THE POEM CORNER

HI AND WELCOME TO THE POEM CORNER. PLEASE SUBMIT YOUR OWN POEMS HERE FOR EVERYONES ENJOYMENT!


Here is my input:

Four great warriors with their horses, riding towards the sunset.
Roaming wanderers from the dark forrest appear in their way.
Evolved into a Charizard did one of the great warriors.
Exciting was that fight to watch.

Before that night the flowers smelt good like tomatoes.
Jolly the dragon liked the flowers
Obsessed to the flowers, he suicided.
Richardo was a sexy man with a nice pair of flippy floppies.
Disco was full of flippyfloppies and richardo did not feel special anymore.
He was the son of the great warrior who turned into Charizard.
In the meanwhile Great Britain was annexed by Finland
Nylon trousers pop again.
Nanny was not needed anymore because the sun was rising again.

Do you think I got what it takes? Would I make a lot of money with my poems?

Well, I'm not really one for poetry myself, but here's one I just quickly jotted down:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

German translation:

Das Drehen und das Drehen in das verbreiternde gyre der Falke können
nicht das falconer hören; Sachen fallen auseinander; die Mitte kann
nicht halten; Bloße Anarchie wird nach der Welt gelöst, werden
die Blut-verdunkelten Gezeitenznpz gelöst, und überall wird die
Zeremonie von Unschuld ertrunken; Der beste Mangel alle Überzeugung,
während die schlechtesten von der leidenschaftlichen Intensität voll
sind.

Sicher ist irgendeine Enthüllung zur Hand; Sicher ist das zweite
Kommen zur Hand. Das Zweite Kommen! Sind kaum jene Wörter heraus,
wenn ein beträchtliches Bild aus Spiritus Mundi heraus meinen Anblick
bemüht: irgendwo in den Sanden der Wüste A Form mit Löwekörper und
dem Kopf eines Mannes, verschiebt A Anstarrenfreier Raum und
erbarmungsloses als die Sonne, seine langsamen Schenkel, während ganz
über sie Bandspuleschatten der empörten Wüste Vögel. Die
Schwärzung fällt wieder; aber jetzt weiß ich, daß Zwanzig
Jahrhunderte steiniger Schlaf zum Alptraum durch eine
Schwingaufnahmevorrichtung geärgert wurden und welches rauhes Tier,
seine Stunde um schließlich, Slouches in Richtung zu getragen zu
werden kommen Bethlehem?

@ Ramses, I love it

@ Alex, you do know you can be prosecuted for that?

Hamalech wrote:@ Ramses, I love it

@ Alex, you do know you can be prosecuted for that?

You'll be pleased to hear that I've already informed the relevant authorities. Hopefully Alex won't bother us for much longer.

I don't write poems, but if I did they'd have samurai.

Tom, I want to hear your samurai poem. Now please. Now.

here is my poem (note: it's quite postmodern)...


Words.

Emciel wrote:here is my poem (note: it's quite postmodern)...


Words.

That was deep brother. Very deep.

Ramses wrote:Tom, I want to hear your samurai poem. Now please. Now.

After much deliberation, I have produced a Samurai poem:

In the Far Eastern Land where the Red Sun Rises;
Born Warriors Brought War to Hold
Sworn to their fathers' by Sword and by Word
with Honour and Will of Iron
to Live ready to take Life
a Final Decision in the flash of a Weapon
a Thinking Demon Dreaming of a Peaceful Day
but not this day
this day, he is Samurai

There is a very strict for of poetry in Japan, called haiku

The rules are simple.

You have 5 (pronounced) syllables in the first line, 7 in the second and 5 in the third line. The first line is something about nature, the 2nd and 3rd line is something with deep (or even multiple) meaning. (The original form refers on mora-s, short syllables, but lets keep it simple...)

Hungarian language is pretty suitable to make such poems, never tried in english before...

Let's see...

Autumn forest haze
Drop of blood on naked blade
He bleeds? Is it me?

i'll give haiku a go

The drizzle of rain
My hand touches the window
I am trapped inside