The Urban Poetry Challenge thread
- Thread starter ShiftyBagLady
- Start date
Poetry is shit
Not true!
ViolentPanda
Hardly getting over it.
Nah. I think we're led to believe that, because what actually gets out into the public domain is the best of the best, and we think "my stuff doesn't compare", when the truth is it doesn't have to, all it has to do is speak. If it does that effectively for you, then it can't be crap, IYSWIM.
I mean, personally I'm useless at writing in most rhyme schemes, but poetry is more than writing rhymes.
Good point - was just messing in my other post - you are a good writer, so that raises an interesting question: all good writers poets?
I remember working with one guy, whose journalism flowed like poetry, incredible! He really stood out. I think that kind of talent is rare. Many folks have a good flow, many can write a really good email when they feel emotional or passionate about something. It's interesting too, the notion that poems just 'flow' out of poets when inspiration strikes, like songwriting - while I believe this to be true, many of the greatest poets/ writers go back and edit their work afterwards, and that process takes discipline. Like poets and their portmanteaus.
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Dillinger4
Es gibt Zeit
I reckon you'd be great at poetry, cheesy. Give it a go.
Agreed.
Edited to add: No pressure, to try it yet, just when you have the time, energy, and inclination.
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Well, some of them DO flow - they come out almost perfectly formed. Some of my best poems came out like that.
And then others take months - another of what I would say was one of my best took seven months in all. Editing IS important. There is no one way of creating a great poem. There's lots of ways.
Same as Dilly though, I'd love to see something that came from you
Cheers lads! I recall writing some poems for two weeks about 10 years ago. I was quite inspired, and they rushed out of me pretty swift. The inspiration was of course, a broken heart 
. The poems are pretty terrible but they do, 'flow.' Horrendous stuff, here's one of my 'efforts'
He woke upon the world unstrung
an earth without an Everest;
where history had been bludgeoned hung
forgotten in the wilderness.
where wistful birds that laid their prey
had scampered in the darkness;
and huntsmen guarded, forged and struck
whatever they could harnass.
where trampled truncheon's lost and found
and soldiers cramped in sadness,
spoke languages of war and doom
under the tilted carcass.
The world shrieks out with blood and murk
and dictators autonomous
concerned with bitter souls defeat
victorious regardless.
. The poems are pretty terrible but they do, 'flow.' Horrendous stuff, here's one of my 'efforts' He woke upon the world unstrung
an earth without an Everest;
where history had been bludgeoned hung
forgotten in the wilderness.
where wistful birds that laid their prey
had scampered in the darkness;
and huntsmen guarded, forged and struck
whatever they could harnass.
where trampled truncheon's lost and found
and soldiers cramped in sadness,
spoke languages of war and doom
under the tilted carcass.
The world shrieks out with blood and murk
and dictators autonomous
concerned with bitter souls defeat
victorious regardless.
Another drunken effort, good lord! This is called 'Optimism.'
To shine a beacon on a murk
the optimist practicians.
till fate befall with thunderstorm
the loneliness that beckons.
It robs his moneyed happy life
the richness of his pickings;
the sickness drains his countenance
a penance slow & stricken.
Till death do part remission and
the happiness that's taken
replace the murk with mutiny
a gamble not foresaken.
To shine a beacon on a murk
the optimist practicians.
till fate befall with thunderstorm
the loneliness that beckons.
It robs his moneyed happy life
the richness of his pickings;
the sickness drains his countenance
a penance slow & stricken.
Till death do part remission and
the happiness that's taken
replace the murk with mutiny
a gamble not foresaken.
DotCommunist
So many particulars. So many questions.
'tilted carcass'
like this image.
I saw a dead body today, was at the hospital to pick up a heavily sedated person and had to ask porters for directions, halfway through explaining where I needed to be I spotted the covered gurney and asked 'has that gentleman passed on?'
yes SHE has was the response. Limbs at angles unnatural.
tilted carcass is perfect.
sfelt oddly profane, rushing hither and thon to find my ma when there, there was a corpse.
like this image.
I saw a dead body today, was at the hospital to pick up a heavily sedated person and had to ask porters for directions, halfway through explaining where I needed to be I spotted the covered gurney and asked 'has that gentleman passed on?'
yes SHE has was the response. Limbs at angles unnatural.
tilted carcass is perfect.
sfelt oddly profane, rushing hither and thon to find my ma when there, there was a corpse.
And part of the 'Jesus' collection
If to be human is such a terrible thing
that Judas kissed Jesus,
and Mary Magdalene's body was moneyed
sold for the sake and sloth of men and glory.
upon first glance it seems a tragedy,
that Jesus demands of us
an emulation, with host and hope,
of infinite, God and Trinity, reply -
how can we, as amoeba in vast quantities supply, or
rectify,
this parody?
Do this in memory of me.
If to be human is such a terrible thing
that Judas kissed Jesus,
and Mary Magdalene's body was moneyed
sold for the sake and sloth of men and glory.
upon first glance it seems a tragedy,
that Jesus demands of us
an emulation, with host and hope,
of infinite, God and Trinity, reply -
how can we, as amoeba in vast quantities supply, or
rectify,
this parody?
