poetry

[Ninquelote]

Nice poem. Wouldn't it be considered a ballad? Then again, I don't really know what a ballad means... I have a couple funny poems I could share that aren't by me. They're actually about poetry. Here's one about a A cywydd llosgyrnog.

A cywydd llosgyrnog; I'm one.
"A what?" Well, quite. There'd be no fun
In being understood; I
Thrive upon obliquity.
Don't comprehend or follow me,
For mystery's my ally.

[Ninquelote]

"I, as a clerihew,
Tend to be merry; too
Merry, it might, perhaps, by some, be claimed;
But I'm sure that these people are wrong, and need to be grievously maimed. "

"If they told you I'm mad, then they lied.
I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive.
I'm the triolet, bursting with pride;
If they told you I'm mad, then they lied.
No, it isn't obsessive. Now hide
All the spoons or I might get convulsive.
If they told you I'm mad then they lied.
I'm odd, but it isn't compulsive."

"Short, terse, unfriendly,
Yet sometimes quite emotive;
I am the Haiku."

"I am, of course, none other than blank verse.
I don't know where I'm going, yes, quite right;
And when I get there (if I ever do)
I might not recognise it. So? Your point?
Why should I have a destination set?
I'm relatively happy as I am,
And wouldn't want to be forever aimed
Towards some future path or special goal.
It's not to do with laziness, as such.
It's just that one the whole I'd rather not
Be bothered - so I drift contentedly;
An underrated way of life, I find."

[wahine]

It's an epic, a short epic albeit.

[Ninquelote]

"I'm the limerick, mired in muck.
I refuse to be bored or get stuck.
I like to offend,
But not, in the end,
As much as to thwart expectations."

"I am heroic couplets; most precise
And fond of order. Planned and structured. Nice.
I know, of course, just what I want; I know,
As well, what I will do to make it so.
This doesn't mean that I attempt to shun
Excitement, entertainment, pleasure, fun;
But they must keep their place, like all the rest;
They might be good, but ordered life is best."

"I know I should be telling you that I'm
A rubai - but perhaps some other time.
It sounds like work, and anyway, it's late -
Unless I sleep, I'll be too tired to rhyme.

Besides, there's plates to clear and cups to clink,
And when that's done I have to sit and think,
Since then it won't be long before I need
To sleep again and eat again and drink. "

"The ballad, I; I shun the world,
Its bustle and its noise,
Its busy hasty rushing crowds
And bright consumer toys.

Indeed, I sometimes like the old
Because it's not the new;
And if you think that's strange or wrong,
I might not much like you."

"Rubbish.
Yes, I'm rubbish.
I am the cinquain, and
Believe (unjustly) I'm clever.
Rubbish."

"I am free verse,
and know the rules,
and use them -
when they suit me,
which admittedly
tends not to be the case.
Authority,
tradition, laws;
very much not
my sort
of thing,
I fear.
Perhaps, on occasion,
I go too far in the opposite direction,
and shun the accepted merely because it's accepted,
accepting its opposite merely because it isn't;
but since it's clearly
better that than
being normal;
well,
why
not?"

[Ninquelote]

Epics! Woohoo!
I don't like long things on computers. They hurt my eyes.
Is that Lady Une on your avatar?

(I'm hellbent on posting the rest of these funny poems.)

"I am the sonnet, never quickly thrilled;
Not prone to overstated gushing praise
Nor yet to seething rants and anger, filled
With overstretched opinions to rephrase;
But on the other hand, not fond of fools,
And thus, not fond of people, on the whole;
And holding to the sound and useful rules,
Not those that seek unjustified control.
I'm balanced, measured, sensible (at least,
I think I am, and usually I'm right);
And when more ostentatious types have ceased,
I'm still around, and doing, still, alright.
In short, I'm calm and rational and stable -
Or, well, I am, as much as I am able."

