Poetry My Amateur Works

LadyLunaGlencoe

Trash Mammal
So I've got precisely zero experience with poetry outside of the few pieces I've written myself. I enjoy poetry but until pretty recently it was something I struggled with. My writing is all completely self-taught and I took a while to get a grasp of the flow that poetry needed, nor could I have really pinpointed any particular techniques. But I've tried my hand none the less and I like to think I'm improving as time goes on! :) I'm going to post all of my pieces from oldest to newest. So if anyone has any insight, constructive criticisms or comments I'd love to hear them!
 
This is the first poem I completed in my adult life! It's a long one, I knew that much when I wrote it. In my next few poems I put some work into being more concise but I'd hate to cut anything out of this one now when I felt at the time it was completed :)

JOY

In rosy youth the sun that shone with harsh enthusiasm
filled it’s light in all the cracks,
made it bright in narrow chasms
that would split and gape and bleed out black.

And in that dark I found the rod for my own back,
carried like a cross
as if the lashings, that savage smack
could cry louder than my throat already burned and raw.

And that ugly sense of duty was one I took
so certain that if I could only
rip deep enough to look,
to find something in me worthy I wouldn’t be so lonely.

But Gods around me cast their stares
down in pity and indignation.
The hollow beggar peddling her fragile wares
put herself to poverty, desperate for damnation.

And I’d cut pieces from their hearts
and stitch them to my own
until the seams frayed and split apart
and the cold would touch my bones.

Alone my snow was fallen sighs and blows
upon my thighs battered black
where I could hide my anguished throes
and cut my lips into a charming crack.

It looked sincere when I watched it in the mirror.

And it still inspires a shiver how I’d open up my soul
my heart, my wrists, my legs
to beg and welcome blows
I only wished came harder to calm the storm inside my head.

And if only I were dead where there is no need
for understanding of your pain.
I’d drink down that apathy with greed
if only I could rest like that I might feel ready to hurt again.

But I’d shy away from offered hands
like their flesh was cold and barbed,
mistrusting promises on broken legs I could somehow stand
so like a prison wall I counted my denial with another vicious scar.

Though an ass I may have been my back was weak
and the burden that I treasured
could only drop or I would break.
My breaths grew short and measured.

Joy’s absence struck it’s final chord.

And I realized I was bored with tears
that lost all meaning years ago,
brimming in my eyes and mouth like fears
demanding blood ‘til I let go.

I showed the few I knew would never
backhand my trembling body,
offered bare for their inspection, every beat drawn on forever
until I could finally mean I’m sorry.

And the sun, not blinding, shone paler than before
seemed duller at the end
of my long and weary trek, sprawled out panting on the floor
and starting on the mend.

And like muscles left to atrophy my cure was ceaseless toil,
my heart patched up so slowly
sometimes the fruit would start to spoil
but I remembered bit by bit the steps to starting over.

And over, over, over I would study
the art of finding beauty in what life brings,
in learning from old agony
and finding joy in the little things.
 
Not a super cheerful topic but writing this one down was very cathartic at the time. I was also quite proud of the rhyming scheme here when I wrote it ^^

BLISS

A plume of stark black mist
congested in my head,
turned red at sight of fair,
blue branched wrist.

And my gut would twist
with a violent rut of that
silver silken touch
as it crissed across like this;

Like crumbling moss I stripped away
to barest bone and lay
basking in the task of fortune missed
and my warm form softened air too brisk.

My thoughts scattered
as heartbeat pattered slow, once quick.
I knew it grew, that prickling trickle
that blew away the matted gristle thick upon my tongue

Too young to be so wistful
for a stolen kiss.
But a lurking beast bristled in it’s stead,
ears twisting forward on it’s head to listen

To the silence of a distant drip
that soothed it’s garbled hiss.
A new, sweetly somber
sort of bliss.
 
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This one is a favourite of mine. I wrote it for my mum, in honour of all the joy she's brought into my life and the hard work it took.

TREES

A brittle, browning orchard
held their twisted roots,
clutched within our soil
among fallen leaves and fruits.

The pungent stench of rot and death
devours any sweeter scents,
soft-petalled flowers trampled, torn
to fertilise the Earth.

The ego of our tallest trees,
never minding where they grow.
Stretching giants, gorging light
making all beneath them shadow.

But the stranglehold of dismal husks
nursed one wild weed.
A sturdy bramble stole the sun
and brought life to her seeds.
 
Enjoy your daily dose of angst in this one hahaha

ECHO

I breathe in a stone,
hear it rattle and
scrape on bone.
I am alone.

My eyes; empty spaces
looking upon empty spaces
from within empty spaces
and I am alone.

Hollow morning, evening, night.
So what’s the point? Why do I fight?
When all I ever feel
is alone.
 
My most recent poem! A little more of an upbeat note following the last one ^^

STAR GARDEN

In the garden
by the lillies
and the roses
‘neath the willow
near the posies;
potted planets,
constellations,
blooming matter,
soul plantations.
Worldly oak trees,
naive saplings
share their roots
just as all things.

Take a stroll
love these colours
young and old.

This garden is alive
and so are you.
 
That's the lot so far folks. And I'm going to use this thread to post any new poems I write in the future! Thanks for reading any or all of them and please let me know your thoughts x
 
These poems are beautiful! <3 I can’t choose a favorite one! I’m stuck between Star Garden and Trees. Your imagery is so clear and resonant. Would love to see more of your works. Fantastic job!
 
You sure do have a way with words, Lady. I do not claim to be a critic of such works but nonetheless they are each and every one marvelous. Keep it up.
 

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