Do this in memory of me.
Thanks! They do tilt, I am intrigued with carcasses and the process of the 'demise' of the physical body, I love the word too.
This is a poem I wrote about my experience in the Arctic
Glance up at the skies
The red skies at night
the red dawn of the north
The arrival of aurora
Shards of green stream through like javelins
Rushing against the tide of my blood
Oxygen streams into my lungs,
filling me with fuel.
Guiding us our life and our earth
Guide our blood and our bones
Guide us on the journey of life
Protect the love that gives all
Blue flames and polar haze
Cold stones and grey seas
Gorse under my feet
Oxygen filling my lungs.
Guiding us our life and our earth
Guide our blood and our bones
Guide us on the journey of life
Protect the love that gives all
Rushing through my veins and my bones
Charging against the shrapnel and murk
Salvaging shards of the reckless heart
filling me with fuel.
Guiding us our life and our earth
Guide our blood and our bones
Guide us on the journey of life
Protect the love that gives all
Glance up at the skies
The red skies at night
the red dawn of the north
The arrival of aurora
Shards of green stream through like javelins
Rushing against the tide of my blood
Oxygen streams into my lungs,
filling me with fuel.
Guiding us our life and our earth
Guide our blood and our bones
Guide us on the journey of life
Protect the love that gives all
Blue flames and polar haze
Cold stones and grey seas
Gorse under my feet
Oxygen filling my lungs.
Guiding us our life and our earth
Guide our blood and our bones
Guide us on the journey of life
Protect the love that gives all
Rushing through my veins and my bones
Charging against the shrapnel and murk
Salvaging shards of the reckless heart
filling me with fuel.
Guiding us our life and our earth
Guide our blood and our bones
Guide us on the journey of life
Protect the love that gives all
Dillinger4
Es gibt Zeit
Pickman's model
Starry Wisdom
here's a poem i wrote about my experiences in the arctic
in the north when the lights are low
you can see the sky still glow
but lower down a different breeze
whistled from my arse and between my knees
although the swedish inlandsbahn
is scenic, pleasant, nice and calm
beware their tasty reindeer snacks
which stop a pleasant sphincter relax
i once was there, upon that train,
which took me north and north and north again
past the arctic circle and fields of barley
to the town of gallivare
at that town, both cold and drear,
my trapped wind did disappear
the noisy rumbles ne'er did cease
for half an hour their foul release
be warned by me both one and all
and people, adults big and children small
while travelling in northern parts
recall that reindeer gives you farts
in the north when the lights are low
you can see the sky still glow
but lower down a different breeze
whistled from my arse and between my knees
although the swedish inlandsbahn
is scenic, pleasant, nice and calm
beware their tasty reindeer snacks
which stop a pleasant sphincter relax
i once was there, upon that train,
which took me north and north and north again
past the arctic circle and fields of barley
to the town of gallivare
at that town, both cold and drear,
my trapped wind did disappear
the noisy rumbles ne'er did cease
for half an hour their foul release
be warned by me both one and all
and people, adults big and children small
while travelling in northern parts
recall that reindeer gives you farts
Dillinger4
Es gibt Zeit
It is about the human condition
Thanks soj!! Your own stuff is awesome. But I love your everyday writing too, and look forward to your posts!
Ta!Thanks soj!! Your own stuff is awesome. But I love your everyday writing too, and look forward to your posts!
You have a very unique turn of phrase, poetically. Not seen anything like it. But then, that's the beauty of poetry innit? Each person has their own voice
Ta!
You have a very unique turn of phrase, poetically. Not seen anything like it. But then, that's the beauty of poetry innit? Each person has their own voice
How do you mean (i'm just curious!). They are either metaphorical, or pondering a question. i have always enjoyed reading a poem where someone considers the pros and cons of an idea and makes a conclusion. I have one about the joys of drinking and some folks judgment of it...need to find it. And i also think people should think big with their poems - dive straight into the subject without fear. It's good wording that is hard....but we all know that!!!
Just the way you've placed the words and the sound-images they make
Your alliteration and assonance seem haphazard almost, but work really well. I've always loved asking questions in a lot of my poetry too
Just the way you've placed the words and the sound-images they make
Thanks! the odd phrase here and there are half good, but then savagely destroyed by a clumsy phrase.
They do flow, but that don't count for much...i love poems with actual questions, and poems that read like prayers. If it reads like a prayer that could be said in church, you're onto something good. I actually think that a new prayer that gives thanks needs to be written. There are so few of them in Christianity. Most prayers seem to be asking, or saying you are sorry.
No no - haha - we are always our own worst critics, which is a Good Thing imo. You haven't savagely destroyed anythingThanks! the odd phrase here and there are half good, but then savagely destroyed by a clumsy phrase.
i love poems with actual questions, and poems that read like prayers. If it reads like a prayer that could be said in church, you're onto something good. I actually think that a new prayer that gives thanks needs to be written. There are so few of them in Christianity. Most prayers seem to be asking, or saying you are sorry.
