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Literature Text
Poetry is . . .
the tears of those who have forgotten to cry
the raw emotion and grief that flows from eyes
their door to a better place
their razor used to cope
but also the therapy to feel free
the laughter of those who smile but don't know why
the reason they do not frown
their path for others to the happy place
their photograph of Life's happiest moments
their definition of "poetry"
the hate and reasons to hate of those enraged
those caught on the foul end of the deal
the spite and envy they hide inside
the fire within and scowl out
the force used to beat paper with words before it becomes fists and faces
the anxiety shrouding us as we brave the dark
the shudder at every creak and twigsnap
those who left at home the cross and now must pray
the nightmare that ensues
the words taken down to tell the survivor's tale
the shock and surprise of what comes out of nowhere
the smiles, the laughs, and the photos that follow
or the pain in the heels after they flee
the speed of the pulse and feelings
but also the slow, nearly still-standing time
the very first kiss with a Mr. or Miss Right
the sparks that light the darkest night
the pounding heart when the other is near
the passion of the joy undescribed by words
and even the two little words that bind for eternity
Poetry is also . . .
the rhythm of snowflakes as they dance down to Earth
the Winter's painting of ice as she brushes it across the lakes
the pain they feel in the clouds' bitter, ice-daubed breath
the graceful sway in every bare tree
the lullabies of the sky to cue an eternal sleep
the drumming and even falling of a fresh Spring rain
the sun's rays at the end of every storm
the warmth of the sun when he shows his face
the running colors of blue and white as the sun's breath melts it all
ad the new Earth that hides beneath
then the come of a new sun
and his heat as he burns bright
the smiles that are just as warm and show the fun
the love that he sparks between the youth
especially the joy as students run from school's clutches to Summer's embrace
and then the sadness as the cycle comes to an end and begins again
as leaves release their green and absorb the orange and brown
(but as they fall to their death they give back to Mother Earth)
And young Autumn brings with her the cold reminders of arriving Sister Winter
then splashes brilliant colors around
But oh, what else is Poetry . . . ?
the strength of the weak
the courage of the meek
the way the defeated brag of their victories
those left forgotten play their memories
reminds the hopeless to keep determination
and the undesired to express their fascination
and yet the weaknesses of the strong
but also the fear of those who have been brave for too long
the aggravations as champions admit the battles lost
and the way one explains what or whom they forgot
the determined as they explain the loss of hope
and even how easily occupied become too bored and mope
the voices of the dumb
the ears of the deaf
the sight of the blind
the scents smelled by those with no nose
and the feelings of the numb.
every emotion
every season
everyone and their hidden skill
everyone and their hidden flaw
and how each is expressed
So, what is poetry to me?
Poetry is . . .
All
Expression
Feeling
Reason
Story
Life
the tears of those who have forgotten to cry
the raw emotion and grief that flows from eyes
their door to a better place
their razor used to cope
but also the therapy to feel free
the laughter of those who smile but don't know why
the reason they do not frown
their path for others to the happy place
their photograph of Life's happiest moments
their definition of "poetry"
the hate and reasons to hate of those enraged
those caught on the foul end of the deal
the spite and envy they hide inside
the fire within and scowl out
the force used to beat paper with words before it becomes fists and faces
the anxiety shrouding us as we brave the dark
the shudder at every creak and twigsnap
those who left at home the cross and now must pray
the nightmare that ensues
the words taken down to tell the survivor's tale
the shock and surprise of what comes out of nowhere
the smiles, the laughs, and the photos that follow
or the pain in the heels after they flee
the speed of the pulse and feelings
but also the slow, nearly still-standing time
the very first kiss with a Mr. or Miss Right
the sparks that light the darkest night
the pounding heart when the other is near
the passion of the joy undescribed by words
and even the two little words that bind for eternity
Poetry is also . . .
