Roll over, Blake!

This thread is for anyone looking for a place to share relevant and appropriate poetry.  Writing has helped me to frame difficult subjects to myself.  Post your own here!



This is the first and last time I wrote a sonnet.  The style was experimental for me, and as poetry, it stinks.  The content, though, is from the first time I realized that I have an addiction, and so I have kept it, unedited.  It is about 6-7 years old.

Kitchen Door at Night

I feed him almost every time he comes,
Which is each night, his paws against my door -
He begs and howls, plays garbage cans like drums
So I'll give in, like every night before.
The door I unlatch, without care or thought -
My hand decides all of its own accord
And if I feed him, peace of mind is bought,
Yet if I don't, he'll howl and sow discord.
So now I lay a lavish spread each night
Without a mind for any long-term cost,
For in this way I shall not have to fight -
Rather give in, when either way I've lost.
I'm gracious not from heart or mind, but still
He seems to always manifest his will.

that's great! you write very well

Finally!!  A poet who respects rhyming meter!! Shkoach.  Beautiful. 

I feel left out
With nowhere to turn
For the art of poetry I did not learn

A wonderful medium without doubt
But rhyming meters sonnets and haiku
Of these I have not a clue

So this dribble I do spout
For recovery I do yearn
And if poetry's the answer, it I'll learn

i must tell you
mr.urajew

that even though
you make a show
as if you don't know

that was a swell poem
even if you say you don't know 'em

Although, as a rule,
                  poetry I hate;
I may be a fool,
              but you guys are GREAT!!!!

oh

no

where do I go?

Here,

there,

anywhere!!

Hashem is ALWAYS near!!

today has been a hard one in my book
but b"h i pulled away so far with out a look

It was already at the give in stage
when i noticed a video on matzav that got me out of my cage

It was the yidden in Maron dancing on Lag Beomer with a bren
I started getting in to it and it told me i'ch ken

now -I get out of my seat and do a quick dance
out of happiness to Hashem for helping me keep on my pants

I dont think for this the jester intended
so i will step out before hes offended

My friend
This is the end.

There is a myth that poetry needs meter and rhyme.  Whilst those certainly help, they can distract from the content, and the therapy.  Poetry offers ways of saying things without the forms of prose; it offers a way to explore the reaches of our minds and hearts, and to see things in a different light.

So if you want to write, just write.  If it helps, so much better!

If it's just messing around and having fun...  Why not?!  Have fun with words!

TL;DR - poetry might be able to help some people with ideas they want to express, and expressing ideas can sometimes help.

TheJester wrote on 02 Jun 2011 20:22:


Just when I got the rythym
Jester comes with a new algorithm:

Your soul you should speak
Don't matter if it squeak

Cuz expression is what we're after
Serious, joyous, stoic or laughter

Who is Boss?

There was a guy
who thought
that he is his own boss.

After many years
he merited
to be led,
by God,
to a great place.
This site, GYE.

Here he learned
that all along
his boss was
his cravings & urges.
He fulfilled
their every whim.

He was not a boss.
He was a slave.

Here he was shown
by the experiences of others
who lead by example
how one is to recognize
the One who is
Boss over it all!







Is this poetry too?

The Jester hints - it may be true -
That all good poems, through and through,
Need not to rhyme, or have a flow,
But rather inner wisdom show.

And though I can relate, indeed,
For me, I hold a different creed -
That for my words and thoughts to strike,
They need to flow in ways I like.

I shall be writing with a sigh,
I've lost control  (my inner eye)
And poems - fun they are to write,
I'll read more GYE tonight.

There is more talent here than I realized...

I'm pretty impressed!

it is truly a pleasure to see
that people like you and me

can string words together
as birds of like feather

as springs that bubble up from deep below
our feelings and thoughts to ourselves we show

to understand measure and decipher
how we stumble through life here

pushed and pulled hither and thither
until we feel an acute fever

sirens beckon and pleasures call out
to partake of poison in their hideout

bitter experience and painful past
have taught us to lash ourselves to the mast

to take the fight off our hands
and give it up to His commands

so to our esteemed hoster
who goes by the name Jester

we all owe sincere gratitude
for uncoding our attitude