I don’t like the rules,
So I just won’t follow them,
They make writing all dry and stiff,
Tasteless Weither it be bitter or sweet,
“Flaws”,
“Mistakes”,
“Sloppy and disorganized”,
That’s how humans are just like,
Just like my poetry and writing style,
Humming my toon as I walk and dance,
You start to notice when you read my work,
Its the Varry toon of someone living and experience,
Once you read this I hope you see,
I pray you hear shat I hear,
The stars of dreamers shining bright,
The cries of the appressed by oppressor',
My style,
My technique,
My varry existence,
MY SHINING SOUL,
It can be mocked and talked down to,
It can be broken down by oppressors,
But even so I’ll write till my last word,
I’ll write till the name Dragonstar means something,
Until my style less style becomes a statement.
Until my toon is Hurd and Agknolaged.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
,
Teacher came
Student said, " John shot
A bird", Mrs.
Smith". she said,
"I don't see no dead bird," Sid
Classwork continued
Teacher asked,
After teaching them
To write by
A certain
Writing style expository.
"Can you write on snakes?"
Little boy
Raised hand, "It might bite".
Teacher said,
"Set me up
For that answer, I know that".
After laughter ends____
Though I may well have perturbed you
I hope I haven’t disturbed you
Trying out a new writing style tonight**
one where right is left and left is right
I learned it in a college seminar, truth be told
and just now recalled it, having grown old
_________________________________________________
**See the three other poems I posted tonight.
Written for the contest "Poe in the style of Plath" sponsored by Tom Woody
I am a weakling against supremely star-studded skies
Where stolen streams of light are not enough for it to uprise
My warrior soul is on knees, as sour scars cut very deep
The vinegary wounds in my veins can cause stones to weep
To cross this apocalyptic abyss, I only have frightened might
Avalanche of agony has hit volcanic edge of my perilous plight
No savior comes to the rescue, as I lay with my frozen fears
Fighting, fighting eversince, I found no way past trail of tears
Am I a cowardly creature just to ask for a breath of peace?
Too many of rainbows before my eyes, I can't tell apart malice
Too numb to flap wings of hope only, so I lied in my poems oftentimes
Not a melody of glazed strings, life sounds a lot like rusty rhymes
I hope I met the requirements of the challenge. I have read a few of Poe's and Plath's poems only, I just hope I was able to do justice to keep the macabre vibes of both of these poets' writing style. Thank you for this wonderful contest Tom!
Golden Shovel
I do not think that I shall be,
the first or last, therefore will not
hesitate to find out what the
prize would be for coming in first.
But then I shall always stand by
my fellow writers, and those whom
we all know and always are the
ones ready to try something new.
Still, I am not sure if this is
the right time to have really tried
this style, so hesitate, for nor
am I sure how this will go? Yet
if I don’t give this a try, the
fact will remain for me at last
I should have made an effort to
combat a fear which may then lay
to rest the reliance on the
need to continue the same old
writing style, I could push aside.
Be not the first by whom the new is tried,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside
Alexander Pope – An Essay on Criticism
Written by Gail R DeBole
On September 18, 2021
Updated on September 20, 2021
Likes are nice,
But Retweets are sweet.
Faves are all the rave,
But Retweets are hard to beat.
(Tribute to the writing style of American poet Ogden Nash and his poem "Reflections on Ice Breaking" written in the year 1931.)
He beguiled me
with his smile.........
Meanwhile:
Its a struggle to write;
inspite on my mind
being all uptight
and alight
with excitement
It's a plight
frought with
delight
when applied
to provide sight
that ignites
being psyched
to new heights
and reunites
rewrites
priced into bytes
dispite
providing a guide
to decide
and set aside
my writing style...