the rhythm of snowflakes as they dance down to Earth
the Winter's painting of ice as she brushes it across the lakes
the pain they feel in the clouds' bitter, ice-daubed breath
the graceful sway in every bare tree
the lullabies of the sky to cue an eternal sleep
the drumming and even falling of a fresh Spring rain
the sun's rays at the end of every storm
the warmth of the sun when he shows his face
the running colors of blue and white as the sun's breath melts it all
ad the new Earth that hides beneath
then the come of a new sun
and his heat as he burns bright
the smiles that are just as warm and show the fun
the love that he sparks between the youth
especially the joy as students run from school's clutches to Summer's embrace
and then the sadness as the cycle comes to an end and begins again
as leaves release their green and absorb the orange and brown
(but as they fall to their death they give back to Mother Earth)
And young Autumn brings with her the cold reminders of arriving Sister Winter
then splashes brilliant colors around
But oh, what else is Poetry . . . ?
the strength of the weak
the courage of the meek
the way the defeated brag of their victories
those left forgotten play their memories
reminds the hopeless to keep determination
and the undesired to express their fascination
and yet the weaknesses of the strong
but also the fear of those who have been brave for too long
the aggravations as champions admit the battles lost
and the way one explains what or whom they forgot
the determined as they explain the loss of hope
and even how easily occupied become too bored and mope
the voices of the dumb
the ears of the deaf
the sight of the blind
the scents smelled by those with no nose
and the feelings of the numb.
every emotion
every season
everyone and their hidden skill
everyone and their hidden flaw
and how each is expressed
So, what is poetry to me?
Poetry is . . .
All
Expression
Feeling
Reason
Story
Life
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I wrote this way back on June 6 (or at least started it) for a project in my English class. We had to do "Poetry Is . . . " and say what Poetry meant to us. The thing is, I highly, highly doubt anyone but one or two other people knew what Poetry was. Examples of what they did include, "Poetry is diving into the ocean on the first day of summer vacation" and "Poetry is walking out onto the soccer field with the smell of fresh cut grass". The thing is, most people now when they think of people who write poetry think of the "Emo" kids who write things like, "Despite the brightest days Caused by the dreaded sun, My heart and soul are blacker Than the darkest nights". None of the examples embody what poetry really does mean. To them, maybe, but to me, poetry can't be summed up with something so . . . generic</I>. It's just so broad. It's like trying to describe fruit using one single word. "Sweet!" but what about lemons and avocados? Are those too sweet? Then eat a lemon without puckering. Poetry, the same way, can't be summed up with "running into the ocean on the first day of summer vacation". That to me means you have no idea what you're writing about and are just doing this because you have to. This is describing a very broad topic, not just saying what happiness means to you! Poetry can be happy. Then again, I can be happy too. But I'm not always happy. Neither is poetry. Poetry can be happy, sad, loving, angry, it can be anything and everything, so I wrote this. And it is probably my best work yet.
Comments8
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Oh, this is lovely! I love the typography; and I loved how the single word, LIFE is written at the end in large font! And I love the contrasts you put ('weakness of the strong', and all the rest) as the poem nears the end.
Although, there are some minor typos that could be found there. To point some out: 'sadness' is spelled 'sadnes' in the line, 'and then the sadness as the cycle comes to an end and begins again.', and 'and' is spelled as 'ad' in the line, 'ad the new Earth that hides beneath', and 'Mother Earth' is spelled as 'Mothr Earth' in the line, '(but as they fall to their death they give back to Mothr Earth). I'm sorry for being a grammar police.
Overall, great job, yeah? Faveworthy!
Although, there are some minor typos that could be found there. To point some out: 'sadness' is spelled 'sadnes' in the line, 'and then the sadness as the cycle comes to an end and begins again.', and 'and' is spelled as 'ad' in the line, 'ad the new Earth that hides beneath', and 'Mother Earth' is spelled as 'Mothr Earth' in the line, '(but as they fall to their death they give back to Mothr Earth). I'm sorry for being a grammar police.
Overall, great job, yeah? Faveworthy!