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#poetic verses
poetrybyonur · 7 months
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Every word I write is from my soul to yours, from my heart to yours. Each letter, each paragraph, each stanza, is in the shape of you.
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applebrooklyn · 7 months
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What do I do with all this love I have?
Its long talons claws my bones, its hot breaths boils my blood.
Its poisoned sword pierces through my heart, its vicious hands crushes my skull.
Its mouth chewed and spat my soul like bad gum, my existence drowns in its wretched flood.
What do I do with all this love I have?
When I am so full of it I am barely myself?
-applebrooklyn©
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yourslovinglyaritri · 10 months
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I don't believe in love at first sight. The first sight is something much more deeper than the love it develops into. Eyes that charmed me so captivatingly, I couldn't look away; and even if I did, I was lured right back into the depth of those irises. Smile so radiating, like the Sun's soft luminescence upon the glowing Moon; a smile so serene I could melt then and there. Your smell seemed too familiar, like my favourite perfume, like my favourite dress, like my favourite book, like my favourite food, like my favourite place, like Home. Your touch, felt like a longing for something I never knew I needed to survive, like the elixir of my life. I don't believe in love at first sight. But I believe in every little coincidence the universe shed upon us that bound us together in this life. More than Love, more than this World, I believe in My World, that is You.
- Aritri (for the love of my life)
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aminadeux · 5 months
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Her flesh, waiting, feverish, desiring his touch. Like an untamed animal, she was laying down before his eyes, emanating the fragrance of a bloomed burning rose sitting in the rain (...) there, in that moment, both of them turned into two strains of flames intertwined, becoming one eternal pulsating torch.
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samarthisnothere · 1 year
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"in the vast cosmic ballet, every planet boasts its moon, A celestial companion, a love that will forever swoon. And just as in the heavens, so it is with hearts entwined, For each person finds their moon, their love divine."
-Me
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1introvertedsage · 1 year
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Hawk
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Divinely guided So glad that I tried it. Sutleties leading the way. What more can I say It happened one fine day The Fire Within reignited. Knowing what's true Even when they doubt you Attention is meant to be minded. Touching the core Opening every door A hand that cannot be slighted. No need to wallow Not one to be followed Folly to those that are blinded. Sight to be seen Clarity careens Vision is paving the way.
🪶~Osian~
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sapphic-storm69 · 11 months
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Spiderverse thots
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jude-thedude98 · 10 months
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Someone tell me how to pull the word optimism out of someone who called you pessimistic and narcissistic.
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deadlypoetacademia · 4 months
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Death doesn't scare me but you know what does, those, 'what if's' and 'maybe's'
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dearestsecret · 9 months
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leafsea · 5 months
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Intention // 12.13.2023
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poetrybyonur · 1 year
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You are so much a part of me that you have blended with my bones.
An older elfchen poem that I redid.
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applebrooklyn · 7 months
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This is the murmur of the land
This is the sound of love's marching band
And how they hold you like a gun
And how I sing you like a song I heard when I was young
And buried for a night like this
—"The Wisp Sings, The Winter Aid"
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yourslovinglyaritri · 8 months
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While the world looked at the blue moon, all I saw was your face.
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poetrysmackdown · 9 months
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what makes a poem a poem? does it have to be written in a certain way? is this question a poem if i want it to be?
Fun question! This is just my personal sense as an avid reader and less-avid writer of poetry, but for me it’s useful to distinguish (roughly) between poetry as a genre and poetry as an attitude or philosophy through which language and the world can be understood. And of course these two go hand in hand. I see poetry the genre as essentially a type of literature where we as readers are signaled, somehow, to pay closer attention to language, to rhythm, to sound, to syntax, to images, and to meaning. That attentive posture is the “attitude” of broader poetic thinking, and while it’s most commonly applied to appreciate work that’s been written for that purpose, there’s nothing stopping us from applying that attentiveness elsewhere. Everywhere, even! That’s how you eventually end up writing poetry for yourself, after all. There’s a quote from Mary Ruefle floating around on here that a lot of folks have probably already seen, but it immediately comes to mind with this ask:
“And when you think about it, poets always want us to be moved by something, until in the end, you begin to suspect that a poet is someone who is moved by everything, who just stands in front of the world and weeps and laughs and laughs and weeps.”
Similarly, after adopting the attentive posture of poetics, there’s plenty of things that can feel or sound like a poem, even when they perhaps were not written with that purpose in mind. I’ve seen a couple of these “found poems” on here that are quite fun—this one, for example. The meaning and enjoyment you may derive from the language of a found poem isn’t any less real than that derived from a poem written for explicitly poetic purposes, so I don’t see why it shouldn’t be called poetry.
That said, I do think that if you’re going to go out and start looking for poetry everywhere, it’s still important to have a foundation in the actual language work of it all. Now, this doesn’t mean it has to be “written in a certain way” at all! But it does mean that in order to cultivate the attentiveness that’s vital to poetry, one needs to understand what makes language tick, down at its most basic levels. It will make you better at reading poetry, better at writing it, and better at spotting it out in the wild.
Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook is an extraordinary resource to new writers and readers, and a great read for more experienced folks as well. Mary Oliver’s most popular poems are all to my knowledge in free verse, and yet you might be surprised to find her deep appreciation for metrical verse (patterns of stressed/unstressed syllables), as well as for the most minute devices of sound. In discussing the so-called poetry of the past, she writes,
“Acquaintance with the main body of English poetry is absolutely essential—it is the whole cake, while what has been written in the last hundred years or so, without meter, is no more than an icing. And, indeed, I do not really mean an acquaintanceship—I mean an engrossed and able affinity with metrical verse. To be without this felt sensitivity to a poem as a structure of lines and rhythmic energy and repetitive sound is to be forever less equipped, less deft than the poet who dreams of making a new thing can afford to be.”
In another section, after devoting lots of attention to the sounds at work in Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, she writes,
“Everything transcends from the confines of its initial meaning; it is not only the transcendence in meaning but the sound of the transcendence that enables it to work. With the wrong sounds, it could not have happened.”
I hope all this helps to get across my opinion that what makes a poem a poem is not just about the author's intention, and not just about meaning (intended or attributed), but also about sound and rhythm and language and history, all coalescing into something that rises above the din of a language we would otherwise grow tired of while out in our day-to-day lives.
I'll always have more to say but I'm cutting myself off here! Thanks for the ask
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samarthisnothere · 11 months
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Each time, spare me the wound of separation's sting,
If you're not mine, don't let me see your lingering.
Me
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