroom for many, many years
You brought no happiness but an awful lot of tears
You forced me on a journey on roads over bogs
An old woman’s dresser, a fire of turf not logs
A horse standing in the snow, miles before he sleeps
Looming over me a leather making beats
Shakespeare’s dark lady fairly broke my heart
That whistling cane murdered, all my thoughts of art
In my head so very small for a day in June
Examination, disremember a moment not too soon.

Maybe in the future we might meet, walk and talk,
Of potatoes, gas ovens, jaguars and hawks.

In 1st year college in a creative writing we were asked to write a poem.
I disliked poetry from my school days in the distant past.
In college I was a mature? student.
I went to school when corporal punishment was allowed.
Teachers used a leather strap.
WE WOULD HAVE TO RECITE THE POEM FROM MEMORY.
The teacher beating out the timing.

Not a good poem but quite clever in ways as it references a few poems we had to learn.

Gerry Floyd & W.
B.
Yeats
The Late File of Alcohol Spree
I will arise and go, to the yard to the lavatory,
And a small shed build there, of brick and mortar made
An icy seat will I have there, a dive for an urgent me;
And live alone in the freezing gale.

And I shall make some pee there, for pee comes flowing
slow,
Dropping from the pains in the morning to hope the spigot
springs;
Past midnight too much liquor, and necked a purple ​ bordeaux​ ,
And evening full of the buffalo wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I must make water happen,to the porcelain I shall roar;
While I lean on God’s telephone, for mercy I doth prey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Drink no more no more.

A SATIRE on a great poem.
Poetry night in college and the place full of series people.

Teenager as was
Elvis rarely filled me with glee
Rockin Richard, Berry, ballsy Jerry Lee.

Magic music by the pound.

A surging testosterone driven sound.

Woodstock counting to Country Joe
Christy Moore posturing a definite no
Born to be free easy on my bike
Riding far and fast as wot I like.

Purple smoked a mighty riff
Lyrics a stagnant water whiff
Tommy spoke to my generation
Nihilist youthful indignation
Not for me that folkie type
No Dylan mumbling, pretentious tripe
Nobel prize made me gag
Tuneless noble gasbag
Horslips rocking traditional dances
Lyrics written for chilled out dunces
Ruby rooster rebellious attraction
Angie, exhaustion, no satisfaction.

Concerts in a boxing stadium
Untamed tresses banging cranium.

Lizzy,Jenkins school dance
Score a belle not a chance.

Iron Ollie knocked our puny wall
Cromwell rocked the parish hall
Disco fever became so chic
Me Le Freak a geek no technique.

Marry and settle had an incline
Now its Dolly, Dolan and Patsy Cline
Come and gone my rockin days
 Hair and back gone separate ways.

Poetry should be fun.
I am no poet but I write for fun and ME.
This references events in my youth.
People from my hometown will get them.
Iron OLLIE was a sort of nickname for Oliver Cromwell while Cromwell were a great Irish Rock Band.


The sun is shining brightly.

It feels ever so lonely.

It catches a glimpse of a planet.

It flickers a light onto the planet plagued with darkness.

The planet responds and is slowly growing life,
but the sun is fading, losing light.

.

There are more residents on the planet.

They are fishing for light.

Slowly the reality is latching onto the sun.

The sun gives more light as requested.

No one must ever know of the truth behind it,
but the sun is oppressed , losing lambency.

.

There are an overwhelming amount of people exposed to light.

Without it they will be devastated and disappointed.

A tsunami forged of tenebrosity is going to hit the sun.

It's inevitable.

It can't compress the shadows lurking with in,
the sun is deteriorating , losing radiance.

.

It forces itself to shine light.

The sun is etiolated however.

The obscurity has crippled the sun from the inside.

The only way the sun can shine again,
is to leave forever, it's fated , it's going to erupt.

.

The sun has perished, it's lost lustre.


Her talks, her smiles,
I can still hear them from miles!
Oh god do you know?
Why is she not saying 'Goodnights' anymore?
Listening to her voice,
Her aura and her chimes,
Oh god do you know?
Why they don't appear to have life anymore?
That breath, that laugh,
Even the sweet sorries on her behalf.

Oh God do you know?
Why's she not looking for me in the crowd anymore?
The promises made not to be broken,
And the secrets shared away.

Oh God do you know?
Why doesn't she seem to be sad without me anymore?
Portraits I drew for the most beautiful,
And the cards my prettiest made in plentiful,
Oh God do you know?
Why aren't they making me smile anymore?
The smoothest words I ever heard,
The lovely flirting done with my nerd.

Oh God do you know?
Why's the moon been ever since so dull?
Leaving me to cry,
Murdering me inside,
Oh god do you know?
Why she bid me a good bye?
~ Prisoner of Ishkabaksha


Can you write a poem?


I wrote this poem today.
I haven't thought of a title yet.
Suggestions are most welcome.

