Poetry, Both Rhymed and Free

Cryfion

Cryfion

New member
So basically as the title says, this will be serving as a poetry page.

I love writing rhymed poetry. Don't quite know why. Maybe because it reminds me of a time when I didn't live, like the Victorian or Renaissance eras. Or, maybe because I think of Shakespeare, Frost, and other great poets.

Free in the title refers to free-verse. A form of new-age poetry that is more concerned with line spacing and appearance than any rhyming at all. Mostly rhymes are obsolete in this form. I have picked it up as a student because of a poetry writing class I took...

So, yeah this will be a mix of those two types/genres(?) I suppose. Some prose may work its way in here as well. Heh.
 
Start to start

Green fields
-stalks of life
swaying in the breeze


Topped with gold
-regal crowns
mature and wise and free


Like kings
-lords and ladies
with knights of chivalry


To live or die
-by swords and shields
and conquer grand vast lands


And then return
-back to those fields
where it all began.
 
Special friend

Pine fills the air
while soft long grass sways in the breeze
and your powerful fur covered body appears
from behind the oaks

Our secret place...
with
splashing, from water on rocks

With carpets of velvet
allowing barefeet Always
always

With dandylion snowflakes
and fire suns
casting playful shadows
dancing till dusk
 
Goggle Marks

I wear them like it's war paint.
They never fully go away, just fade
-the mark of a hard practice completed

the clearer and darker they are...
the harder the practice.

leaving no time to remove that eye protection

a brand of love
 
Last edited:
Short ode to Bronchitis

Some would think that the season fall
Starts and stops with leaves
But you Bronchitis are common to all
While making me hack and wheeze

Surviving on soup and other delights
While feeling the old maid
Life keeps me going despite the fight
No matter how long you’ve stayed.

Making me livid from lost sleep and gunk
And the sweet sense of taste that has fled
I promise I’ll get out of this funk
And no longer dream of staying in bed

So here’s to you Bronchitis, my friend
Though my chest may now make noise
I will see you through to the very end
And be most overjoyed.
 
I deleted my spelling-correction post, since you HAVE corrected that error.

Now, the "Bronchitis" poem coughs close to home for me. I have suffered bronchitis, and I can utter a honking cough which can be heard in Venezuela.
 
The only thing I'm worried about is that I may have waited too long to get seen by a doc. I'm still hacking, though hypoxic (limited H2O) swimming surely doesn't help, I only have a 1.5 days left of the antibiotic... though I've always had a rather healthy cough XD
 
Trade Winds

I think I've fallen
in love
With the old trades,
the old ways

When you worked all day honing
skills by repetition

Making use of your mind and hands as one unit...

The whispered draw knife
on bow wood
Or the song between the anvil
and steel.

Those heavenly sounds we all know
and love?

Biding time,
while candle wax congeals
 
Cryfion said:
I think I've fallen
in love
With the old trades,
the old ways

When you worked all day honing
skills by repetition

Making use of your mind and hands as one unit...

The whispered draw knife
on bow wood
Or the song between the anvil
and steel.

Those heavenly sounds we all know
and love?

Biding time,
while candle wax congeals
Click to expand...

Amen and right on! I take pleasure from such modest skills as I possess for cooking, gardening, tree care and camping. All such skills are a tie to reality for us.
 
Yes, I wholeheartedly agree. They really are a tie to reality. I have heard from many people that the repetitive aspect of some tasks are very relaxing.

From this I would think it relaxing because you don't really have to think about what you are doing and so can allow your mind to wander. Further thought brought about the idea of when we were hunter/gatherers. Doing these things would have offered a rest or relaxing moment from using a lot of energy which we didn't have an abundance of. So, perhaps it has become programmed to be relaxing?
 
Old & New, New & Old

Leaves fly up to the ground,
From their stationary branches.

And new babes race around-
Soft and wobbly, taking chances.

The leaves are found again in spring,
Where they rightly belong.

And the now old maid starts yearning,
For her mother’s nightly song.
 
"Fly up to the ground" -- now, that's intriguing. The image I get in my mind is of someone in autumn tugging down a flexible branch, then letting go. The branch snaps back upwards to its usual position, and the crack-the-whip effect causes close-to-falling leaves to break off. Inertia causes the leaves to rise in the air before they fall to the ground, thus "up to the ground."
 
Hahaha thank you sir! I enjoy making people stop and consider things in my works, I suppose...

I've been trying to find a poem or two I wrote a while back that are formed mainly with questions, or curiosities if you like. I just can't seem to remember if it's on my computer, and then which folder, or if it's in my leather bound book which has other poems, and is of course at home not here at school...

Ah well I'll just write others instead :)
 
Ah no, I hadn't really considered it, though it would be a fun and interesting thing/way(?) to write. Thanks for the suggestion!
 
I liked your Old Trades poem a lot, especially the final lines,
Biding time,
while candle wax congeals

Sometimes in the business of schoolwork, and the omnipresence of technology/media, I forget just how one whittles away a quiet afternoon.
 
Thank you kindly, I'm glad something peaked your interest :)

Another to follow soon...

Also Copperfox I'm taking up your "challenge" of an alliterative poem, it shall be a nice change of pace.
 
Back
Top