Artistic writings

[thaibu 0]

I know I have, and probably in 3 out of 4 letters.

most are original, and others are just improvision made to classics.

Post some poetry/ artistic writing on here so (new-bies) as well as us old-timers here on VJ know what your style is.

[sarah and hicham 3]

No, I'm just not that type of person.

[w¡n9Nµ7 §£@¥€r 123]

I voted both 'yes' and 'no'.

[sarah and hicham 3]

I voted both 'yes' and 'no'.

That's goooood.

Still unhinged from last night?

[w¡n9Nµ7 §£@¥€r 123]

[Marilyn. 340]

I have a whole collection of poems I wrote for him.......

[one...two...tree 2,762]

I'm more in the writing mood when I'm heartbroken...it's therapuetic. After taking a poetry class in college, I found out that most poets were tormented souls... Sylvia Plath was brilliant as she was troubled.

This one I wrote a few years ago after my last long term relationship ended...I was in a real funk over that one.

With The Sun On My Back

Goodbye my wayward fisher of man,

goodbye to my sun,

I'm walking back now

retracing footsteps

leaving other ones behind,

Shipwrecked, deserted, and empty in thought

The afternoon blows a chill of terror across my back,

screaming silently but urgently

The time is now!

When every greeting veils another goodbye,

And that look you have

burned into memory as deep as the trouble you left,

Faint cries from lonely children sing to me

inside the dark center of your eyes

betraying that generous smile,

But i'll go along and greet you

with hope -

The sweetest charade

diguising our forgotten familiar dance,

God! how he made you beautiful!

And,

for a moment I thought I reached you,

For a flickering moment

and then you were gone,

They say each lashing is a lessoned learned,

Well I say

I'm enlightened enough to know

no amount of lashings that I endure

will bring you any closer

when your eyes are fixed at chasing,

always chasing after the moon,

I only need to touch the lines you left

to know you steered this ship to a desolate place

searching for some bounty on the moon,

Tell me fisher of man,

did you finally catch the moon?

'cause I haven't gazed up into a night-time sky in awhile.

- Steven

[KarenCee 3]

No, but my husband wrote one to me. Spur of the moment kind of thing and it was after we were married. He sent it to me at work and it came at the perfect time....I needed a pick-me-up.

[RonMay 1]

i wrote a lot to my babe. cant even remember/recall some of those. lol... but i love writing him some poems or thoughts on my head... i never gave him some poem that im not the who wrote it. i just cant remember that i do.

[thaibu 0]

This is one of the first I mailed to Rose, an excerpt from DaisyBell ~1890

Rosie, Rosie

give me your answer do

I'm half crazy

all for the love of you.

It won't be a stylish marriage

I can't afford a carriage

but it'll be sweet

to have you on the seat

of a bicycle built for two--replys to this one later

Rose in her Sunday clothes: ~1890s with modern Phils twist.

What is the flower of an AmericanMan's heart?

Why a sweet wild Rose.

The flower from the Isle(Philippines) that will soon depart,

is a sweet wild Rose

The partiot's love is the truest you know,

So it must be true love that is causing the glow

in my heart for the fairest of flowers that grow

A sweet little Asian Rose

For Rose, Rose, in her Sunday clothes,

Is the fairest girl I've seen

On weekdays she'll treadle, a beauty-queen's medal

But on Sunday, she's a proud queen

We'll two view thru messenger

For three there's never room

She's suplada like a rosebud all week

But on Sunday my Rose is full bloom.

Edited January 7, 2007 by thaibu

[Ta Ta 1]

I'm more in the writing mood when I'm heartbroken...it's therapuetic. After taking a poetry class in college, I found out that most poets were tormented souls... Sylvia Plath was brilliant as she was troubled.

This one I wrote a few years ago after my last long term relationship ended...I was in a real funk over that one.