I entered the door with a bouquet, while you waited there holding a knife
I never knew that you were a foe, disguised as my beloved beautiful wife
With a swift stroke of your hand, my gushing blood splattered on the wall
How could you stain everything that mattered, for something so small
Bleeding, I swinged my sword, and things got from bad to worse
What seemed like a blessing, had turned out to be a curse
I kept hurting you, when I could have simply nipped it in the bud
Hurt and tired, we both fell on the floor juxtaposed with a thud
Waking up after this emotional bloodbath, I came back to my senses
Instead of bringing down our walls, we have been putting up fences
With all the spiteful words, we have allowed our love to be gnawed
Pointing fingers at each other, when we ourselves, are flawed
I looked into your hazel eyes, guilt and regret took over the grudge
Falling in love is easy, staying in love is where one shouldn't budge
Anger only begets resentment, so we should get rid of this rancour
Our ship has been out in the storm for too long, let us get back to the shore


Whether or not a person can write poetry is entirely relevant to how much effort they put into learning the craft.
Furthermore, it is important that one appreciates the difference between writing poetry and constructing poetic prose.
In the case of the latter, which is perfectly acceptable as a medium of expression and enjoyed widely by many, one needs only to understand what separates an impactful statement from an impactful sentence.
Here’s an example:
“I left my house this afternoon and found my dog dead on the lawn”
Ordinary sentence? How about this:
“I left my house
the other day
and found my dog dead
on the lawn”
Or try:
“I left my house the other day
and found
my dog dead on the lawn”
Or:
“I left my house the
other day and
found my dog dead,
on the lawn.

You see, there are many combinations.
The point is that an ordinary sentence can be broken down into a series of impactful statements that incite different emotions in the reader.
The problem is that this isn’t really poetry, It’s just a way of expressing yourself in a poetic format.

Think of your poem as a series of cliffs that you’re trying to convince your reader to descend.
Suppose they could turn around on any given cliff and be air-lifted to safety.
The incentive you provide for them to continue is in the construction of each cliff.
They must all be worth the time it takes to reach them, and they must all inspire the journey down, no matter how far down they may go.

“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of autumn leaves”
Cliff 1: Lush trees! Beautiful! I wonder what I’ll find on the next cliff.

Cliff 2: Oh, what a gentle breeze.
So peaceful.
I must go on!
Cliff 3: The graceful whirl? Of what?
Cliff 4: Oh, leaves! Autumn leaves! That’s a nice image.
I’m really glad I decided to climb down and investigate!
…you get the idea.
This is a nature poem.
It’s full of images that are pleasant to the reader.
This type of poetry is not necessarily considered ‘bad,’ although It is often dismissed as simple and commonplace.
It requires about as much thought as it does understanding of the fundamentals of writing poetry.
Suppose we modified it slightly:
“Lush trees
gentle breeze
the graceful death
of Autumn leaves”
So we’ve had our trees and our breeze and then wham – death.
The reader is compelled, intrigued.
What could be dying in this wonderful place? And what dies gracefully at all?? Cliff 4: Oh, leaves… Oh! Beauty in death! That’s sort of profound!
…So the reader gets a kick of serotonin for connecting the dots.
There is an ‘A-ha!’ moment.
Everyone claps.
You get the idea.

Here’s a lovely little poem by Nayyirah Waheed:
“I don’t pay attention to the world ending.

It has ended for me many times,
And began again in the morning”
Cliff 1: What an impact! What is she getting at?
Cliff 2: I must know more!
Cliff 3: Clever! That must be why she’s the poet!
…You see, this is an example of poetry that stands the test of time.
Why? When was the last time someone patted you on the shoulder when you were sad and said, “Don’t worry, tomorrow’s another day!” Didn’t you just want to smack them? One of the things this poem manages to do is refresh that cliché, and give it a totally different body.
After awhile, clichés begin to rot; they grow stale within our minds.
Partly because we’ve heard them our whole lives, but also because they’re practically universal.
Every culture has their own respective variations.
Finding a poem like this is like finding gold, the kind that you’ll never be able to spend in a lifetime.
It becomes your own little mantra.
It’s delightful.

So basically, yes, anyone can write poetry, but not everyone can sit down and write something like that.
At least not initially.
I believe that we all have poems like Nayyirah’s banging around inside of our heads.
But It takes some people years of hard work to actually put it into words.
Building your vocabulary, understanding nuance, and hunting for synonyms is a major part of this work.
But above all, you must write, and write.
And then write some more.
Never leave your house without a notepad and a pen.
Ordinary paper will do, but choose your pens wisely.
That’s my advice, anyways.

I recommend reading “Politics and the English Language” by George Orwell.
He was by no means a poet (although he did write some) however the essay is an indispensable tool for recognizing and obliterating the hackneyed phrases and clichés that have been pumped into your head by the world around you since you first came into it.
It will help you think with clarity and, more importantly, write with clarity.

