All works copyrighted to Aeris, so please don't steal! :evil:

I've been writing poetry for a very long time, but I still feel like I'm not any good. All comments are welcome, and I would implore you to rip my poetry apart! I need to get better as a poet, and seeing through your eyes is much better than mine.

Here is my first poem I'd like to show you:

Mizu

My mistakes live in a fountain
That I keep in my room. The water is
Clear so I may remember each one in vivid light.

Yesterday I lived in those
Waters; they pulled me under with
Their long hands, bathing me in my err.

But today, I shake free of their grip,
Letting the droplets of water touch me
As they always have and rolling downward.

And though, I watch my idiocy pool
Underneath my feet. Tomorrow I will
Watch my fountain and know that it

Is the foundation of my strength.

The scene you paint and feelings the poem gives are very beautiful. One thing I'd suggest is to make it have a little more rhythm to it (unless I'm missing it, I tried counting and such). Free Verse is good for certain things but in poetry it tends to make it less impressive. Anything, a little rhyme, beats, just add to it. You have a great idea, make it soar. The thesaurus is a life saver when it comes to poetry. Back when I wrote, I tended to try speaking outloud in rhythms so when I wrote it, it flowed from my mind to the paper.

Abrupt stops are also not the best form unless you are looking for a specific feeling in that specific line. Remember that the way you use poetry should surround the reader and place them there. Language is fun. Play with it. If you ever write some more stuff I'd love to read it. You do have some talent, just push it. :wink:

Oh wow I forgot about this. @.@

Thanks Balthier! I have tons of stuff! I think I'll add one right now. :mrgreen:

Kokoro no Tokoro

Winding masses of concrete - fixing
To paths in lost in darkness
Sweaty hands fixed to a plastic

Wheel, turning, turning, turning

Metallic Green boxes attempt to
Point the landscape - but what do
You do if you've lost your way

Inside your own heart?

The thick masses of transit
Busling their way through - you are
Left to stare at the only

Path you can go.

So onward you trudge on - hands
Cemented to this road that may
Lead to the darkest hell

Or a Heaven never before seen.

Is it too cliche? ^^;;;

The Loveless

I'll tell you about the
Loveless that exist in my
Heart. They are the tiny
Beings formed from the

Crusts of Time. Trying to
Snatch out my feelings as they
Escape out of the bottle I
Keep in my left shoe.

(The feelings always leak out of the
Holes in my sock anyways)

The Loveless have ways of
Sucking out the emotions;
They call him out and tell him to
Dance the waltz that was made

Just for me. Looking into my
Eyes, the shimmer of fluttering
Dust falls into the lids to hold me
Close in tears that came from a

YAWN. (The loveless exist in the
Mothballs of my mind.)

Arrangements

I'll take today to dine out
By myself. Just for one please.
While I sip my wine, and watch
The window hunter's parade.

Aisles of shoes of rainbow color
Litter the land of shirts and skirts,
Flocks of yellow haired chicks
Careen and caress the wares.

What do they find in that lieu of
Fabric that sets their Happy
Stage? I've never liked the
Taste of artifical flavors.

If that grand plan of happy men
Find themselves in dismay, what is the
Solution then to make that
Merry gay parade?

Sipping at the dark red wine, I
Find that while I'm by myself today
So are they; a lonesome world we live
Even while dining with two.

Infection

Futility has built a home in my
Heart. He lives there comfortably,
On blankets of desire and
Happiness.

Instinct prevails, lurking in the pit of my
Gut. He acts as the Devil on my shoulder that
Washes my fantasy world in a haze of
Reality.

Feelings exist as the stony substance in my
Stomach that I can't rid myself of. The
Flu that has infected my entire
Mind.

Love is the plague that reduces my body to
Sores made of gooey pleasure pus that
Squeezes down into my organs to my
Death.

My mother never told me.

Wrong Line

Take the tiny tip of your pencil
End and start rubbing
Away my existence.

I'm sorry she's not
Here right now "Oh
Who again?"


Blow away the lead of my
Life and let it fall to the
Ground in pieces.

Existence isn't necessary
When the life lost is
Mine to lose.

So take that tiny pink end
And rub and rub and rub
For I am

Not written in Pen.

Motivation Kills

The mailman lives inside my ear
Pressing post its upon my pewter Brain
Remind me notes of my motivation

This pink paper predicts a pitiful play
A romance of a raving lover finding
A man made without retinas

Ready to rave, I learn to lie
In arms surrounding me saying, “I
Love you, my lovely.”

