Poetry Showetry



This is a thread where you can share poems, not necessarily ones that would go on wattpad, but just poetry. Whether you’re trying it for the first time, or have been doing it for years, you can just comment a poem (one per comment), and let people read it. You can discuss the poem, and what you think it means, or help with spelling. You could talk about other related things too, I don’t mind, just keep the main topic being poems.

Here is one of my other threads!

The Antisocial's Social Club
Story ramblings! The Tea Of The Day Is - Magical Unicorn Fart Rainbow Tea!! XD


Where did my sanity go?
In the air,
or in the ground.

I should start looking.
for it.
But I don’t want to.

Just sayin’
It’s fun being insane.

Don’t want to follow,
follow the rules.
I make my own.

Don’t want to stay,
stay grounded to reality.
Reality follows my lead.

Don’t want to be rational,
Irrationality makes the fun in life.
Life should be fun.

Don’t want to be normal,
I just want to be me.

A rule breaker,

All the best things should be,


I agreeee, every great genius has a hint of madness!

And would this be better in the poetry club?


I didn’t hear of a poetry club.
But then again, i’m pretty new to wattpad.


More poetry!!

Silent As The Grave

The night is silent.
Silent as the grave.

The sky is dark.
Dark as ink.

My mind is in chaos.
Screams echoing in my head.

Horrors untold were seen by mine eyes.
Created by my own hands.

The darkness beckons.
Welcoming me to join it.
I do not fight back.

My heart as is dark as the blood dripping from my knife.


Yeah!there is a club section for each genre #genre-clubs:poetry


Ok. Thx.


I picked up one chapter in my midnight thoughts book here. Can you give me some thoughts and comments about this poem?

To my Amigo full of deception

Why do you only stick with your perception?

You’ve trapped me for so long

Why don’t you just admit that you’ve done wrong?

We can’t have a clean slate

when you keep on throwing your friends in a maze

You somehow think you’re unpredictable

But news flash, I can understand you just like a riddle

You keep on over-analyzing things

that’s why it stings

I don’t care how long we’ve been friends

You don’t act like one, anyways

Don’t worry, I kept the things you’ve entrusted me

I just want to fly and feel free

from the chains you settle around my neck

for so long I’ve been a wreck

But, I’ll never hold it against you

You’re the experience that elevated my hue

So, honestly, thank you


Woohoo, no pressure sharing! I like it. I used to write poems like I breathed air, constant, but fiction has taken over. So this is a nice exercise. This forum doesn’t preserve my unusual formatting, but oh well. :stuck_out_tongue:


if you know how to touch my face then do
but i’ve got a smokey feeling about this day, it has
too much potential and too much bright.

it is easier, or harder. why it comes
i don’t know.
always about this push and shove
or give and take
or trying, trying, trying

i want a small thing,
a popsicle.

i want a corner for that garden, a tree with a bench
like i am anne of green gables, a book
in hand, so many thoughts,
here on my palms;
they are raised to the sun to be burned

i know she’s always there. she has guided and directed
if she’s tired; (no, she’s always tired)
she doesn’t show it except at the start of the day–

it is still dark. she’s looking for a hidden spot. a shaded corner.

it’s too simple,
and too much to reach for.


I’d like to give some input to everyone who has shared, as well.

@castlequeen2004 I really liked the verse “Don’t want to follow, / follow the rules. / I make my own.” The entire poem has a sense of bravado. I’m mentally ill, personally, so naturally I interpreted it from my own POV and experience. And I own the word “crazy”, I don’t let anyone tell me there’s something I should be ashamed of – sure it has downsides, but as your poem says…it can be fun to eschew this concept of reality, and instead say “Reality follows my lead.” Powerful!

As for your next poem, I greatly enjoyed the cadence of it. 2 lines, 2 lines, 2 lines, 2 lines, then a crash of 3 lines: “The darkness beckons” Then ending with a single, vivid line. I love the formatting of it.

@Chacharapppp You pulled me in with your first line alone! This poem is strong, it hums with a mightiness. It’s a wonderful POV, and some wonderful lines in there. Like “You’re the experience that elevated my hue” – wow! Excellent work.


I’m glad that you liked my poems!!



“What is the answer?”
Asked the elf to the crow.

“To do or to die,
To love or to lie,
To flee or to fly.”
Said the crow in response.

“You speak in riddles”
Said the elf in dismay.

The crow responded,
“Do I?
Or do I speak the truth?
For life is a riddle,
So riddles are truth.
A riddle is the answer.”

“Just give me the answer!!”
Growled the elf in anger.

“You shall get your answer!”
Said the crow.
“The answer will lie when you find the end.”

“The end of what!?”
Yelled the elf,
Tired of misdirection.

“The riddle!”
Said the crow.
“The end of the riddle!”

“How do I get to the end?”
Cried the elf.

“When you understand,
Then the end is clear.”
The crow told the elf.

“How do I understand!!”
The elf screamed.

Said the crow as he flew away,

And the elf tried no more,
For life is a riddle,
and nothing is ever clear.



Strength of the mind.
Lucid and powerful within the realm of sleep.

I can do anything,
Just as long as I close my eyes.

Anger at reality,
For breaking me free of my creation.
My own reality is within my mind.

I can only reach it,
Through the window of sleep.