Write with clarity, my friend.
Know what you’re saying.
Make each precious line count.
Make it mean something to you, or don’t expect it to mean anything to anyone else.
Get a dictionary and a thesaurus, or if you’re able, download the Merriam-Webster dictionary and thesaurus app on your phone/ tablet.
It’s free, and extremely useful.
It provides synonyms, as well as antonyms.
I don’t know how much you know about those, but here's a brief rundown:
Synonyms: Words that mean the same thing (Happy, Delighted)
Antonyms: Words that oppose (Hot, cold)
Syllables: A u-nit of or-ga-ni-za-tion for a se-quence-of-sounds.
Clap = one syllable.
Hand-ful = 2 syllables.
Ha-ppi-ness = 3 syllables.
So on and so forth.

In summary, when you ask ‘can anyone write poetry,’ It’s a bit like asking if anyone can breath or speak or learn the alphabet.
If you can make the conscious decision to write a poem, then there’s nothing stopping you from doing it.
Whether or not you can publish it or win an award is a different question entirely.
You must ask yourself who (and possibly what) you are writing for, and why.
George Orwell has another essay, “Why I Write,” which might help you on your journey.

One final thing that I have neglected to mention is that apart from writing, you must read, read, read.
There is something called The Delphi Classics Collection, and It’s basically a massive collection of “Complete Works” by various authors and poets for under 5$ each.
Here’s a list of what’s available: Complete Catalogue
I have an android and download them for Google Books but there’s probably other options if you don’t have an android.
When all else fails, hit your local library.

The collection is mostly classic literature, but I believe firmly that it is essential to read these men and women, as they were the inspiration for what is being written now.
Some people benefit from copying the style of a favorite poet until they get a feel for their own and branch off.
It’s really up to you.
There’s a difference between stealing someone’s work and being inspired.

GET INSPIRED.

Check out poets.
org
, there’s some useful information there.

Here’s something interesting as well:
50 Essential Books of Poetry That Everyone Should Read
If you need anymore pointers, you can send me an e-mail at mike.
[email protected]
.
com, and I’ll very gladly do my best to help you.

Regards,
-Mike Robbins-


Original piece of work by me :)
Unspoken Words… .

Endless searching lights
Surrounds me for a hell fight,
Yelling at me to live in the real world…
But how can I?…when I don’t belong to this nostalgic earth!
Those unspoken words,
Blew my mind like a smoking cigar…
But what it left behind,a grieving body for souvenir!
I wish someday,I’ll hear to my pleading heart…
But how can I?.
.
when my future is handwritten at the very start!
They say,it’s useless to think out of the box…
But then is it useful to suffocate in the 4×4 stifling box?!
Captious eyes are all stuck upon me,
How will I rise…when my wings were cut off right in front of me!
Ferry your words,not my thoughts
Because this extrovert turned introvert girl will rise unknowingly.

And the power will roar like a lion through her poetry…
Do check this amateur poet’s other works :)
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to Do you have a favorite dark poem?
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to What is your favourite poem that you wrote?
Subconscious Mind….
.
by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World

#2018 by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World
LOVE Yourself… by Shrunalini Jadhav on Poetic World
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to Can you write a short poem in 4 lines?
Shrunalini Jadhav's answer to What is the shortest (less than 12 lines) sad poem you have ever written?
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TO BE LIKE YOU, Jimmy.

When I saw you today on the monkey bars it was all eyes on you.
The girls, the teachers and every lad including me adored Jimmy McShue.
He was bright and funny with millions of wits and I couldn't look away, no way, not from Jimmy McShue.
When I grow up guess what I what I want to be? You know it, just like you.

Jimmy played baseball and excelled, he was natural with a bat.
I joined the team and tried so hard, but damnit I can't even put on the stiff brimmed hat.
They cheered for you and laughed at me.
Next year, sixth grade guess what I want to be?
Football and foursquare your feet are like wings.
God so many girls your praise they would sing.
Facemasked at practice again and again.
“You're a loser!" “Am I?” “Who me?” “My name's Leon, but my friends call me Lee:)” “Seventh grade “ You're Peon" that was my name, damn I was blue.
I still kept on trying, mirroring Jimmy McShue.

High school a pube, pheromones in the air.
Boys eyes wide open, girls legs everywhere.
They invited me to a party hosted by Mr.
McShue.
Damn, maturity? Finally a friend.
Maybe? Fingers crossed? They were hard to cross broken, at the hands of his crew.
Yeah, he ordered it, Jimmy McShue.

Silence, a snail, head burried in tears.
That's how I moped around for one plus one years.
Now all of that moping gave this junior now senior time to think.
Alone with my friends, invisible you'd say.
That's only cause when you look I order them, they're hidden away.
Back to our thoughts on Jimmy McShue, hmmmm, what then should “crackle fingers" secretly do?
I followed him once, then twice, night after night.
It wasn't enough a fair fist fight.
He laughed at us, get him! Remove all his air! Squeeze him, tie him to a chair! So I saw him smiling, pretty teeth and rosy cheeks.
I'm gonna get him early next week.
Right before college, so he's pretty for his pictures.

