Poetry Mix (Collection) #2

So today, I wrote some poems.

I don't like poems that have those exact rhythms and the iambic pentameter or whatever.

because honestly, those sound so cheesy and simple.

I like free forming, poems that are just how they are. No rhythm. Just meaning.

So here goes.


For the first two poems, I made them all into one paragraph, as you can see...

Poem 1:
Life is like a roller coaster. Get on the ride, with ups and downs and side to side, soaring low and soaring high, reach into the sky... a quick ride, and when you get off, you're not sure if it's time to leave, when the ride has already ended.

Poem 2:
Look at the flowers sparkling in the sun. Look at the flowers swaying in the sun. Look at the petals swirling in the sun. Look at the fresh smell in the air. Look at the flowers smiling in the sun. Then look at the flowers,, burrowed under, hidden under, the snow.

Poem 3:
Life is a trap you can't escape.
But don't try to, you'll never escape.

Poem 4:
Believe
Believe in the sky.
Believe in the sun.
Believe in magic.
Believe in love.
Believe in hope.
Believe in hugs.
Believe in poetry.
Believe in music.
Believe in learning.
But never believe in hatred.

Poem 5:
Take a petal of a flower.
See its beauty.
Understand its beauty.
Take a part of a sunset.
See it's beauty.
Understand its beauty.
Take a child's mind, her soul.
See its beauty.
Understand it, too.

Peom 6:
Believe in colors.
Believe in gifts.
Believe in laughs.
Believe in love.
Believe in happiness,
believe in doves,
believe in flowers.
Believe in luck.
Believe in hugs,
believe ind reams,
believe in safety,
believe in promises,
believe in People.

Poem 7:
This poem explains the horror of war and the hope in children to fix it, which is always burned into ash.

Bombs fill the air.
Smoke fills the lungs.
hatred fills the mind.
Fear fills the children.
What has this world become?

Born to live,
born to prosper,
born to succeed,
born to kill.
What has this world become?

Shouts fill the air.
Suffocation fills the lungs.
Death fills the mind.
Hope fills the children.

Huddled in a corner,
just a little seed of hope.
A little ointment,
and a bandaid,
and a want to heal.
In every child's hope,
future,
peace,
innocence.

Ruined.

Poem 8:
From now on, the poems, I played with the spacing and the placing. I don't know if it'll show up right on the computer, but spaced it and placed it differently in my notebook.

In a field of flowers, of thorn hatred roses,
is a little flower seed.
Who knows what kind?
It grows to a bud.
green amongst the bloodred, the bloodred with thorns, old,
    yet emitting eerie beauty.
But this bud,
  with simple,
          innocent,
                    beauty.
It sits.
It shuns the roses, with its simplicity.
The way it is more free,
the way it has hope,
it might grow into
         a daisy, a
              tulip, a
                  crysanthemum.
But once it does grow into whatever it is,
its beauty dies,
it loses simplicity,
the beauty,
it gets shunned by the roses,
until it withers
     to the ground,
            regretting,
                   dying,,,...
                         gone.

Poem 9:

(hmm, don't try this at home   [;        )
Peer into the deep abyss,
mind void of hope,
of love.
Mind full of hatred,
of scorn.
Cuts and bruises
in the mind.
Loneliness
in the mind.

Peer into the deep abyss,
peer into the dark,
    red,
         evil eyes of
               Death.
Whisper words of hopelessness.
And fall into
      the peering,
              dark,
                    red,
                         evil eyes of
                               Death.

Poem 10:
Every mind sunken into a deep pool of Reality.
When first born, the mind bobs at the shore,
     taking gasps of
           imagination
                 and magic and
                         hope.
But as the mind gets older,
     it gets heavier,
           it gets less simple,
                it loses imagination
                         and magic and
                                  hope as it
                                           sinks
                                                    down
                                                                          down
                                                                                                down.

Poem 11:
Choking underwater
    suffocating
          losing the air,
               sinking . . .
                     down  .  .  .
                                down
                                          down
                                                  under the sea level of
                                                           individuality.
                sinking . . .
                      down  .  .  .

                                down

                                          down 

                                                   under influence.

Poem 12:

Grab that life saver,

     the little tube

           bobbing,

               floating.

Before you sink.

     underwater.

          suffocate.

               Die.

Some of them are slightly violent, as the reality of it goes, some of them are thoughtful.

As my favorite line goes, "Don't worry, be happy!"

oh and my other one is "Failure isn't failure; it's the path to succeed." but that's beside the point.