Poetry Showetry

discussion
poetry

#122
lol just came up with this while google searching images of aesthetic poetry. Kind of a diss on insta-poetry, so warning

some turn their facebook statuses into books,
laminated glossy pages
of half-thoughts and simple truths

breaking sentences
into
lines,
is killing trees
for this short text
that barely fills a page
poetic?
is this dead-tree, simple language,
and no punctuation, your aesthetic?

Thoughts?


#123

Damn that’s a diss (lmao)
Do I agree with it? Not really (probably coz I used to write Insta poetry too)
But the poem is great…like the flow is amazing.


#125

I A L R E A D Y K N E W

I sat late at nights,
Immersed in my books,
Hoping for a distraction,
For the voices in my head,
Were too loud.
Reminding me,
Of what I already knew.
How you wouldn’t ever like me,
The way I wanted you to.
You would never look at me,
And say you want me.
When I need you.
You would never look at me,
Say you’re mine.
Though I’m already yours.
You would never look at me,
And see me.
The thoughts kept coming,
The more I pushed them,
Drowning me into
An ocean of self-hatred.

A poem from my Book WAITINGFORYOU.


#126

Yeah it’s definitely a diss. Sorry if it was offensive of your earlier works. I should correct myself that this was conjured up while I was reading book snippets of famous instagram poets like Rupi Kaur (as I later went on reading criticism on her), hence the references of books and text that barely fills up a page.

As for inta-poetry and “tumblr” poetry, I’m unsure where I stand. I’ll be honest and admit sometimes- I have fell into jealousy when I’ve seen this type of work receive more exposure, but on the other hand I’ve read this type of poetry before and found pieces I thoroughly enjoyed or that resonated with me - both from Rupi Kaur works or other famous instagram poets to poets here on Wattpad.


#127

Rupi Kaur is definitely one of my favourite poets.


#128

Rainy days,
Cloudy and gray
Filled with ballet
And child’s play.

All we can do is wait
As the rain falls at its own rate.
It allows terrific debates
About our fellow primates

Who unfortunately decide our fates
In this day and age.
But my views and political outrage
Are dismissed due to my teenage.

The rain pitters and patters,
streaking the windows in patterns.
We sit here in silence
As the rain begins to riot.


#130

Artificial Raspberries
Blueberries
And pie

Larkspur
Violets
Forget-me-nots
And columbine

The ocean and its waves
The sky and its clouds
They’re all blue and proud

Trust, loyalty, wisdom,
Intelligence, trust, faith,
And heaven

Blue is my leaven
But the only thing in question
Is why it represents depression


#131

I think it’s more that poetry with rhyme and rhythm appears in the form of songs. I’ve seen many poets call it confining, and it does feel that way to me too. But kudos to poets who could do that! They’re insanely talented.


#132

That’s a perfect representation of how younger people are treated. Somehow, people believe age=wisdom, and that really isn’t true.


#134

I wanted to share this from my existing poem book because I don’t usually do free verse:

Rain

I hear that tapping on the window in the early morning
small hands knocking to wake me up
the calming rhythm of water
with a grey tint.
I see the wet concrete and army of umbrellas
and poor souls with no cover
running to the nearest shop for shelter.
Street lights yellow glow
and cars go past
sliding across the water.
Cold water numbing my hands
as I clutch my umbrella
because I can’t get my bag wet.
The smell of rain everywhere
overpowering the scents of rubbish or fresh chips.
Rooms are always dark
so the living room is now a cave.
The laptop screen glows extra bright
and those small hands are still trying to get my attention.


#135

wrap me in your beauty
drape me in your love
feeling elegant and marvellous,
and looking like an angel
sent from Heavens above

pretty in pastel pinks,
soft yellows, and honeydew
I’ll be looking like a goddess
as I strut down 5th Avenue


#136

Black lips
Velvet kiss
Unwrapped by
My fingertips
Dreams happening
Behind my eyelids

Sheer, black nylons
Heart-shaped face
Covered in bronze
She’s an icon
A magnificent siren
That has the mind of a diamond

Full of jazz
But her humor is crass
That stings like brass
And is full of sass
Too bad nobody
Wants any of that


#137

Something kind of strange popped into my head. If I built time machine and changed the past or kept going back to a special moment. Wouldn’t I be missing out on the present? Instead of making new memories in the present, I continue to visit memories I already made. Its like I want to live in the past. Not the present, its true that things may have been easier in the past. Little responsibility, waiting to get older, Time could tick away and it didn’t worry me. But now that Im older, sometimes I find myself sweating over every second. Instead of time ticking away, I feel like I need to catch up. I talked about if I built a time machine. But little did I know, one was already built. My mind is a time machine. With a thought, I can go back to a time where I felt a strong emotion. Be it, anger, sadness, disappointment, fear, courage, Probably after I finish writing this. Fragmented memories of me doing so, will pop into my head. Its like we`re all walking time machines. The only question is, When would you like to go today?


#138

I would like to go into my dreamscape, rather than to a time.


#139

that sounds cool


#140

Yeah. I have like an entire separate continuity in my dreams.


#141

That sound Interesting.


#142

It is.
I even made a poem about it. XD

Dreaming

Dreams,
Superpowers,
Magic,
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,
Happy.

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.
Why?


#143

Your poem is awesome. :grin:


#144

Thanks! I’m glad you like it.