i hope you like them

Santana - I like these a lot. They're sad, but like cav says, they're pure. I think they are also pretty sophisticated for one your age. Have you read any emily dickenson?

This is just one of many sites dealing with poetry, Santanta.

http://www.poetryamerica.com/societysubmitform.php

See? Your fan club is increasing. <smile>

In using Google, I found many other sites, but, of course, I prefer A2K.

I put this link on the wrong thread.... It's Joanne's Emily Dickinson tribute.

http://www.able2know.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=695&highlight=

thankx to all of you. and yes i like emily dickenson. and edgar allen poe to......i cant get over The Raven. Im so used to aol slang, thats probably why the words are misspelled. i used to get so mad when people would misspell things.


I have a fan club? Yay for me

DUDE, PEOPLE, ALL OF THESE LYRICS ARE COPYRIGHTED. STEAL THEM AND I WILL MAKE YOUR LIFE A LIVING HELL!!

littlek, have you abandoned me? havent seen u round inna while

Nobody here will steal your work. We are just here to be encouraging to someone who is a good writer. littlek is around. I'm sure she will get back to you. I'm a big fan of Poe myself, and Emily Dickinson, and Yeats, Whitman, Swinburne....the list goes on. Here is a good primer poem from Swinburne. He has many very lengthy poems on the nature of pain and suffering, but some are quite difficult. This one is more lyrical in nature:

A Leave-Taking
Algernon Charles Swinburne

Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
Let us go hence together without fear;
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
And over all old things and all things dear.
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
She would not hear.

Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
She would not know.

Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Saying 'If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.'
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
She would not weep.

Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
She would not love.

Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
And the sea moving saw before it move
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
She would not care.

Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She too, remembering days and words that were,
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She would not see.

that was so so nice.

Thank you Santanaof89.

Check this one out....every line goes to eleven (every time I read this poem it reminds me of Spinal Tap)!

Hendecasyllables
Algernon Charles Swinburne

In the month of the long decline of roses
I, beholding the summer dead before me,
Set my face to the sea and journeyed silent,
Gazing eagerly where above the sea-mark
Flame as fierce as the fervid eyes of lions
Half divided the eyelids of the sunset;
Till I heard as it were a noise of waters
Moving tremulous under feet of angels
Multitudinous, out of all the heavens;
Knew the fluttering wind, the fluttered foliage,
Shaken fitfully, full of sound and shadow;
And saw, trodden upon by noiseless angels,
Long mysterious reaches fed with moonlight,
Sweet sad straits in a soft subsiding channel,
Blown about by the lips of winds I knew not,
Winds not born in the north nor any quarter,
Winds not warm with the south nor any sunshine;
Heard between them a voice of exultation,
"Lo, the summer is dead, the sun is faded,
Even like as a leaf the year is withered,
All the fruits of the day from all her branches
Gathered, neither is any left to gather.
All the flowers are dead, the tender blossoms,
All are taken away; the season wasted,
Like an ember among the fallen ashes.
Now with light of the winter days, with moonlight,
Light of snow, and the bitter light of hoarfrost,
We bring flowers that fade not after autumn,
Pale white chaplets and crowns of latter seasons,
Fair false leaves (but the summer leaves were falser),
Woven under the eyes of stars and planets
When low light was upon the windy reaches
Where the flower of foam was blown, a lily
Dropt among the sonorous fruitless furrows
And green fields of the sea that make no pasture:
Since the winter begins, the weeping winter,
All whose flowers are tears, and round his temples
Iron blossom of frost is bound for ever."

i dont know what to say. its so...melancholy, for lack of a better word. and that what i feel like when winter comes around too

I'm here. Well, I wasn't here on this thread for a while, but I've been around.

they all abandoned you
i was your only hope for life
you sucked me dry
and put me in my hell
but i never let you know
i sat there suffering silently
and now im on three medications
with years of therapy ahead of me
i wouldnt abandon you
i turned and you stabbed me
and i still couldnt bear to leave you
we would fight everyday
and i'd pick you up off the floor at night
i listened, i cared
at the expense of myself
the words of self sacrifice are written in stone
it plays in a broken circle

your so far away
how can u be right beside me
accusations are easily thrown
back and forth; its a tennis match
who's winning who's losing
you always have the upper hand
because your the god
and your so much better
but your miles away
and my savior has been taken from me

Santana! It is very good to see you. Now, this poem is a bit worrisome (but good). How are you?

old

Poem's old or you're feeling old?

i just wrote it. i feel old. so much $hits been goin on its not even funny

im not cutting anymore. im just punching walls caus my bitch of a therapist only wants $$

santana, you sound tense, dear. (huge understatement)

I've been reading youre posts and some of your lyrics. I'm glad you use writing as a way to get out some of the anger and tension. your writings have so much emotion and some really gripping imagery in them. Have you read any Sylvia Plath? I want to post one of her poems for you that I really like, but am too sleepy tonite... will get back with that tomorrow...

Just wanted to say hi because that last post of yours sounded like maybe you could use some feedback about stuff. If you want to talk more about what's going on w/ you, there are lots of people here happy to talk, including me. I've experienced being your age with no one to talk to and a lot of anger stored up, i don't want anyone else to feel alone like i have. So if you have more you want to say, about the therapist, about what's been goin on w/ you... keep in touch, and let me know if you want to talk.

Take it from me, punching walls gets to be a bad habit and you'll wish you'd never started it...sigh...