My heart's racing in the bushes Jimmy McShue.
I've waited six years to be like you.
We could have been friends, lover's, companions, God we all adore you.
Now it's my turn to assume you.
He's coming, I'm shaking and I peed in my jeans.
I squeezed his mouth so he wouldn't scream.
I drug him into the bushes at his parents place.
He just wouldn't stop screaming, so I started hitting his face.
It wasn't with knuckles, that's for the brave.
I was a coward, it was a rock, his face I did cave.
Smashing and smashing, I was crying for his life.
He took his last breath and I kissed him goodnight.

Leon


Since then!
To recite my tale, I won't take you long back,
the story is still the same,
No solutions to hack.

It starts since then,
When our breasts are upright,
Harrased we are while walking on lonely paths at night.

Since then our skirts go long,
Sights on the floor,
Barred we get,
This society wants to see us behind the doors…
Their hoarse voice and musculine abs,
They do flaunt,
In daydreams so bright, These stray minds are too quick to haunt…
They have a heart of Wolf, so they mask their face,
And talk about our liberty, all with shameless grace.

They have hands wet in blood so they put them in their pockets,
Presence of a beauty make their eyes escape the eye ball socket.

It all starts since then,
when our tummies go flat and thin,
Prey you are with any colour of skin…
They talk of moon,
But live in centuries back,
For them women are play toys,
And their existence is just to get attacked.

It starts since then,
When our phone is ringed every hour… to know whether everything is fine???
Since then every women's heart cries in despondence,
Of the fear of being harrased and molested.

Still we bow and thankyou,
For making this heaven even worse than hell.

We don't have a heart of iron,
Or a body of gold,
For us too, these vibes are cold…
But despite of this pain,
you'll never realise….

The bane of your mother's womb.

The existence of men is the live evidence,
That women are strong.

I feel pitty for them who think….
.
That they pardon their sympathy on us!
~Akshita.

(P.
S.
– I am not Generalizing every one, this is in context to those, who really need to get over their dirty mindset.
)

☮️


Unbelievable!
In this whole big universe,
I exist on this tiny Earth.

Is life a blessing or a curse?
To be living here, am I worth?
Whenever I see the millions of stars glow,
I realise how small I am,
The reality of this world, will I ever come to know,
Did it really begin with a bang?
So many questions remain unsolved,
How have living beings evolved?
The plants, the fruits and every single flower,
Shows me the nature's great power.

Still, whatever I do makes a little difference,
I wonder how someone has created this all with brilliance.

How the lightening occurs and the clouds rise,
Each and every thing leaves me in surprise.

So big, from head to toe,
How does a creature grow?
Everything appears to be so wonderful,
Yet it is so simple and colorful.

This universe is filled with things which are unbelievable,
Yet, it is so lovable.

Everything here remains unpredictable,
Even with millions of words, it is just indescribable.

Yashasvi Ghadale
(^_^)


Well, this poem describes the turmoil running in the head of a broken girl and how she decides to take action and takes control of it.

HER (PART 1)
EYES
I look into her eyes-pitch black,
Fluttering, flickering, flinching,
Unstable, unsteady, uncertain,
Is the only way into her soul's veracity
Reflecting her gloom back.

All the words she uttered,
Lies she swallowed, spewed, snaked,
Smiles she forced, faltered, faked
Did her no good to hide back
When the pair were in contact.

Makeup smeared,smeared tears,
Eyes -windows of her soul
Show her earnest desire
To shout, scream and howl
All that her heart within mewl,
Stand tall gates of her heart
Clamping her mouth shut,
She hides behind the veils of the dark.

HER (PART 2)
KALEIDOSCOPE
In her dense black eyes
I see a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Now she is lost in the deep ocean of conception
And I in her black and white eyes globes
Filled with elation.

Happy, light-hearted, mellifluous
Her nostalgic expression.

With her eyes swollen she
Blushes,
Looks through her lashes she
Flushes,
With merry memories that
Rushes.

Nothing lasts forever.

Good times end; smiles fade.

Hers fade with a look of
depression, distress, and disgust.

Then I'm filled with fascination
Of the sudden swerve in her deep eye-oceans,
Fills her with something powerful.

Cold eyes stare back,
Wrath from the bowels of her heart
Shines luminous,
Malicious, vicious, venomous.

Her stare is like an alpha in command
Her gaze is now fixed and focused.

She changes in front of me,
Changes in her kaleidoscope ends.

THANKS, IF YOU READ ALL THE WAY.
IT MEANS A LOT TO ME.

.

.


Labour Party
The resuscitaire is beeping
The lights dash from the ceiling
Her walls are fidgeting
Her condition is threatening
Her water breaks,some call it bottles popping
Her cervix trapped, she soon feels she's flopping
Shes in the farthest star,but she just can't shout it.