An orange paper languishes over
Large assumptions living in the stink
Of my sinking skull

Tears of truths are told tonight
Lasting so long as the length of a lie
A man is made of Meaning

Stacking sounds of paper – it
Minds meaning; lost lives and time to
Tell again the lips of the languished lover.

The mailman jumped.

Artwork

I'll build a tower of my self
Esteem and build it underground.
There, I'll dwell and live in

My low form of art.

I'll form a palace of pleasure
That I stare at for hours.
And envy that I could not

Be welcomed in.

I'll draw up a picture
Of your face into glass.
So I can see right through

But never see inside.

I'll plant a garden of
Love and water it everyday.
And watch as it withers,

Melting all away.

Cinders

Poets of long past have endeavored to
Become one with some akin to art and
Beauty, but I being an amateur seek
To find something within the

Self. Trying to connect knobs to
Holes in the Head, hovering over a
Decisions that costs YOU nothing but
For me myself my sanity and my serenity.

I have lied to myself maybe years, tales
Of ten feet tall, to try to tell teachings
That in such taught tell nothing but of my
Own cowardice. If you say, "I am cold" I

Wonder if you know me. Or maybe I have
Become so in likening to the gaping
Casket of my heart, and dried out mind
Left out to hang in the sun.

To see this sod in the earth; vestiges of
A man attempting to make sense of this
World upon a bridge of thought between the
Land of Heart and the Land of Head.

In which case, nothing is solved, and I
remain to fill that casket full of
Raunchy vodka that stings the eyes,
And burns the body into cinders.

You are very good Miss Aeris at paintin a vivid picture. Something the reader can actually see in there head and relate to the story both physically and symbolically.

Thanks a lot Meko <3<3

Edit: New poem

Antipathy

For him and her,
He watches her with eyes
Full of a wild predatory
Glaze of her pure

Perfection.

A smile is easy with a
Guy laid back, and not afraid
To make a joke (but really
He likes the sound of her

Laugh.)

Somehow, a part of her is
Lost among her past; those
Smiles once so bright but now her lips
Are painted with their

Shadow.

While we play an exchange of hearts,
She's sold out of her expensive
Love that was such a beautiful
Painting; her talent is

Lost.

Lips locked in pure antipathy, the
Queen of Cold is born from the ashes
Of the kind princess that used to
Dance upon the fairy dust of

Trust.

Amputate

The small stinking room smells of
Flesh, and colored with smatters
Of blood.

The man with the knife has a
Look in his eye, weary of the
Work and slightly crazed.

He hacks off limbs of gangrene,
And they sit in a pile in
The corner.

The fly buzzes near, and I
Watch has he severs another arm
Which has begun to rot.

The blood is everywhere, everywhere!
But I know I need him to cut out my
Sickish part.

As he finishes, tossing the offending
Limb with the others, I speak my
Reasoning of coming to him.

"Sir, I'm afraid I'm sick"

Glancing at me up and down, he
Laughs in my face. But I am
So sure

Of my Gangrene Heart. "Sir, just
Cut it out my heart before it
Spreads everywhere, everywhere!"

So the man, wiping perspiration
Mixed with blood not his own, begins
To slice

Out my offending heart.

When he is done, I crawl out of that
Blood stained room so elated.
(Even though, I'm leaking blood)

So he tosses that rotten heart
Along with the other offending parts and
Burns them.

Colors

Today I can paint a world never
Seen by many but loved by
All. Full of beautiful colors like

Violets off the blush of a

Hummingbird, blues from a
Fading sunset in the sky, and
Oranges from the sweetest fruit I've

Ever tasted. It's too bad that some

Shall never perceive the beauty of
My canvas; their eyes were born without
Certain colors to match my creation.

(Some are tinted rose-colored, you might say)

So I continue painting away, trying different
Colors to show my world of both pain and
Beauty. But in the end, an icy coating floats

Above your eyes. Kiwo tsukete.

Raw

Some days you pluck me right out
Of the ground. Flailing around like
A Bug caught on his backside

I am raw.

And just like that you've squashed
My thin coat. Too bad my tempered
Sorrow smells rank.

(I've let it sit too long)

But somehow I think you enjoy
Torturing small animals
Just to watch 'em bleed.

