The "I wrote a poem, but don't need reviews" thread

Conversing with a Hurricane:
A Ballad

Her name's Katrina, so they say,
(I won't go. I won't go.)
and that soon I'll get to meet her
if I won't go. I won't go.

The sea and sky have screamed before.
I won't go. I won't go
and leave this place that is my home?
No, I won't go. I won't go.

There's nowhere else for me, you see.
I won't go, I won't go.
Can't afford to pack up and leave,
so I won't go. I won't go.

Cars flooded the roads, now they're gone.
I won't go, I won't go.
Even the sun left before long,
but I won't go. I won't go.

The wind snarls at houses, trees.
I won't go, I won't go-
and the sky is starting to weep
'cause I won't go. I won't go.

The trees are gone. My roof is too.
I won't go, I won't go.
And now departs as well- my soul.
I wouldn't go. I couldn't go.

The following poem was taken from a wall post of mine from all the way back in December.


When trying to figure out what rhymed with Verona, my friend suggested pneumonia. And that inspired me to write an incredibly short rhyme, which I shall remember for the rest of time.

When visiting the fair city of Verona,
I contracted a case of measels,
And then gained the dreaded pneumonia,
The cause, I fear, was weasels.

This is the end,
I hope you enjoyed it, my friend.

Math: A Haiku
Silence saturates
The empty piece of paper
I do not get math

The Woods to Wander and Escape in

The only one left alone is the
person crying in the house
who's seen too much to
erase all of the memories
they've garnered along
with all of the misery
they felt within the walls.

Those haunting memories
crept into their minds
as they slept, left alone,
unable to face the fact
that no matter what,
the actions would never
leave their nightmares.

And in the middle of
the night sometimes,
one could see a sole
figure walking steadily
into the nearby trees,
only to be hidden rather
quickly by the shadow.

Among the plants they
stood and sat, wishing
for a better life,
for one not filled with
bitterness and pain,
but one with a
brighter future.

What is love?

What is it worth? If...
____Who we love isn't exactly
________how or what we expect?
____We don't continue to love
________despite the unexpected?
Does it have true worth? When...
____We would retract it in a moment
________if who we love were immoral?
____We wouldn't support them anymore
________if they did something we don't understand?
Why does it exist? If...
____When you lose trust;
________love goes with it?
____We lose love;
________and then trust is demolished?

"NOTHING MUCH FOR MINORS"

Minors are those less than eighteen,
As they don't have knowledge in keen.

They don't have a driving licence,
As don't have driving sense.

Minors are given just pen and page,
Their life is not more than a cage.

Holiday is not given even on sundays,
As their age is negligible for fundays.

Parents are worried not to get blame,
From minors they just want their fame.

Circumstances are same for every minor,
Parents are just their life designer.


-Sahaj Sabharwal.
-Chowk Chabutra,
-Jammu.
-11th Class.

Delhi Public School, Jammu #India #Poem #Jammu #DelhiPublicSchool #DpsJammu
#copyright #INDIA #TALENTPOET

I want to look into your eyes,
I am scared of what I will find.
They say that the eyes are the window to the soul,
And that terrifies me.
I want to ask what you see when you look into mine,
Again, I am scared.
Your eyes are so deep, they hold so much,
Yet I cannot read them.
Beautiful, soulful,
Yet I am terrified of them.
I feel that you read me like an open book,
Whenever you look at me, I feel like I can hide nothing.

((I've been having odd emotions lately and need to express them. This isn't normally me, so I'm kind of ashamed of this poem.))

In Laenalaen I walked beneath the moon,
the stars like pearls shining bright.
To the top of that White Tower I went,
to be close to the shadows and lights of night.
And in those early hours, just moments from the dawn,
the surrounding darkness took me away...
O! How my soul wept as the beautiful night
became dawn, and then the horrid day!
Once, in Laenalaen, I walked beneath that moon,
the joy of my heart, the core of my song,
the loveliest of all natural things
in that city of the ancient Throne.

Fresh snow;
I capture movement
2 large eyes and a pair of ears

windchime abstract poem - humming

buzzing, the breeze, boujour
belying winsome tinkle of tones
ting, sorting
sweet swish of soujourn

She asked for sunshine, and it came,
But she was burned,
And she asked for sunscreen but
No one was available,
And so she sat on the sidewalk,
Letting tears drip down her face
Because maybe if enough tears fell
Her skin would be cooled
And soothed.

A Haikou I wrote last year:

Life is terrible.
And everyone won't tell me
I have a future.

...but then you read it from the bottom up:

I have a future.
And everyone won't tell me
Life is terrible.

Frogs

frowning lilypads can’t tell me
not to cry
their sneering stainless flowers
all bitter and white
they play like they have never wept
while they sit in ponds