Writing Poetry


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  • Elie Abou Chaaya (9/9/2005 6:54:00 PM) Post reply

    Hello people,
    i just need professional opinions for 2 of my poems 'my promise' and 'till we meet again', it's very urgent and important. post your opinions directly to me, or in here. i heard people say that i have a unique style of writing. and i'm asking yours. thank you all in advance.

    Till we meet again
     
     
    It’s hard to say goodbye, and leave everything behind
    But, my dear, I am forced to leave far away and hide
    Away from you, and weep every moment we spent together
    But what can I do, if faith holds us apart from each other?

    I struggled so long, till I forgot the reason behind the pain
    But all I know, is that every time I see you, my heart beats again
    In stormy nights, and shiny days, summer breezes, and winter bites
    I struggled till I couldn’t no more; I surrendered and delivered the fight

    It’s time to say goodbye, I kiss your hand while I am down on my knees
    Knowing that you will never be mine, denying that you belong to me
    The fight is over, the war is lost, and through the ashes, you will find me
    Alone, broken, screaming your name, as my wounds are killing me

    How I always wanted to say to you how much I love you
    How I desired one honest look from your eyes, into the depths of my soul
    But, you never understand what I want, or you knew and never desired me
    You preferred others, made mistakes, and were too blind to see

    What you’ve done to my heart, what you’ve done to my soul and my mind
    It’s time for me to leave, to tear away what’s left from me, and leave you behind
    How life is not fair, how love is ruthless, how feelings get dissolved and fade away
    I will go to bed tonight, and cry you one last time, and tomorrow, I will start a new day

    I will march the gardens of misery, and try to find a rose, all alone like me
    I will give her love, warm, comfort, water, and sun; I will kiss her thorns and bleed
    And none of you will remain, but a name written on my heart with fire
    You shall always be forever my lost love, my lost need, my lost desire...

  • Ikazoboh Austine Jeffrey (9/9/2005 6:15:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    poets are very reflective and private people who observe alot. i think been a poet is not just about the talent but your attitude towards your talent and the way you view things

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    • ***** ********* (10/30/2005 10:27:00 PM) Post reply

      Hi Austine, I hate to disagree. I love to actually! lol but imo poets are highly strung, emotional wrecks, but thats ok cus that is where the poetry comes from. It also helps to be suicidal and a co ... more

  • Ron Price (8/31/2005 3:58:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    THE PILGRIM BAND OF POETS

    Burn always an intense flame, think always of beauty, never of the plaudits of men. Be proud of your calling, of the pilgrim band of poets. -Kenneth Hopkins in The Brothers Powys, Richard Percival Graves, Routledge and Kegan Paul, London,1989, pp.276-7.

    You can feel it coming,
    like a spark
    between your ears,
    sometimes in your heart
    a warm feeling comes-
    and then the work begins
    to fan the spark into a flame,
    to draw on a world of beauty,
    to be faithful
    to an ancient pilgrim band of poets
    and some inner self
    that always seems to stay the same,
    as it plays out roles of diversity,
    all your days,
    while your body goes completely different-
    like someone else.

    And you turn it all on,
    create the joy,
    from the endless stimulation of life.
    In the process
    you become quiet, still,
    perhaps mildly depressive*
    and
    once or twice a year
    explosive.

    Ron Price
    21 September 1999

    * Doris Lessing, famous American novelist, thinks most writers are ‘mildly depressive’.

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    • Gol Mcadam (9/3/2005 1:31:00 PM) Post reply

      I think Doris Lessing is British or, at least South African. I like the pilgrim poem. Best Regards

  • ijoiio njjkj (8/26/2005 11:27:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Hi,

    I posted my first poem here on Poem Hunter yesterday and it would mean a lot to me if someone would give me some feedback to improve my writing.

    Thanks,

    Kristel

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    • Tony Jennett (10/9/2005 5:09:00 AM) Post reply

      Your poetry is good If English is not your first language your poetry is stupendous. However I would advise you to try writing in formal verse for a few future efforts. It will impose on you the disci ... more

  • Arshad Ansari (8/24/2005 12:29:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    I have posted some new poems and created the ebook of those poems using the ebook feature. Thanks to PoemHumter.com, Im able to email that ebook to my friends and it looks kind of good.