My blood is blue today.

Twine

When the Heart asks for nothing more than
Simple love, we lonely people embrace with hands
Full of our own emptiness.

Is it kindness to take a gentle hand and
Caress the cheek of skin you thought were as
Wanting as your own?

Or is that pure belief merely the rose colored
Glasses whispering the Sweet Nothings that you
Long to hear?

The twine of fate binds into a rope of trust but
Fraying ends keep you with no one
Except yourself.

So YOU listen well to that tiny piano which my
Fingers play upon, and dine on the spoils of my
Heart.

Dress Up

Stay there in my dark pocket, dear sir, I've
Decided to trade in my wings for some
Shears - here can you trace along the dotted
Line, I need to play dress up and

Change my organs for paper sheets.

(My purple heart seemed out of place, and
Really, dear sir, it's so out of style.) Following
The lines along the my liver and lungs, I love to
Linger along that laviscious heart - together

We can destroy it once and for all.

Dining In

Staring at sleek skin marred with grease
Burns and spots the sun spilled on
White skin like the tablecloth of
Man.

To stare at the hands Our Father who
Artfully crafted this shell of white and
Long dark tresses now fringed
Silver.

Harnessing a being never thought to
Behold; this angel with frayed wings
Becomes the home of the Poison
Touch.

Gentle fingers glide along the Glass
Of love, trust and friendship only to
Drop such precious vials so very
Carelessly.

But at last, when every last visage of
Love and Happiness has slipped from
Those rapier fingers - she exists
Alone.

Alienated by her own attributes; her
Dull mind careens over the triumph of
Crumbling her cares, she dines on descrated
Dreams

Sinking her own hands upon herself.

Sipping the Tea of Bitterness

If each day, the pen paints a point; at the
End of the day, this is what I amount to:

Mistakes tattooed upon my inky mind, awashed in
"What deeds have I done today?" it becomes
Superfluous play of dark color.

Faces of men I've seen in my minds eye burn a
Brand so painfully upon stocks of doleful skin parts.

In the end, the mind, the body, the soul becomes
Flooded with fresh black bitterness; what was once
Optimism is now the tea of all the

Broken Promises.

I really like
Sipping the Tea of Bitterness
it was like amazing. i got so many meanings from it. i hope you continue writing your poetry. =D

Thank you Luna ^^ <3<3

Words

Spoken words are simply vibrations in the
Air; really there is no definitive between
Love and Like and Pleasure and Distaste.

You can always say things - solidity is much more
Than words to a voice, or ink to a paper. (I'm sorry
I failed out of the language for the HEART).

Yet, those very words enchanted the senses,
Startled the mind, and confused the very organ of
That emotion termed "LOVE."

In the end, those words were simply grains of
Sand (Falling into my ocean of LONELINESS)
Sinking deeper into my memory.

Only to stab my eyes with tears upon reflection.

Just Say It

I opened a box of nothing just for
You today; all the nothingness poured
Out and I caught it all

In my heart.

You find yourself a fickle boy; trapped in this
World and the next person in line who has a
Cute smile and a tight --

But I never could tell you how much I

Loved you. The Heart extends its bright wings and
Sets a stage of ROMANCE which dined too much on
Movies and Television -- novels with men half

Naked -- do you enjoy the flavor of my sweet honeyed

SKIN. I don't doubt she's beautiful, but never had my eyes
Mirrored the passion seen in only those who truly need
You inside me, inside we, inside thee.

I hate being forced to see Heartstrings in midair.

Ash and Bone

I'll live in the ashes of my dream -
A place I've known since my hands
Were smaller than a grain of sand.

Time acts as the wind - eroding
Away all the fleshy demands of
Our imagination - until -

Merely the bone of our existence
Remains. Together with the ash and
Bone, I create a new way of living

In the dust of my salvation.

I really like your style. You have very good imagery. All this poetry reading is making me want to write again. I haven't in a long time. :o

Oh thank you very much <3<3

Until God Cannot Find Me

I fly into the sky, haboring tears since I've
Crashed into the brick wall of
Rejection - Thick with ice, the

Cold never seems to go away -

Please stay away, I don't want to
Hear the silence stretch taut as the
Rope around my neck - Let me

Lean towards the neverending sky -

Until even God cannot find me.
Nothing is more important when
You felt nothing from my kiss.

I build the walls around me again.