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  • Rookie Kakraba Afful (7/13/2009 6:43:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply
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    Every poet is an artist, he or she writes what he or she sees. It's like you're painting a picture, and exhibit for the global museum called the world. I believe that if we speak english we should each revolutionize it in the way we see fit to make it better. You can form your own expression or words and record them in a book or mind. You can later use them when the context enyeastens. For example, in science bile emulsifies fats. So instead of saying, for example that there has to be a political solution to corruption, I can say there must a political bile to emulsify corruption.

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  • Rookie Jim Devine (7/12/2009 3:52:00 PM) Post reply

    Just wrote my first poem. It's called 'My Son' and I submitted it as 'Proud Dad'. I would love to hear comments and especially feedback on how to be better at writing.

    Thanks

    http: //www.poemhunter.com/members/mpoems/default.asp? show=poem&poem=18329507

  • Rookie Mohammed Balchi (7/9/2009 2:22:00 PM) Post reply

    Hey everyone
    Read this poem and comment on it

    As i look at the sky's apogee
    I see the world, world in the eye of me
    As i descend where Childs have been
    as they say i wasn't seen
    Why could i ever not bring
    the passion, passion of spring
    sitting by the moon with one a company
    a same but darker but no feelin' fervency
    as i look at him and looks on me
    i see the dark-side in others always i see
    as you enter me and i 'm not certain
    seei'n on you dropi'n the curtain
    and off to stay alone
    lonely in this tone
    as my side of the sun rises
    boys lookin' at me i them despises
    and they hit me so badly
    off to be sent so sadly
    but i look to see whose beside me
    none wind rustling pushing me
    and insults the wind blows
    and my curtains on me closes
    and the hatred i get often
    my wound never to soften
    the pain of an orphan bites me
    though nothin' standing for everything despites me
    as i sweep your chimney's yours for money
    you hit, lie but left empty tummy
    and as i clean you shoes
    spits you say to blame to whose
    and as i remove your litter
    my life taste me bitter
    as i run to my home
    to hold to someone close
    i come to mistaken
    hell to me taken
    the pain my brain's endorphin
    lone on my dead body an orphan
    as i ran to mom and dad
    come to a stage no more glad
    find the sand and your bone
    remember your name if written on gravestone
    lost by your souls in big wide world
    lost till someone holds
    stop the pain of endorphin
    lone on my dear body an orphan

  • Veteran Poet - 4,978 Points Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black (7/6/2009 11:26:00 AM) Post reply

    Please read my poem AFRICA'S SOUL if you are interested in a publishing opportunity with the additional bonus of doing something good on this planet.Information about the project is posted at the end of my poem.Thank you.

  • Rookie Lazarus Knix (7/5/2009 5:40:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Do you ever feel emotionally barren? Like your heart is just a wasteland of emptiness, spawning no real feelings? How would one get out of that stage of frigidness?

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    • Rookie Callie Carroll (7/26/2009 11:31:00 PM) Post reply

      That feeling of emptiness, disconnectedness is emotion. Own it and examine it.

    • Rookie Young Poet (7/6/2009 5:54:00 AM) Post reply

      no i think that even the idea of 'emotional barenness' is a feeling in itself. emotion is there-whether you set somebody's hand on fire and that person did not react, i believe there is still emotion: ... more

  • Rookie Stephen Stirk (7/1/2009 9:13:00 AM) Post reply

    Poetry and spontaneity are closely linked. Capture the moment and record it, lest it comes not around again. If not in detail, then perhaps in note form. Kick- starters are priceless and, once lost, may never return or re-occur.
    Also one should be dead good at writing.

  • Rookie Bantu Ngcephe (6/30/2009 6:27:00 AM) Post reply

    Hi ever1 i wud reli appreciate ur comment on my new poem..THE VOICES OF OUR HANDS

  • Rookie Emancipation Planz (6/30/2009 1:51:00 AM) Post reply

    I tink its time I red the page again...

  • Rookie Adedolapo Olisa (6/27/2009 5:58:00 AM) Post reply

    Will you think?

    If one can't think then can't win, can't even see
    the future, tommorow is bleak immediately
    but bright almost defiinitely when the clouds of now
    so thick to comprehend, one bends and make bow
    with a sight of optimism implored in reasoning
    the dark clouds of impediments
    become an ignition and trigger that sets determination ablaze

    Flames of heroes endure
    Lights from intellectual thoughts blaze the trail
    Like the nights endure for a time
    and sleep consumes the flesh of many
    so do only a few triumph over the spell of the night

    A state present in everone and for everyone to tackle
    though at collective times or individual periods
    the times of now, are a prefix to aftermath.

    That morning will come is not a question
    but 'where and as who will it meet one' is
    the troubles of struggle
    are only but for a story worthy of glory
    or for the tale of the tail

    The light is not for the strong, fast, connected or powerful
    It is a test for the depth of reasoning
    the accuracy in seeking and finding
    attaching results to impossiblities.

    The cloud always is a bus stop
    with the bus seeming at it's destination
    it takes more than determination, optimism, talent
    it takes all to believe and prove
    that there is a mile and more
    the race of and for intellectual thoughts has no final stop
    it is a pile towards infinity
    Will you think?

  • Rookie I Am Charlie (6/26/2009 1:53:00 AM) Post reply

    D'you know, in Japanese, haiku's are
    5 letters,7 letters,5 letters pattern rather than syllables?
    (they don't have syllables, as such.)

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