"Ottava rima? Me? That can't be right!
Too frivolous? But tut, there's no such thing!
Let others ponder thoughts of wrong and right,
Or sit and think how much they love the spring;
I'd rather spend my time in gleeful spite,
Or maybe laugh, or maybe sit and sing.
Besides, it might be fun to be inspiring -
But surely it would get so very tiring."

"I'm the lai, with no sort
Of grave, solemn thought,
And I
Will never be caught
By miseries sought,
Nor sigh;
Where battles are fought
Or arguments brought,
I fly."

"I am the descort, and thwart, and long
for discordant, mordant chaos;
See the pretty dissolution,
See the ditty pattern briefly then
Dissolve away
Into a
Newer
Mode of messy disagreeable
(but me-able)
Affray, with lovely spite and hating,
Fights and hurting,
Never abating.
(Quite contrary me.)"

"I am the tanka.
The attention of others
Is unnerving, and
Since I try not to draw it,
I'm left alone. Which is good."

"I'm terza rima, and I talk and smile.
Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away
I let mine out, and chatter all the while.

I'm rarely on my own - a wasted day
Is any day that's spent without a friend,
With nothing much to do or hear or say.

I like to be with people, and depend
On company for being entertained;
Which seems a good solution, in the end. "

[Ninquelote]

The Hunting of The Wolf (A ballad.)
By Ninquelote


The red maw goes to Menegroth
prepared to fight 'til end
those that sung of wolfen wroth;
his fangs wanting to rend

King's hands, bow, and loyal hound
rose to fight that day
a hunt to claim the dark one's crown
Carcharoth to slay

The northern of Esgalduin
The dreaded wolf did lay
The hunters now approached herein
Lured by feral bay

Huan, friend of Lúthien
Left Erchamion
To go seek the wolf out then
But Carcharoth was gone!

Out of a thicket filled with thorns
The Red Maw had spung
Filled with Melkor's hate and scorns
Upon Thingol he flung

Beren strode to fight the beast
but was smote by prey
Huan lept to stop wolf's feast
and they were led away

Huan, hound of Oromë
Fought the lupine curse
And Carcharoth, to his dismay
sunk into the earth

But in this moment, felled he was,
Erchamion near-dead.
And Huan, victor, raked by claws
Went to Mandos then.

“Farewell,� he said, ere his parting
“We shall meet again.
In Valinor, they will be calling;
Live again, Beren!�

Beleg, Mablung, Doriath
Wept for him that day
Victims of Carcharoth's wrath
A small part in the play.

They slit the belly of the beast
Drawing the jewel wherein
Tinúviel's dowry was the least
To pay the wolf's own sin.

Mablung placed the light of trees
In Beren's living hand
“Now the Quest is achieved.�
But his life would not withstand.

At the feet of HÃ*rilorn
Lúthien awaited
Her lover dead, she did not mourn
Not knowing what was fated

Thus ends the Quest of Silmaril
Cut from Melkor's crown
Release from Bondage yet to end
Until Beleriand sinks down.

[Earniel]

*claps* A very nice ballad, Ninquelote.

[Ninquelote]

thank you very much! It was originally a homework assignment, but I had so much fun with it I decided to post it on ff.net and here.

[Elf.Freak]

These are mine:
Silver Tears

I am sitting alone
On the old park bench
The wind whistling through my hair.
Apart from a paper bag
Blowing in the wind
Nobody knew I was there.
*
I sat and thought
Of the things we planned
With smiles on our faces.
When we laughed and cried
And sang all night long
In many of our favourite places.
*
“You left me! You left me!�
I cried to the trees,
Sobbing to the face of the moon.
The wind seemed to sigh
The setting sun laughed
Swelling, like an orange balloon.
*
The silver tears left my cheeks
The grass wept
And the wind started to blare.
I wiped my eyes
Stood up, and sighed
No one would know I was there.

