Does anyone write or read poetry (or write song lyrics)?

The tag reason: Yeah, just for fun, thought I’d ask :stuck_out_tongue:

I feel like when it comes to writing, we forget about non-fiction and poetry for some reason. At least, when we talk about writing, we’re talking about fiction writing and often fantasy or romance. I guess they are pretty popular genres and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Do people think poetry is intimidating, I wonder?

Do you read poetry or write poetry?

Would you like to share poetry snippets?

This is one of my favorites that I’ve written. I like to rhyme and sometimes it magically comes together so nicely.

Are the words too small? :sweat_smile: I do have this poem on my poetry account on Wattpad here if you want to read it without straining your eyeballs.

So, over to you :wink:



:)))) yes, majour poet here

I like the theme :eyes:

not intimidating, enigmatic. like a secret language.


Yayyy :grin:

Any you would like to share?

Any poetry books you would like to recommend?

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Not really, but to be structured, you have to really know what you’re doing. And I’d have to look up patterns for most anything but haikus and limmericks.

Rarely. Very rarely.

I guess I’m game…

Free-forms that I wrote over this summer and lost track of:

Silent Feelings

How can you love someone and not tell them?
Does the world have to end?
Don’t you need it returned?
I can’t give what I can’t see.
I can’t receive something I can’t feel.
Drowning needs immersion.
Suffocating needs closeness.
Claustrophobia needs small spaces.
I cannot hurt you out of feelings without knowing them.
It’s not that I can’t feel or hurt you, but pain from ignorance is survival, not doubting your worth.
But I see you as my own skin.
Every hurt I give you is a bruise I wrap around my soul that torments me when I stay still.
I cannot stay still.
I can’t be in the moment.
And I cannot burden you with this, my friend.



Caring is an on-off switch.
I can feel dead tonight.
I could be dead tonight.
Empty of everything but paranoia and tears.
I fear losing control again.
Man I need to lose control.

I understand the things you say–
3 weeks later, a month, 2 years?
But in that moment I’m blind.
Slap a label on me,
And I can pretend to be fine.
I’ll take it out on someone else–
No way in hell I’m losing my mind.

Everything’s a panic.
Will I say the right words?
Do I have words?
The bully comes out,
Spilling demons.
Anything to not see what I’m feeling.
Spitting out seeds of truth and dishonesty–
I will reap what I sow.
The soil is broken.
And I can’t make sense of it,
Not unil their flowers bloom.
Cut off their heads
Before it’s too late.

Caring is panic,
I want to let go.
And older me can handle this.
Someone who understands me?
I can’t get myself.
The screams aren’t silent.
They’ll be yours not mine.

The only way to end this?
Change me.
Give me eyes to see
The damage in front of me,
The rampage behind me.
The Bully’s China Shop
You can break it.
I bought it.
It’s free.

I don’t need to own this
Just to be me.


I’ve tried.


I used to write poems a decade ago and I never wrote song lyrics.
Will I do that now? No, I don’t see any point, personally.

I don’t read poetry neither.


I used to write poetry and song lyrics, but now it feels like I don’t have time for them anymore because it takes so long for me to finish writing a book. I do want to get back into it, though. In fact, I guess I should make that one of my new year’s resolutions for 2024. ( ˆ◡ˆ)۶ ٩(˘◡˘ )


Write a poem per finished chapter.


That’s a good idea! ٩(˘◡˘)۶

The self-reward of documenting your feels or interests when the work is done. lol

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I did… Then I wrote some for fun… Did not go too well.

As for writing songs… No. Well, I mean I did write a sort of song for The Endurlon. When returning from the Battle of Bannock, the men of Redstone passed through the villages with wains of the dead. A sombre moment indeed. Below is a snippet of that chapter with the song…

Upon the far side of Onovu the town of Farrow stood, and as they entered the eastern gate the town fell silent. Many of the townsfolk gathered and edged the road with sorrowful stares, but gladness also that their Lords had returned. As they turned from the thouroghfare towards the northern gate, and the long road to the city of Redstone one older woman began to sing.