She shouldn't be shy ,it's a labour party.

The nurses are shaky ,but they try to fake it.

The doctor feels flaccid yet hopes he can make it.

The latest father smiles, oops! it's still a maybe
The latest mother pants, for nine months she craved this.

The foetus is racing, it's shunning its grassroots.

The cord is amazing until it is cut loose.

A baby is being born,life begins a fast boot.

Oh Daddy is crying, his tears feel like hot booze.

A woman A saviour A mother A true one
She laid down in silence and took in a spermdrop
In worry and agony, she popped out a live one.

A martyr A heroine raced on through a ram's horn.

The whole ward is gay now, melancholy erased.

Even she has forgotten the agony she faced
In a year,you ll see us being suddenly chatty.

Remember before then was a labour party.

Source : Labour Party – Steemit


I wrote it according to my point of view.
Hope you'll like it.

A plant
FRIENDS are the flowers of our life,
With whom becomes melodious the fife.

Who are with us in our hard times,
Those who put a smile when we cry.

Whose visages differ according to our mood,
They protect us like a goalkeeper do.

Those who indulge us in nonsense fights,
Before whom we behave like a Knight!
~~
PARENTS are the roots of our life,
With whom we have a hell lot of fights.

Their efforts can't be measured with naked eye,
As they are high like the sky.

They can show their wrath well but not love,
It needs a lot to understand their harsh words.

If you loose some valuable things, they can show their anger,
But by committing suicide or hurting yourself, you make them a beggar!
:(:


Yes.
I write poems every day, every week, every month, and year round, poetry is both vocation and avocation for me.

At present, I have written over 1,500 poems which covers almost all topics from socio-economic, cultural, religious and governmental related activities, environment, animals, health, gender/sexuality, immigration, race, education/learning, science & technology, space exploration, and love.
Issues covered also include International relations and geopolitics.

Not forgetting ancient world of Egypt, Sumerian-site of one of the earliest civilizations located in southernmost part of Mesopotamia; Assyrians, Babylonians, Media-Persia, Greece, Roman Empire, and Africa.

My literary work has taken me conduct research into religions, which fall in to these categories:
Intersently, my work covers various types of poetry:
This is one of my work that focuses on LIFE:
VANITY!
VANITY!
VANITY!
What’s in life that blossom
today,
but fades away tomorrow?
What’s in life full of energy
today,
but reduced to pain,
ache, trouble,
and difficulty by tomorrow?
What joy is there in
life that seems
promising in the morning,
becomes sour in the afternoon,
but turns extremely
bitter at night?
What happiness is
there in life,
when today’s body parts,
teeth, eyes, ears, legs, fingers,
and hands give way to,
aging, sickness, infirmity,
and death?
How sad will it be when man
remembers his
gone youthful days;
but now lie in sick
bed with wrinkles,
flakes, and gray hair?
How unhappy will man be
when he remembers
the clear
sight of yesterday,
which has given way to
concave, convex,
single, bi-focal or
laser lenses?
How frustrating can
it be when man
remembers those good and
happy sounds of yesterday from
functional ears;
but now gone,
or at the very best
assisted by hearing aids?
How incomplete will life be
when man recalls the skips,
dance steps, runs, walks, stands
on those wonderful body frames;
that have now gone weak,
and become feeble?
How disheartening
will it be for man
when those strong
yesteryear fingers,
can barely hold a morsel?
And wonderful hands
of bygone days
can hardly lift or
carry an object?
Can you imagine the
pains, disappointment,
when man recalls the most
powerful body part-
ever-working machine-
HEART that has pumped
Billions of gallons of
oxygenated materials;
now depends on
ventilator, pace-maker,
or battery to function?
Can you imagine the pain,
discomfort,
man goes through
when the lung-
the specially
created air-pipe
refuses to function;
but depends on
oxygen tank and machine
to sustain life?
Can you measure the pain
when the body mill
machine shop-the LIVER,
refuses to pulverize,
reduce to powder,
micronize, granulate,
and sift chemicals,
and other ingested
objects coming in
to the body?
Can you measure
severity of pain and
shame-
when the
City Re-Cycling
Plant-the Kidney
breaks down,
and natural process
of waste filtering and
removal from the body is
artificially and mechanically,
managed through dialysis?
These questions should remind
every living soul that life of:
40, 50, 60, 70,
80 plus is nothing,
but VANITY.

Life will only be
meaningful,
when the love for
God is paramount in
individual’s life.

2).
On Woman:
Make Her:
If
you make her smile,
you receive in hundred
folds,
if you make her laugh,
she makes you laugh,
and laughter becomes
your companion.

If you make her joyful,
happiness surrounds you,
if you give her dance,
she turns your drummer,
if you give her joyful song,
she makes your courtyard,
home-of-benediction.