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  • Nicholas Roehl (8/23/2005 1:23:00 AM) Post reply | Read 6 replies

    'Ways to improve your poetry. Post your techniques, tips, and creative ideas how to write better.' Here are assorted random ideas I have.

    I think that copying poems that you like is one of the best exercises you can do to make you poetry better. Going further, there is memorizing poems. This is a great way to get inside of a poem and figure out the ways that poets can make meaning come out in little ways.

    For your own writing, reading your poems aloud is a great way to find out what you are saying and to pinpoint any places where your intended meanings and intended sounds differ from what you currently have written down. If you have the nerve, it is great to have someone else read your poem outloud to you. This will show where a reader may stumble and how your intentions may need help.

    I find it is best to write poems into many different places. Start with writing it long-hand, then copy it out somewhere else by hand. Then type it into the computer, print it out, read it through and rather than just word processing your changes, type it into a new file. This makes you look at every word and every space fresh and helps tighten things up.

    One trick I found with the computer is to not use Microsoft Word. I know you can turn off the automatic caps and the little green lines showing up a grammatical error (even if you want it) but I think that Word is not a poet's friend. I started typing my poems into Excel and it is useful for a number of reasons. You can give each word or each syllable its own box - this helps with rhythm and pacing. Also, I like to write a poem out too long. Then I can take all of the passages that are saying a similar thing and paste them next to each other and then find the best image out of the several. Excel is also good because it lets you mess around with moving different lines to different places and changing stanza order.

    Another good exercise that has many permutations is to set yourself a limited set of words. Dr Seuss wrote Green Eggs and Ham using only 50 words. You can get words from a newspaper article, a game of scrabble, or any number of fun ways - this is especially good with a group of people because then you can help set words together and see how you can come up with different things and different ideas from the same starting point.

    You don't have to write about love and the moon and the tides and pain. Someone famous said that his/her most famous poem was done just to 'expiate a pettiness.'

    Ok. Read you poems outloud. Copy out other people's poems - and always ALWAYS look over your poem for images. You need images.

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  • Ali Khorvash (8/21/2005 12:39:00 PM) Post reply

    Hello every body.
    I have published my FIRST poem on poem hunter.
    its my first experience in writing a poem.
    would you please read it and tell your idea?
    its named: You are mine.
    thanks...
    Ali Khorvash

  • Lane Clanton (8/17/2005 1:03:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    hey people. this is like my first poem. please help me, i think it souonds dumb.

    you didn't know that is you pushed me too hard against the wall that it would fall and all of my old skeletons would flee form the scene and leave everything far from serene. You also didn't know that you have been pushing me closer inch by inch for years on in, or that you pushed me right into a life of sin. the drugs, the girls, the the stealing, the lying, the backstabbing, and the pain, all of this has been too much to contain, and now my behavior has grown too wild to contain, and it is driving me insane. the pills didnt helo so i progressed to weed, no i am in too far to ever succeed. life goes on and so must I, even though it will now and forever be a sinful heartbraking lie.

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  • Vuyiswa Vilana (7/28/2005 8:02:00 AM) Post reply

    Greetings people!

    Its a breadth of fresh air to see that some people are really engaging themselves poetically.
    Personally: I never knew i wanted to write, it's something that just kinda grew in me, and boy am i smitten or what!
    But word is, i'm an emotional writer. i write from the heart. I', driven by emotions that run deep within me.
    I'm inspired by feminine energies, by love, by flowers, by individualism, beauty...
    Hell i'm just inspired.
    I think i got poetry in my blood...fuuny thing is i never perfom my writtings.
    why? i'm still placking the courage to go forth and grace people: -)

    However, i just need tips on how to broaden my perspective.
    i can always share my views-i just need to be enlightened in other things...

    Guess we live to be inspired by all that is...creation!