They are complex and intense, dense poems. I really like them.When I was reading the bible I wrote loads of semi-religious stuff. I really like this one, a very early one that got published. It's almost like a prayer I suppose:
Baptism
Rosary hails monthly grace.
Maria, rinse your dress in salt.
Your christ is with you
on his knees
wonderworking as you pray.
Dispels the curse with gentle words:
‘Maria, rinse your dress in salt.
Stigmata should not
stain or taint,
nor pain come from the sword’.
She lets the love of jesus in,
his trinity of rebels;
fingertips and tongue and lips
release the blood of prophets.
Ascending now with prayers out loud,
the rapture washes over her.
Rosé flows where roses grow,
to splash upon the altar.
Purifying robe of sin,
Maria rinsed her dress in salt.
Where jesus’ holy
blood was spilt:
Magnificat baptism.
No no - haha - we are always our own worst critics, which is a Good Thing imo. You haven't savagely destroyed anything
When I was reading the bible I wrote loads of semi-religious stuff. I really like this one, a very early one that got published. It's almost like a prayer I suppose:
Baptism
Rosary hails monthly grace.
Maria, rinse your dress in salt.
Your christ is with you
on his knees
wonderworking as you pray.
Dispels the curse with gentle words:
‘Maria, rinse your dress in salt.
Stigmata should not
stain or taint,
nor pain come from the sword’.
She lets the love of jesus in,
his trinity of rebels;
fingertips and tongue and lips
release the blood of prophets.
Ascending now with prayers out loud,
the rapture washes over her.
Rosé flows where roses grow,
to splash upon the altar.
Purifying robe of sin,
Maria rinsed her dress in salt.
Where jesus’ holy
blood was spilt:
Magnificat baptism.
That's great! Nice repetition of words - also liked the phrase 'Maria rinsed her dress in salt.' Love the phrasing here:
Ascending now with prayers out loud,
the rapture washes over her.
Rosé flows where roses grow,
to splash upon the altar.
Cheers It came out of one big long poem, which got split into two, and they make a pair. The other one's called Crucifixion. It's almost a repetition of Baptism, but with crucial words changed, as well as different capitalisation.
I'd love to see your drinking poem And what you said about 'I actually think that a new prayer that gives thanks needs to be written' - well, you thought of it, you write it And put it on here
It came out of one big long poem, which got split into two, and they make a pair. The other one's called Crucifixion. It's almost a repetition of Baptism, but with crucial words changed, as well as different capitalisation. I'd love to see your drinking poem
And what you said about 'I actually think that a new prayer that gives thanks needs to be written' - well, you thought of it, you write it And put it on here 
May Kasahara
take me to the feeling
I love this one, it's amazing. It has a real martial rhythm to the language, but so melancholy and evocative.
You have inspired me to read through all my old stuff too - some corkers from my teenage years there, I might post some later
In the meantime here is a more recent effort:
Small hours
So this is what it would feel like if we argued all the time,
the mellowish silence a hoar of frost,
resentment’s hand on the tap of tears;
alone, my feet clam up in the chill,
an ocean of cold down there, alone.
So this is how it feels to watch the fire go out,
an angry bed gives way to frosted compromise,
silence for tea, words ripped away from meaning,
the null and void of emotions
with no one to run to.
My wedding gift to you:
a fire that will never go out,
one heart forever your compass
seeking the true point, hands
that never cease turning toward,
an end of the bed that will always be warm.
May Kasahara
take me to the feeling
Bad dreams
When I dug deeper, I discovered the world
was made of ash.
The things you gave me were taken away
and nothing made any sense,
nothing made any difference.
A closer look at the trees
revealed the painful pulp of their own
future feelings.
A desert storm blew over, and the
sea and the sand washed over
me, in you, coated inside our box
with all the things we did not see, did not do.
Darkness and light together are
grey, and that is what we are,
our memory burning bright
if only briefly,
except for me, who wails
and whys endlessly
through a mouthful of salt, bitter tears,
sweet release, that dry again
and memory dies again.
My face is locked in this
salt prison.
All of us roam, all of us ride,
why pay the piper for a promise
with nothing inside?
You rest, and I roam
within you…nothing makes
any sense,
nothing makes any difference.
When I dug deeper, I discovered the world
was made of ash.
The things you gave me were taken away
and nothing made any sense,
nothing made any difference.
A closer look at the trees
revealed the painful pulp of their own
future feelings.
A desert storm blew over, and the
sea and the sand washed over
me, in you, coated inside our box
with all the things we did not see, did not do.
Darkness and light together are
grey, and that is what we are,
our memory burning bright
if only briefly,
except for me, who wails
and whys endlessly
through a mouthful of salt, bitter tears,
sweet release, that dry again
and memory dies again.
My face is locked in this
salt prison.
All of us roam, all of us ride,
why pay the piper for a promise
with nothing inside?
You rest, and I roam
within you…nothing makes
any sense,
nothing makes any difference.
powerful stuff May, bold and brilliant. There's honesty and philosophical questions (more of which is needed in poetry!). We all need to write like this....cold, brutal truth from the heart.
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