Week 2:
Can reality be defined?
Is this life intertwined,
With the ones past,
Or the ones to come soon?
Is there a hope?
A braided twine rope,
To cling on to,
And to move upward with?
A life is scattered collections
Of words and missing sections
Coming together before,
Finally breaking apart.
What is destiny?
Finding your serenity,
Under the moon,
In this life and forever.
manilla's poetry nook
10 posts in this topic.
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Edit:
(3rd stanza)
"Is a life just scattered collections?" -
So I skipped week three-
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He is dusted in the glow of a thousand suns,
And he wears the pride of a thousand more.
His crown is of fire, valor, and dominance,
Each step he takes is the beat of drums.
He leaps, daring to claim the stretch of grassland,
Before crying out in the victory of the hunt.
For all to hear, for all to see,
The king has finally released his demand. -
Hi, manilla! I'm guessing this is about a lion?
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oh! Yeah I guess a Lion too!
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Yes, it's a lion
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Week 6:
#unclassifiedpoetry (that's actually #classified )
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Why don't we play a game
Where there is no winner?
Is our effort fruitless
When patience grows thinner?
Rhetoric upon rhetoric
Builds a never-ending scheme,
Dividing one into two,
With clues painted thick as cream.
A SPEW or no SPEW,
Whether Big Brother lives or dies,
The countless unlinked accounts
Lets this be our reprise.
When answers come forth to the light
In a set of twenty - no more,
Even if you piece them together-
Our answer is uncalled for. -
Week 8:
in the sunny high-life that was my orlando,
laid the busy, touristy sector; up and ready to go,
we fell in the middle of it all, surrounded by our orange trees,
where the streets were parallels and i walked where i pleased.
at home, the palms would sway to greet us,
the humid summer air would wrap me with a hug.
the cats of the neighborhood would meow their cat-fuss,
and the watercolor sunset was a tug--
at my heart, where i found that in my young life,
the sun suited me,
and beside me on the piano bench was my partner in strife,
laughing at all we had to be.
in the millions of memories that was my orlando,
where my innocence was lasting, like sweet sugarcane,
a pair of almond-brown eyes began to open;
she was a dreamer, her ideas like a colorful stain. -
Week 10 (lazy)
William Shakespeare - 4/26
Literary star,
Poetry connoisseur,
Words that simply come to life.
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