With The Sun On My Back

Goodbye my wayward fisher of man,

goodbye to my sun,

I'm walking back now

retracing footsteps

leaving other ones behind,

Shipwrecked, deserted, and empty in thought

The afternoon blows a chill of terror across my back,

screaming silently but urgently

The time is now!

When every greeting veils another goodbye,

And that look you have

burned into memory as deep as the trouble you left,

Faint cries from lonely children sing to me

inside the dark center of your eyes

betraying that generous smile,

But i'll go along and greet you

with hope -

The sweetest charade

diguising our forgotten familiar dance,

God! how he made you beautiful!

And,

for a moment I thought I reached you,

For a flickering moment

and then you were gone,

They say each lashing is a lessoned learned,

Well I say

I'm enlightened enough to know

no amount of lashings that I endure

will bring you any closer

when your eyes are fixed at chasing,

always chasing after the moon,

I only need to touch the lines you left

to know you steered this ship to a desolate place

searching for some bounty on the moon,

Tell me fisher of man,

did you finally catch the moon?

'cause I haven't gazed up into a night-time sky in awhile.

- Steven

I love it !

[Mags 112]

I can't write poetry but am able to improvise ridiculous rhyming lyrics off of the top of my head AND make up an equally silly tune to go with them.

Did someone say "how annoying"?

P.S. Larry writes damn fine poetry though. I mean, REALLY good.

Edited January 7, 2007 by mags

[roxy 0]

I'm more in the writing mood when I'm heartbroken...it's therapuetic. After taking a poetry class in college, I found out that most poets were tormented souls... Sylvia Plath was brilliant as she was troubled.

This one I wrote a few years ago after my last long term relationship ended...I was in a real funk over that one.

With The Sun On My Back

Goodbye my wayward fisher of man,

goodbye to my sun,

I'm walking back now

retracing footsteps

leaving other ones behind,

Shipwrecked, deserted, and empty in thought

The afternoon blows a chill of terror across my back,

screaming silently but urgently

The time is now!

When every greeting veils another goodbye,

And that look you have

burned into memory as deep as the trouble you left,

Faint cries from lonely children sing to me

inside the dark center of your eyes

betraying that generous smile,

But i'll go along and greet you

with hope -

The sweetest charade

diguising our forgotten familiar dance,

God! how he made you beautiful!

And,

for a moment I thought I reached you,

For a flickering moment

and then you were gone,

They say each lashing is a lessoned learned,

Well I say

I'm enlightened enough to know

no amount of lashings that I endure

will bring you any closer

when your eyes are fixed at chasing,

always chasing after the moon,

I only need to touch the lines you left

to know you steered this ship to a desolate place

searching for some bounty on the moon,

Tell me fisher of man,

did you finally catch the moon?

'cause I haven't gazed up into a night-time sky in awhile.

- Steven

THATS AWESOME. i write to when I feel distrubed i dont think any of mine are as good as yours.

[TracyLuis 0]

I shared one of my writings on VJ a while ago. I write as an outlet. My husband received a poem or two...

[one...two...tree 2,762]

Tell me fisher of man,

did you finally catch the moon?

'cause I haven't gazed up into a night-time sky in awhile.

- Steven[/size] [/font]

THATS AWESOME. i write to when I feel distrubed i dont think any of mine are as good as yours.

Thank you. Reading poetry from people like Sylvia Plath was really inspirational - she was in and out of mental hospitals - not suggesting going that route....hehehe.

Here's just an example of her poetry...

April 18

the slime of all my yesterdays

rots in the hollow of my skull

and if my stomach would contract

because of some explicable phenomenon

such as pregnancy or constipation

I would not remember you

or that because of sleep

infrequent as a moon of greencheese

that because of food

nourishing as violet leaves

that because of these

and in a few fatal yards of grass

in a few spaces of sky and treetops

a future was lost yesterday

as easily and irretrievably

as a tennis ball at twilight

- Sylvia Plath