Why do you take away my powers when I wake?
I would rework the world,
Fix everything,
Make everything,

Why do you take away what makes me special?
You take away what sets me aside from the others,
And expect me to thrive.

You take away my magic,
And when you send me back,
I get it again.
I can take nothing with me to the realm called your reality.


Wauw some powerful poetry, i particular enjoyed Riddles, you seem to have great insight into humanity and what is to be treasured, i like that you have powerful themes, and that they resonate deeply with me.

I feel that even though you have this wonder in your poetry, there is also an undertone of melancholy and depression, aloneness, scarring.

Though these two poems transcend both the negative and the positive qualities that you have created.

The stealing of our primal and spiritual uniqueness thats trampled by society and the likes of friends, loved ones, enemies, strangers.

Thank you for these poems they kept me going a little bit better on a dark day, that has turned into a few dark months…


A Bygone Era
I fear this is the end… a long dragged out scene.
Returning to this monotony.
I see the same patterns every day.
The long arduous road.
It seems so fucking opaque.
So goddamn trivial.
Is this what they call life?
I’ve had enough then, let me drown in it.
Let me feel the blade as I quake.
The only sensation that seems… real.

And I hope for a day of tomorrow.
A day that never comes.
When I can escape this circle.
A circle of self violence, decay and stagnation.

I fell like I’d never find fulfillment.
To always be the wanderer on the same path.
Going in circles and circles and circles.
More despair, more repetition, until I vomit.

And they say I live the good life, I hate to see whats the bad.
For I can barely stand this one, how do they do it?
How do they cope.

My violence is against the world, my self hatred is long gone.
Poof away, and its not the self pitying, its not the loss of anything.
Its the dimmer of hope, I fear the great monotony.
I fear it with all my heart.
I fear ending this poem because that would mean death.
Death of what?
Of silence?
Of truth?
Perhaps a momentary glimmer to the great beyond.
Something thats pure, alive and honest.

Something that expresses and sums up the consciousness of humanity.
I wont weep for myself, for I’m not sad.
Just a tired old soul, in the twilight of my youth.
Too tired to push on, too stubborn to die.

But somewhere deep within it all, I think, hope and feel…
That there must be something more than this.

There must be a way out of this rut, anything and I don’t want to go back.
To the old habits of yesterday.
The weed, and the violence, and the self destructiveness.
They’ve all flown before me.
They’ve become tiny fissures in a scarred mind.
Holding on to the past in some kind of post apocalyptic landscape.

If you’re out there, if you’re listening to this.
I hope this poem will give you some salvation.
I hope it will remind you of what you have.
Because my best years have come and gone before me.
And I didn’t even realize it.
Now the great burden of monotony awaits me.
More circles, more madness, more… nothing.

Continuously unfolding before me.
Like an endless maze, a cavern.
Where the sky never penetrates.
Where the oceans never reach.

Some unending thing, I can’t put into words.
How did everything get so messed up.
I’m screaming but I don’t feel anything.
I am hollow. Like the fissures.
I’m withered like the trees of winter.
Passing from some bygone era.
I want to weep.
For the things that I’ve yet to experience.
To the love I’m bound to find.
Yet there is no solace.
No catharsis here.
Just a blank page, and some words.
And to be honest, that fills me with something.
Its the one reason I’m here.
The one reason I’m alive.
The thing that keeps me going.
The pleasures of my post apocalyptic madhouse that I call my mind.
Tales of wonder from a bygone era.


We Had Flowers:

We had flowers in our gardens, beautiful flowers. Oh how the roses seemed to bloom, how even the marigold was made a thing of beauty. With light pale petals. Blooming and smiling up with at us with stellar awe, we had a fountain, alive with northern pikes, piranhas, of roses and marigolds, and sprout trees tall as ever reaching up into the heavens on a cloudless summer day. we saw that even the ugliest of plants became a thing of wonder under the right lens.

But somehow, sometime the glasses must come off, and the truth hit us harder than ever. And we were bound to find out that a marigold is just a marigold. And no matter how much sunlight you give it, how much rain pours over it, it simply remains the same. A simple plant with not much to offer lest in style nor in depth.

But you had thorns in queer places, and there was no time for caution, and I had splinters everywhere. Trying to chisel away your spikes.
But they went to deep I’m afraid.

Now the garden is empty, the fish had eaten themselves long before the fountain dried out, the trees decayed and the plants withered. We used to have flowers in our garden, beautiful flowers. Now the garden is empty and the cloudless summer day has turned to bitter moonlight.


Life Is A Game

Life Is A game.
Full of pain.
You get it right,
You get it wrong.
No matter what,
Listen to the song.

The song of time,
The song of rhyme.
It’s all a game.
You do not win,
You do not lose.

You only have to make it,
To the end.



It’s all a rhyme.
What you take,
Is what you get.

What you give,
Is how you live.
A gift to the world,
Or a curse,
A plauge.

It’s how you live.
What you give,
Or what you take.



All the words and ideas swirling around in my mind.
my mouth their only escape.
breaking things.
trying to get out.

Once they started,
they kept on going.
never stopping,
never breaking,

A torrent of ideas,
all itching to escape.
Not giving me a break,
not letting me escape.

Controlling me,
making me.
taking hold,
and breaking their way out.


What Is Eternal?

What is eternal?

All we know is,
Nothing is permanent,
Except for death.

But perhaps,
That too,
Is not eternal.
We do not know,
Until we get to the end.