If you give her love,
she returns thousand times,
if her heart becomes
your home,
she gives you her mind.

BUT
make her cry,
home becomes a
wailing garden,
make her weep,
home turns to rainfall
of cry;
ignore her,
she looks elsewhere,
abuse her,
she turns violent,
betray her,
she leaves you.

When
You keep her in mind,
she shows compassion,
radiates love,
walk with you on kindness
pathway,
gives you peace of mind.

Then
She becomes a blessing,
a garden of roses,
a galaxy,
a sea wave of peace,
a sun-bath in summer,
a rain-of-blessing, and
a drum of beautiful symphony.

3).
On Life:
Naked
Naked I was in the dark
room of life,
without hat, clothing,
socks, and shoes,
I felt no heat,
no cold, no sickness.

Naked-I arrived into
the world,
naked I was received
by waiting guests into
open palms and hands.

Naked are the talents
and potentials stored
on my DNA,
naked is the beauty in
me,
without covering,
I display
my body color.

Without clothe,
my voice is known,
naked is the character,
I will soon exhibit,
naked is the reputation
soon to demonstrate.

Naked all men before
heaven,
naked all women at
labor room,
naked all humans in
the shower,
naked all shall return.


This is a poem I wrote in poem writing competition conducted on 28.
10.
2017 in my school on topic Future.

FUTURE
“What will be their future?”
I often think;
On seeing-
Few of my classmates.

On seeing the ones
Who shout in the class;
On seeing the ones
Who disturb the class;
On seeing the ones
Who use foul language;
On seeing the ones
Who fight with each other;
On seeing the ones
Who disrespect their teacher;
On seeing the ones
Who bunk the class.

According to me,
A person is never bad -
But
Her/his conditions make him/her bad.

So these pupils might be mentally frustrated or disappointed,
That’s why they behave like this.

But the question is-
“What will be their future?”
Our future is defined by
What we do today ,
And this is done by these pupils.

Blessings are worth,
But will these pupils be blessed ,
Or will they be cursed,
By the ones whom they hurt.

Time changes
Those who laugh today
Disturbing the class,
Will be laughed at
In the future.

Future will let them know
The importance of a teacher.

Future will make them
Pay the price for their current acts.

We cannot predict our future
But we can surely create it.

THANKYOU.

This poem I wrote after getting inspired from my classroom.

Rakhil.


The Chance (Original Poem)
Treading water, my face barely above it
My mind drifting, thinking about why
Everything everybody ever told me was a lie
As my life events flash before me eyes
I think about what it must be like to die
Then in an instant, what it's like to live
Live without worry but something's gotta give
Then, with calmness, I relax and begin to float
No longer thinking about sinking, making a mental note
To walk on water you gotta get outta the boat
With new-found strength I swim toward the shore
Defeat and discouragement holding me back no more
With your helping hand, I come up on dry land
Thankful that you cared enough to take a stand
Know that your kindness was more than happenstance
All I ever wanted and needed was the chance
The chance to realize my true worth
A gift given to all equally from birth
But equality is skewed for some in life
Living with more than their fair share of strife
But then again, it's still possible to win
If at first you don't succeed try, try again
Quit crying and complaining about life's hard knocks
Instead, engage your mind and think out of the box
These are the times when anyone can succeed
The chance to do so is all that you need
Be ready when opportunity knocks on your door
Identify and sharpen your skills, even the score
Everybody's good at something, it's true
Find out and develop what's good for you
Take any chance you are given
Be tenacious and be driven
You'll see you can do it if you try
Try like you mean it and that's no lie
Your power to succeed will be enhanced
If you engage your power when given the chance
By Amarie
Seize opportunities.
Seek them out.
Never give up.

Thank you for visiting.
You are very much appreciated.

Image Source


This is a poem I wrote as an ode to poetry on World Poetry Day.
Poetry is a powerful tool of literary significance that has evolved through centuries, taking several garbs.
Literature in every language, civilization, dialect and culture is not unaware of poetry.
I come across beautiful writing both in poetry and prose through extensive reading, but when I intend to squeeze out and relieve myself of the deadening vacuum inside, poetry redeems me.

"Why Poetry?"
Poetry is rescue:
When writhing bunch
Of words entrapped
Within
Pave an escape route
Through calculated movements
Of your nerves twitching
And your fingers arranging themselves
To write.

Poetry is a placebo:
Sugar coated metaphors
Arranged in a carefully chosen
Meter, or may be splashed
Upon a page in a rhapsody;
Blobs of letters in an absurd fashion.

It smoothes the wrinkles
On your skin, on your mind,
Imbued with the anxieties
Of unsolved angst.

Poetry is healing:
The wounds that go
Deeper than the
Skin, blood, or bone
And make home
In a dark corner
Of your soul;
The words reach out
The whimpering fragment
Of your 'Self', pleading
For a ray of light.

You can find this poem, and many others on my Instagram account : the.
original.
chaiwaali (@laveenabehl07) • Instagram photos and videos

Thanks for reading!


