Treasure Island

Writing Poetry

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  • Obodokasi Agbor (3/18/2014 6:33:00 PM) Post reply Stage

    I'm here to learn for I have learnt enough to learn that every man is a learner.

  • Nonso Ibe (3/18/2014 2:01:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    Public masturbation
    Mental masturbation.

    I think my poetry is fine
    the problem is making money from it

    this is a problem because i don't want to do anything else

    i just got rejected from creative writing school
    i know i am good enough to get in
    i don't know why they didn't take me

    Poetry is easy
    so is blasphemy

    human beings are greedy
    except they choose not to be

    writing this piece is unnecessary
    i could plant my vegetables
    and rare my life-stock

    but i choose this,
    i choose you

    Replies for this message:
    • K.c. Ford (4/3/2014 10:23:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      You state poetry is easy to write and that your motive for writing what you call poetry is money. Forget it and go back to growing vegetables because lust for money will not produce poetry of substanc ... more

  • Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (3/17/2014 9:43:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    I am very much interested in reading, enjoying, singing good poems which inspires and gives lot of good feeling in the minds. I think that a good poetry must have some thing to say to the reader which pertains to the human emotions and human friendliness and universal compassion. I am very much interested to read the poems of Keats, Wordsworth, and also the famous works of eminent English poets as well as my regional language. Poetry I think is the best of medium to change the world to communicate love compassion, friendships, as well as non violence.

  • John Zwerenz (3/13/2014 9:41:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    On Poetics / On The Art Of Poetry
    The best poetry a poet can create must resemble effluent streams, containing as its quintessential necessity above all else- music.
    Music is the key to exalted verse, in its meter, in the sonic quality of the words employed, and in its conveyance of meaning, especially through the use of imagery. This last aspect gives birth to the mystical dimension of visual music. Only in poetry is this transcendental perception of visual music given full reign. The objective of the poet is to transfer the ineffable into a descriptive philology, through the use of rhyming, mellifluous verse. Prose cannot achieve these objectives, because prose, by its constrictive nature, lacks the essential prerequisites for the more musical expressions of what is most aesthetically bright, true, beautiful and eternal..Yet rhyming verse can achieve the miraculous. Truth is beautiful in itself, and poetic verse which, through its music, can marry reality with romance, is above all else a conveyor of the sublime. ~ John Lars Zwerenz? / Author: John Lars Zwerenz / Posted March 13,2014

  • Colinjon Mccartney (3/10/2014 6:38:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply Stage

    I am new to making poems to post and sometimes i struggle with inispiration etc to write would writing punishment lines out related to poetry help me?And if so how many is best to do?

    Replies for this message:
    • Trynian Aiuyer (3/27/2014 11:23:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      I wouldnt punish yourself for not feeling inspired... I think of inspiration more as a a mood- it comes and goes as it pleases. Punishing lines teach your mind that it has to be inspired all the time ... more

  • Melusi Nhlapo (3/5/2014 7:38:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    Who am I?

    Who am I?When my smile covers my sadness

    And my laughter says I’m happy while I cry

    Oh! Light be with me for the darkness has come to win my vision

    Oh! Won’t you shine brighter than ever my light

    And let all see who am I

    My love for the time is near were maybe my senses

    shall swallow me and finish me

    but I’m ready to begin my error

    but if this be no error then

    who am i?

  • Sabina Veizaj (3/4/2014 3:31:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    Introducing myself

    You, the other,

    What are you doing

    On my messy table?

    There are my fired dreams,

    My desires, my future thoughts,

    There is He, disappearing to nothing

    He has gone

    Just his candle of birth is firing

    Here is my sex, my ideas

    Growing up with me

    I am fuddled of my loneliness

    My wine is my blood,

    My blood is my wine of the speech to myself

    We are so together

    Giving up to sufferings,

    With Open arms to feel well

    You, the other, welcome,

    victim of my world!

    You the other

    Am i your victim?!

  • Suman Kumar Das (3/3/2014 9:57:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    Burning Bribery

    A never ending chain
    Enlarged its web
    From ground-floor to roof-top
    Of each building
    Everywhere in our society.

    An inerasable stigma
    An incurable infection
    Leading to corruptions
    Here and there, all over
    In our modern era.

    How shame!
    Laws and orders made,
    Promoted lectures, speeches
    And social awareness,
    Still all efforts in vain.

    Douse who will
    This burning bribery?

    Suman Kumar Das

  • ibrahim Ayagi (2/26/2014 6:21:00 AM) Post reply Stage


    How could one cry when the tears dried inside?
    Agony of unspoken words still raze,
    Dizziness blinds the dampen spirit.
    When bone grows feeble of emotional trauma, what would be of the fragile heart?
    When the little you have for love is taken away forever, would you ever love again?
    When the shortest and untimely notice to quit the comfort zone is given, what would now remain of the wandering love bird?
    How lonely and sick would you be when even the words to say goodbye linger on your tongue?
    Worst still, you all have been suffering in silence of not vomiting the words that could have make difference.
    Now the sudden announcement of a journey with no specific destination is made,
    Fears of being alone has now grip the soul,
    Boredom threaten the troubling mind,
    Limbo has also found a breeding ground with help seems nowhere to be found.
    If truly consoled why the memory is still fresh,
    If the reason given is genuine why the smoldering inside.
    Alas this heart is broken into pieces!

    Ibrahim Ayagi

  • Nirode Ray (2/23/2014 3:50:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies Stage

    Hi Everyone,

    I visited St.Petersburg, FL during the New Year eve time. I loved that place, its beach, its downtown and its surreal ambience. I wrote a poem on St. Pete beach to show my adulation. I am posting it here. I hope you guys would like it.
    Nirode Ray

    The Ocean Bells!
    (By Nirode Ray)

    It is before dawn
    the sun is still in bed
    at the shore end
    the sky lightens up
    and the sun pops out again.
    The seagull looks docile
    water remains placid
    the girl stands there,
    her curly brown hair
    in a cool ocean breeze.

    It is skin dip hot
    the noon wears no cap
    after a glass of ale
    I take a fizzy nap.
    Water is warm now
    sand turns white to grey
    that seagull remains there
    waiting for his prey.

    Evening falls slow
    the sun starts packing down
    a lonely dolphin, off shore,
    flaps back to her town.
    the sky looks foamy
    light changes its hue
    a series of blurred visions,
    like Monet’s Impressions
    hover on soft blue.

    The night hops
    it's all deep dark
    only a lighthouse blinks
    at a distant far.
    I look up to heaven
    I want to see her face
    the ocean bells,
    a tiny magic spell
    shuts my eyes close
    I lay down on St.Pete bay
    my memory fades away
    and the ocean allures me again.

    Replies for this message:
    • Atheanga Tiomaint (3/18/2014 7:21:00 PM) Post reply Stage

      A beautiful poem. You have capture the experience perfectly. Well-done!

    • ibrahim Ayagi (2/26/2014 6:17:00 AM) Post reply Stage

      you already are a great poet. I must confess i love this poem. Please lets rub mind on poetry.

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