Poem Corner

[Ruaidhri]

I wrote this poem in reference to the very bad cold with which I am currently suffering:


Snot, snot, there's quite a lot
blow your nose till it glows
red and sore go to the store
for more meds you feel so dead
damn this cold I'd sell my soul
for less congestion here's the question
what can I take to end this ache?

 

[Australis]

That made me laugh, and sympathy for your suffering, I hate getting colds.

And a reply:
What can you take to end this ache?
All I know, for my own sake,
Is food and sleep and Vitamin C,
That's always worked so well for me -
So much of all that I can't move,
Just lie back witrh headphones and groove
To the music I like, maybe read a book,
And hope they all get me off the hook.

 

[RJDiogenes]

That's the mark of a true Artist: Turning suffering into Art.

 

[ITL]

There's a limit to
How much suffering you can
Fit in a haiku



(Yes, I know that's technically incorrect. Just shut up, OK?)

 

[RJDiogenes]

* Counts syllables. *

Seems okay.

 

[ITL]

Ah, I meant that the content of the haiku is incorrect. If you're good enough poet, anyway.

 

[RJDiogenes]

If you're a good enough poet, you can get away with anything.

 

[AstroSmurf]

I decided to take the plunge. Be gentle with me. I bruise like a plum... Ok. That's a lie.

(RJ you have already seen this one.)

©2008 AstroSmurf

​

At the end of the day…​

The body smiling, gently, drifting,​

Pieces of memory fall like silver sand,​

The mind shaped of broken glass,​

Delicately resting in someone’s hand.

​

Pry open the wrinkled mouth,​

And let the bright light pour in.​

Bathing withered ribs in the warmth,​

While the heart looses a secret sin.

​

Uncover the yellowed eyes,​

Watery orbs blinded by time.​

Clasped crumbling paper hands,​

Beneath a skin of ancient grime.

​

Dressed in clothes like ancient tissue,​

A smell of passing time whispers, lingers.​

With peeling nails gently rubbing,​

Dusty fabric pinched between fragile fingers.

​

Now a leaf on the wind,​

They lay softly against the pillow.​

With a belly once full of life,​

The starving form bends like the willow.

​

Someone stretches the softened legs,​

Weaving them into cool air.​

Conjuring dreams of running,​

Like an innocent galloping mare…

​

And from what once was…​

Now nothing but dust.​

The mind wanders…​

Not remembering who to trust.

​

Forgetting its sin…​

Forgetting its passing…

​

Like a newborn…

​

Memory washes away like the end of the day.​

 

[RJDiogenes]

Yes, I remember. "Like a newborn..." Very sad, and true, and beautifully written.

 

[Ruaidhri]

That made me laugh, and sympathy for your suffering, I hate getting colds.

And a reply:
What can you take to end this ache?
All I know, for my own sake,
Is food and sleep and Vitamin C,
That's always worked so well for me -
So much of all that I can't move,
Just lie back witrh headphones and groove
To the music I like, maybe read a book,
And hope they all get me off the hook.

Thanks for the advice!

That's the mark of a true Artist: Turning suffering into Art.

<bows>

 

[NickInABox]

I'm glad this thread is still alive.

Excellent... excellent...