Yes, actually.
I’m usually terrible at writing, but I have a poem published on TeenInk.
It hasn’t been put into the hard copy newsletter yet, but if enough people give feedback it might have a chance.
If it does, I’ll update this answer.

A man walking back to a cold empty room,
Just the barest of beds and a perpetual gloom.

Can’t bear to call it home for the term home implies
A place where a heart lives, and not where one dies.

He walked past the woods, when some shadow he spied,
A small spectre flitted, in the corner of his eye.

Determined to find this mysterious creature,
He ran through the woods, dodging branches and creepers.

On an old tree stump the being did lay,
A shadow of a child, asking only to play.

The man backed away with much haste, don’t you see,
For the child before him was none other than he.

The man knew what it was, this ethereal schemer,
The ghost of his childhood, the death of a dreamer.

Death of a Dreamer
Tell me what you think in the comments or by rating on the TeenInk website!
Edit: Some people can’t open the link for some reason.
Just read the poem right here then.


Yes I can! And I’ve even wrote two poems.

Here is one of them:
Serendipity…
Sitting at my workstation I kept swirling my chair around,
 Battling the strenuous drowse that tried to yoke me to the ground,
 “How could this happen? This is the first hour of my job,” I wondered,
 I chuckled.
“How fool of me! It’s Monday today,” I remembered.

I peeked to my left to see an empty chair,
 “No-one to talk around; hey, that’s so unfair!”

I cringed viscerally at the thought of spending the day without uttering a word,
 I tried to re-task my focus on my computer screen when a soft voice I heard,
 Made me turn, and as I did, I veered myself to the source of the euphonic voice,
 I felt the dumbfoundedness of a person bewitched by a magical spell, twice.

For some moments I couldn’t decrypt the words that her lips uttered,
 As I just kept staring into her graceful eyes, helpless and all cluttered.

She asked with a soft smile, “Is this person absent today?” and motioned to the workstation on my left,
 I felt my dopamine surge at the possibility of what might happen next,
 I nodded as soon as I realised my tongue has gone numb,
 She ensconced herself and smiled, her cheeks as rotund as a plum.

I swallowed a lump in my throat that I didn’t realise had formed,
 I wasn’t hoping for anything like this but I liked what my day had unboxed.

“What is she? Are humans allowed to be this beautiful?” I questioned my mind,
 Was she a manifestation of my dreams or an angel in disguise!
 It seemed like her eyes possessed a power in them like Midas in his hands,
 A sight of innocence that could even force the flying time to land.

I leaned forward a little to catch a glimpse of her pretty brown eyes,
 She turned to me with a gaze of a doe and my tongue again got tied.

“Any problem?” She questioned me with a raise of her brow,
 “Yes, your eyes.
They’re too beautiful,” the response I couldn’t let out,
 Instead I shook my head and turned my eyes away from her,
 My peripheral could see her blushing; it seemed the bubble has finally burst.

I tried to venture a conversation but failed to remember the morphemes,
 The anonymity between us allowed the nervousness to sweep in.

I sighed deeply and turned about to do what I’m paid for,
 But her presence beside me made it harder for me to stay calm,
 An unexpected “Hello” came from my left and an introduction followed the greet,
 Although stunned by the suddenness I tried to smile at her, from cheek to cheek.

We exchanged our names and conversed a little for a while,
 Before she got engaged in her work and I in mine.

After hours of punching the keyboard buttons I stretched my arms and yawned,
 She giggled at me and I took it as a cue to move my first pawn,
 I embarked, “I’m going to the cafeteria to have some tea”,
 I hesitated for a moment and resumed, “would you like to come with me?”

She rolled her eyes and I understood she has refused my kind and genuine offer,
 I began to walk away.
“Wait a minute, let me lock my PC,” and then I saw her got up.

We walked our way to the cafeteria, slower than two people normally would,
 My chivalry erupted as I held the door open for her as she entered the room,
 We occupied a table for two and it appeared like a date-night is about to happen,
 With she in front of me and the stories that we shared, it seemed like all the troubles in the world didn’t matter.

I mulled over the thought that I might have a crush on her smile,
 But there was an absolute certainty that I had fallen in love with her eyes.

She shared some cheerful stories about her childhood and also the moments in her life she remorse,
 She had a way of crinkling her nose adorably that made her appear cuter than she was before,
 “You may have a body of a woman but you have a sweetness of a child,” I abruptly blurted out,
 She smiled deep into my eyes and I could feel the brightest smile I ever had form on my mouth.

“That’s the sweetest thing someone has ever said about me,” she blushed a little while she said this,
 It took us a moment to realise that we’re holding hands; the touch of hers was something I couldn’t resist.

We got up as we finished our beverages and sauntered our way back to our daily routine,
 I tried to rein my thoughts that our day was about to end, but my efforts were all just futile,
 I just wished this night shall never pass as I wanted to spend more of my time with her,
 We logged out of our PC’s as our shift ended but I craved for one last conversation with this girl.