It was a sorrowful song, and little comfort did it bring, but it acknowledged the love of Mara, and into her arms the spirits of their dead would find peace. As she sang many wept openly, and in time they knew that they would be called to give duty. To attend the ceremony of the dead, and pay respect in kind.

That song is listed here. For it did indeed hurt to be sung, it was respectful in offering hope of safe passage to the Halls of Mara.

Stow away,

Stow away your pain.

In your heart,

In your heart remain.

Stow away,

Stow away your pain.


Valiant they ever stay.

In Mara’s arms,

In Mara’s arms they lay.

Our son’s,

War has taken away.

Men return,

Men, cold for the grave.


Valiant they ever stay.


Honoured till the end of days.

Stow away,

Stow away your pain.

In your heart,

In your heart remain,

Stow away,

Stow away your pain.

She continued to sing until they passed through the eastern gate, as she fell silent she wept for their loss.



I was and still am forced to read poetry for classes and students. Does that count?


I was struggling with my research earlier this year because I was having an identity crisis as a creative writer. My supervisor called me into his office and gave me his books on writing, and told me to read Joan Didion (a life-saver). He said we too are real writers; our subject just happens to be different.

It seems obvious, but I hadn’t thought of it that way. Up to that point I’d thought of it as a different discipline but it really isn’t. At the core, we’re still telling stories — whether it’s the story of a new strain of virus, or rural poverty, or a murder-case or… anything. Non-fiction/ academic writing just happens to be seldom as glamorous as fiction but no less creative or skilful.

People in general? I suppose. Something to do with poor schooling. But we’ve had a revolution in the latter half of the last decade with insta-poetry. I think more people are starting to pay attention to it.

I was involved in a public poetry installation this summer; we had a vending machine that anyone could grab a unique poem from and it was huge hit! It was empty within a day, and had multiple restocks for a fortnight. We brought it back for Halloween (with halloween themed poems) and again it was huge hit.

Both. Song of Myself by Walt Whitman is my favourite poem at the moment.

Lol sure. When I get the time. Some poets I’ve met don’t share poetry unless it’s a reading or a commission.


Those who document real life into stories and report news (and the like) need to know how to write a narrative because the tone you take with your subject has so much influence on the way we view real people. For strict acedemia, there’s less storytelling, but information is being related in a fairly linear order, so knowing there’s still a lot of concepts that overlap.


poetry books? I don’t know many, but there’s Milk and Honey by Rupi Kapur, i’ve heard it’s pretty good

also Fernando Pessoa and Camões, if you can read Portuguese. i’m low-key obsessed with these guys. if you can’t read Portuguese, there are translations available btw.


Wrote this today about my lovely WIPs:

I adore them when they are unfinished

I adore them when they are unfinished —
Frolicking, my little butterflies
Have me laughing and ready to destroy them —
In their angles my tears are crystallized.


Have you heard the drama around this though? A lot of people saying it’s “insta poetry” with no meaning. Some of the poems are good, but some of them say nothing.

At least it gets people interested in poetry :woman_shrugging:

Oh good, there’s translations XD I saw just “if you can read Portuguese” and thought "uh, no :pleading_face: " Thank goodness. But I wonder if it translates well? :thinking:

Nice imagery :blush:


True, but I was talking about in terms of reading poetry. Do you think some people feel like they need to be a certain level of intellectual to understand poetry, and if they think they’re not, they don’t want to read it?

That’s a great line. It made me stop and think and go over it again and again.

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May I ask why? Not trying to force it on you :stuck_out_tongue: Everyone has their own preferences, after all, and that’s totally fine. I’m just curious why it hasn’t really appealed to you.


Teachers certainly as hell teach it that way.

I know from writing mine that it’s not complicated, at all. But Shel Silverstein IS complex…and many teachers push “all are complex”.

Really, that’s probably the hardest line out of it all. How meta am I going? How much of a shock is this for the one living it? Are they really digging in to that pain?

The simplicity of where I was at, with that: they’re internalizing everything between themselves and another as their fault (whether true or not) because the young are prone to making everything about themselves. (And adults fall into that trap, too.) So, as fast as you think the thought of what this could be? They’re owning it, even if it’s not realistic.


Don’t know, it just doesn’t.

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