  • Ron Price (7/23/2005 11:15:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    A FRESH GRACE

    Most writers, according to Doris Lessing, are mildly depressed. When asked what her most joyous moments were she said “at the beginning of each book.”1 I agree that a certain melancholia, a certain pensiveness, a certain level of emotion recollected in tranquillity, are present during the writing process. But there is also: intensity, pleasure, a celebratory joy, on rare occasions tears born in a commingling of sadness and joy, a solemn consciousness, a thankful gladness. I know what depression is like from years of suffering from a bi-polar disorder. I know all the gradations of depression from the death wish with blackness to the death wish in a quiet grey, to the mild depression that Lessing tells of. I know despair, a frenetic hypomania, immobilizing fear, mental chaos and, when I write, none of this is present. There is a culture of feeling which I am in quest of and which I find before I write or during the writing process. There is a freshness of the emotions, a connecting of this freshness with life, with my own heart and with the world around me. It does not always occur with the same degree of intensity, but it must occur to some extent, or writing for me is impossible. When I try, without these oils present, it is like dry, thin, black, soil out in the hot sun: no life, no vitality, no freshness, no heart, a meagre mind.
    -Ron Price with thanks to Doris Lessing, “Books and Writing”, ABC Radio National,16 January 2000; for his Pioneering Over Three Epochs, Unpublished Manuscript,2000.

    No, Doris, ‘mildly depressed’
    does not really describe it for me.
    There’s a fusion of life and death
    instincts, now, after dieing so many
    times in this life and praying for
    friends and loved ones in the
    kingdom of immortality over so
    many years. This is at the heart
    of my creativity and Eros, too,
    with its culture-building capacities,
    its attraction passionee,1 its flowing
    in love, friendship and sociability,
    making reason more sensuous and
    happiness a bi-product of a fresh
    grace infusing the power of thought.

    This, Doris, comes a little closer
    to telling how I tell it, what goes
    on in my inner life where these
    new and wonderful configurations
    seem cast upon the mirror of creation.2

    Ron Price
    17 January 2000

    1 For a discussion of the interrelationship between the life and death wish, instinct, I draw on Anthony Giddens, The Transformation of Intimacy: Sexuality, Love and Eroticism in Modern Societies, Polity Press, Cambridge,1993, Chapter 9.
    2 ‘Abdu’l-Baha, Secret of Divine Civilization, Wilmette,1971, p.1.

    A GENUINE ACTIVITY

    Henry Miller said that in his old age the telephone and the doorbell were his phobias. D.H. Lawrence used to hide in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Miller used to say “Tell them I’m not home.” I don’t feel quite as strongly as that all the time; phobia is a bit strong, but certainly the tendency is there to avoid social contact through these means. The need for strong friendships which I once had, even into my forties, has gone. I need some social contact, but not much. My big desire is to be at it constantly, at writing that is, every day. The thinking process is a drawing together, a drawing out. It’s right there at my finger tips, meshed in the print I am reading, the experiences I am having and the imagination that comes my way. It comes tingling off my fingers onto the page. When I get too tired I stop. Overall, the process seems continually going on day after day in the context of my roles, my needs, my desires and what I am. I don’t seem to be very good at doing things other than writing. And my story is, like all stories, unique, a form of genuine activity not just busybody work. What I write is an account of my acceptance, my acquiescence, my own self and my many obsessive themes. The joy, or what approaches joy, is in the act of writing, the accomplishment, not the product which often never gets read again.
    -Ron Price with thanks to Henry Miller, My Life and Times, Playboy Press, pp.1-39.

    The stream stays alive and flowing,
    enjoyed, self-revealing,
    sometimes useless and contradictory,
    but its the water in the river1
    going to the sea, up into the bays,
    the coves and inlets; it fills the great
    estuary of my life, rising and falling
    with the tides, between the green
    tree-laden shores where the mountains
    fill the eye in the distance,
    again and again, day after day.
    It comes back to be rediscovered,
    relived again with the magic of words,
    coming out of me right up from the sea.

    1 The Tamar River here is also called an estuary.

    Ron Price
    11 August 2000

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