While ambling towards the exit in silence I turned on my heels to look into her beautiful brown eyes,
 I sighed as I looked at her and tried to settle down the feeling to hug her that was about to rise,
 “I spent this beautiful day with a beautiful girl I wish I could see more of,” I said with truthfulness in my voice,
 She smiled at the ground and then looked up, “You will.
Tomorrow at 8.
Here’s my number.
The place is your choice.


I asked him to call me back when free, he denied saying, “Stop counting on me for your glee!”
I asked him to stay back for a little while; he left in haste saying he forgot the work of an important file!
I asked him to text me when he reaches home; he snapped stating, “Leave me alone!”
I asked him, where was he last night; vexed he said, he wanted to be away from my sight!
I asked him if he needs some food; enraged he said my cooking wasn’t good!
I asked him if he needs me anymore; his callous reply burnt me till core!
I asked him to leave and let me live; he came begging “Don’t you have another chance to give?”
Happy Reading! :)


A LOVER'S RECLUSE
The window seat,
The wind messing up your hair,
Your face brightening up,
The cool breeze showering you with incessant kisses.

You stare at the vast nothingness
As we lose sight of the meadows
One after the other.

And when the sun rays caress you
The scarlet hues at play,
Ah! Such a delightful spectacle!
Remember the endless thoughts we used to share?
The ones you'll chuckle at,
The ones that'd well up your eyes
And you'd embrace me, firmly
As our stories would blend
With each breath of yours.

Then, as all good things must end,
So do our journey,
The painful phase of disunion,
Where the stories are no stranger to you,
The lines impressed upon your mind,
The ending all familiar to you.

But the separation is temporary,
I know, you'll come to visit me,
Pick me up from the shelf,
Relive all the words we've shared
Trace your hands on my shoulder
And make me fall for you again.

Then you'll put me back at my place,
My pages still yearning for your touch, yet another time.

It's been an hour and you still haven't flipped over my pages,
How I love it when you read through my words!
Eyes strained but eager,
Immersed in my characters.

So for once,
Hold me close to you,
And savor the aroma,
I've heard people like you love the smell of old books.

-Sampad Dutt


I have written around 100 bad poems so far.
But I believe that writing be it short stories or poems or anything gets better with practice, as does most things.
Here goes one of my latest poems-

Sponge
Half past midnight-
 As the night lengthens, the drizzle morphs into rain.

 The neon lady blows a kiss, in the general direction;
 (Primordial marketing)
 “Drink my beer” says the sign.

 Sure I would but not for the sign, for myself.
.
.

Three down three more to go-
 The lady in neon kisses again, her lips more iridescent than ever;
 The mother in the opposite apartment rebukes her child,
 Homework was classwork, apparently.

 Changed roles happily.

 The girl in the verandah blushes on phone, our glances meet, she shifts hers away.

 I laugh in my mind.
.
.

 Below, the caretaker of the apartment is gilling the fish humming an old song
I like looking at people, following their daily life, oblivious to and of anyone.

 “Artistic voyeurism”, I retort to myself.

 I'm simply enjoying the flavors life has to offer, (to others)
I stumble my way to bed,
 Tomorrow's an important day, I must soak up everything of this place today.

(We're all sponges of flesh, blood and bone, soaking up experiences on the road to eternity.
)
~Biswadeep
Please visit my WordPress blog for more:- The Pretentious Panda's Blog [Biswadeep Ghosh Hazra]
You can also check out my blog here on Quora:- Biswa Writes (Rather Poorly)


Between the green chilling woods and arid parched desert,
Without a first thought, everyone chooses a greener path.

Filled with green beauty, chirping birds, colourful flowers.

You get fruits from trees, water from ponds, shelter from caves.

You have utmost of all.
No shortage of anything.

This continues everyday, same fruits, same shelter, same house.

The cycle continues, now you are tired of all.

You are frustrated, bored, lack of challenges makes you dull.

You find no point of living, you have everything, your life is perfect.

Another person, chooses desert.
Is being called crazy, but chose it anyhow.

He hates it from beginning.
A land full of nothing but dust.

He walks and walks only to find nothing.

Walks with thirst, walks with hunger, walks with no energy.

The bloody hot burning sun, no tree either to take shelter.

He falls sick, starts to puke, couldn't walk anymore, starts crawling.

He chews cactaceae, to fulfill his thirst.

Its thorns hurt his hand, its taste is damn bitter.

After days of struggle, he spots oasis miles away.

Crawling faster amid no strength, fully exhausted.

Finally reaches a small area of woods, in the middle of vast wasteland.

A small pond surrounded by big trees.
Heaven in the Hades.

Imagine his satisfaction! Choose the path less travelled.

Don’t buy comfort, earn it.

Updated: 11.06.2019 — 6:24 pm

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