Fertile Fields
By Migdalia Torres
A cobbled stone made of red brick, which
I picked up and placed on a solid white
rock pressed against Venus whose tales of
Fertile Fields were just not true
The myths of the Greek Goddess Blue Moon
which shined against the Valleys Green Tall Fields
brought to mind of a Paper Copy Photo I had
of her riding upon a Big Charade of Fire, being pulled
by Two White Pegasus
I started to walk alone in the Center of the
Field, when suddenly a Big Strong Breeze
blew the photo out of my hands and into a
Big Leafless Oak Tree
Then a Storm gusted Tornado Wind blew and raise
the old photo past the clouds and into the
midnight sky
Good-Bye I waived to the paper photo
You are right to be set free
The Fertile Fields will become fertile once again when all the
Greek Goddesses join Venus and come down as friends
A poet
par excellence.
A pen's
best friend. He has...
kind puppy-dog eyes
his poems
dazzle;
blows the mind
and his
writing style,
distinctive,
He's the next best thing
to Pablo Neruda.
a
wonderful human!
(Yalto)
Pick a Friend on Soup Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Bobby May (Winner: 3rd Place)
Date written and submitted: 09/25/2019
I suppose I’m a poetic clown
I’m content with life, I don’t get down
And I’ll deny the rumour
Brits have no sense of humour
This injustice will sure make me frown
I confirm I’m not much of a poet
My writing style sucks and I know it
I use silly words
Like boobies and turds
I amuse folks just by using my wit
In reality I’m pretty quiet
And I’ve never been tempted to diet
I am a mother and wife
And I just cherish my life
You won’t find me out causing a riot
Contest Who do you think you are
Sponsor Caren Krutsinger
8/27/18
Roses are red Violets are blue
Sugar is sweet and so are you.
Your intelligent wording is unique
I write with you as your Psyduck
I'm a nerd with perfect words and so are you.
your nerdy book awaits to be written by muah and only muah
Make life less complicated for me
I promise you I'll always love you
Your company is adoring
Hear me blabber about my frusterations.
I promise you I'll do the same.
I'll always cherish every moment I spent with you.
Correct my grammar if Im a silly duck
Be my spell checker, correct my writing style if I mess up, Be my dictionary full with words and let me know what it means, and be my guidence when I lose my writing train of thought. Keep me focus, inspire me.
Make life less complicated for me and I shall do the same.
Hold my hand so I dont fall.
Stay with me all my life.
My heart
cr
ump
led
like the screwed up scraps of paper
now languishing in the trash bin
okay, so I write humourous poems ...
I rarely write 'free verse'
or 'perfect' iambic pentameter
yet you lambasted me
Your cruel words tore me apart
my writing style will NEVER be good enough to please YOU
So screw you...
YOU'VE WON
I QUIT
My pen will bleed no more
scaly scabs now prevent the ink from running ...
submitted to favorite free verse not for any contest
Sponsored by laura Loo
04~20~17
here lies ole bones charley
he pleyd dem bones smartly
rekin now he be apleyin hsself
Authors Note:
Please leave a comment good or bad let me know what you think.
The spelling,grammar errors are done intentionally.
It is my attempt to keep within the 1800's era writing style.
A writer in that time period was lucky to be able to write their own name.
here be en emimy of tombstone jack
his eminy tried to shoot em back
but ole jack made em see the light
he done it fastr en he done it right
jack showd em the errer to his ways
he sure enoff put the end to his days
jack doe sent em to his eternal bed
with six guns ablazin en a heap of lead
Im aguessin he wanted em dead
at least that be what the rumerin said
now ole jack he done hisself a goodin
he done left the bar maid a cryin en wooin
worrin hed be alayin here a bullit ta his head
pushin up dayzes instead of winin a trade in lead
Author's Note:
the spelling, grammatical errors, and the dialect are done
intentionally. It is my attempt to keep within the 1800's era
writing style. A writer of that time was lucky to be able to write
their own name.
here be layin mean en evil tombstone jack
they done shot em six times in the back
they was afeard of his dead eye aim
that gived jack his well knowd name
but now they kin jist call em holey
Authors Note:
The spelling, grammar errors and dialect
are done intentionally.
It is my attempt to keep within the 1800's era writing style.
A writer of that time period was lucky to be able
to write their own name.
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