The Darkness

I am the blank space everyone
FEARS.
They try to run…try to
HIDE.
But they do not, cannot
ESCAPE.
I am the pits, the
SHADOW.
I do not leave, I do not
STAY.
I am not a thing, I am not a
PERSON.
I’m not just anything, I am
FEAR.
I am not just fear, I’m
PAIN
I am the
MURDER…
The ageing of
DEATH.
Try to run, try to
HIDE.
Run now, it’s not too
LATE.
Save yourselves! Forget your
LOVE!
It cannot, will not be your
SAVIOR
…
Guess what?
…
I AM BACK
…
I AM THE DARKNESS
…
NO ONE DEFEATS ME!

~The Shattered Glass in my Heart~

Like someone aimed and loosened an arrow
Or someone who threw at me a poison dart
It turned my sunny days rainy
The shattered glass in my heart.
You left me with no warning
You thrust your sword at me
Sliding down, dying, I asked myself
Was this meant to be?
Was it that you thought I was embarrassed,
As you’d asked me earlier that day?
Or was it the fact you did not know
What everyone else had to say?
But as I throw that pain away
And step aside your dart,
I say I will always love you
With every piece of my heart.

The Elements

Earth is what I’m known as
Earth is who I am.
I am the holder of the key of life
Life is what I hold.
I am the strength of this place
I am loyalty.

Water is what I’m known as
Water is who I am.
I am the holder of the key of peace
Peace is what I hold.
I keep this place calm
I am trust.

Wind is what I’m known as
Wind is who I am.
I am the holder of the key of swiftness
Swiftness is what I hold.
I am the speed of this place
I am time.

Fire is what I’m known as
Fire is who I am.
I am the holder of the key of light
Light is what I hold.
I am the guidance of this place
I am true.

whatcha think???

[Ninquelote]

I'm not much of a free verse fan. Nor am I a fan of people complaining about their 'pain' or 'loneliness'...

[Elf.Freak]

ph well...i tried... '.'

[miss_poet]

Oh my goodness! I hadn't seen this thread! It is amazing and beautiful! Mine is sort of good, but I am still young and I can write better ones. Go ahead and check my signature! There is a poem on it

[miss_poet]

Didn't anyone like my poetry? No one replied to my post, so I was wondering if you liked it or not

[Starr Polish]

I love free verse, and am extremely guilty of writing about my "pain" and "loneliness". If someone ever published my darker poems, it could be called "Average Teenage Angst and Badly Written Poetry".

[Miranda]

This is a poem I wrote ages ago while sitting in a little boat on a lake in my homeland of Ireland. I was on one of the lakes watched over by the mountains of Killarney and this came to me.

The simple pleasure of a kiss.
The softest, warmest touch.
These things they mean so little to me,
Its words that mean so much.

The celtic whispers I've heard at night,
The pagan songs I've come to know,
Of Ireland, of elves and trees,
This land that I love so.

Words of my people, bright and fair.
The poet's sweet verse so true,
Has taught me so much more of life
Than faithless love that leaves me blue.

If I could take you to this place,
Show you my world so grand.
I'll show you God created heaven,
And he called it Ireland.

I'm known in London for my Celtic homeland ballads and this is just one of them. Mx

[Ninquelote]

Eeeh! Pretty-pretty!
I should visit Ireland one day. I would be a silly tourist taking pictures of Loch Ness.

[Ninquelote]

Wait... that's in Scotland... Isn't it?

Jeez, that just proves I should see Ireland and have someone smack me.

[miss_poet]

I guess no one liked my poems .....

[Elven Archer]

i just now read the one is your sig miss_poet. Pretty good. alot better than any of my poems.

[Miranda]

Originally posted by Ninquelote
Wait... that's in Scotland... Isn't it?

Jeez, that just proves I should see Ireland and have someone smack me.

Yep Loch Ness is Scotland but you can be forgiven if you promise to visit the Emerald Isle one day. Loved all you poems btw- if you're ever about in Covent Garden check out La Boheme (the cafe, not the opera) You'll find some poets and bohemians in there...mainly my crowd, who'd love to read and share poetry etc with you. I'm the youngest of the little bohemian congregation we have there at the moment and they're all a lot better than me. Mx