The Friday Afternoon Spontaneous Poetry Club

[Keated]

I'd create a tavern for this,
But I'd be afraid that I'd be accused of it not being 'rough' enough.
I'd create this in the poetry section,
But I'd be afraid that I'd be accused of it not being 'serious' enough.
I'd create it in the jokes section,
But I'd be afraid that I'd be accused of it not being 'funny' enough.
I'd create this thread in the general section,
But I'd be afraid that I'd be accused of it not being a 'discussion' enough.

Where might my little thread find respite?
Where might I find room in this world for poetic discourse?
Where might you find a place to talk in spontaneous poetry, needing no forethought, nor after?
Where might we find ourselves?

Here.




[or to put it another way, this thread is created for just random bits of random poetic discourse between members. I suggest that no forethought is put into this poetry, save for continuing to be courteous to your fellow users, of course ;) Replies should either contain poetry, or the most pretentious acknowledgement to the poetry you can think of (e.g. finger clicking ;-P), or both ;) Also, the more over dramatic the poems, the better XD]

[frank]

When last I saw this thread
I looked with horror and with dread
To take sublime those thoughts of mine
And present them in this way
For passers by to say,
"Hey, nay, 'twill work you'll see
Keep the faith and you can be
The first to read what madness wrought
On a Friday afternoon without thought.

LOL

[Keated]

Of course, not all poetry has to rhyme,
But certainly, it helps pass the time.
My thoughts, of course, random as ever,
Can at least be put to useful endeavour.
To revive this forum's past great glories,
Her many poems and wondrous stories,
The other arts, drawn and more,
Which enriched our souls, once so poor.
To do so, we need back our members,
Those who are lost, made to remember.
So full of life, and fiery spirit.
Once again, will be within it.

[frank]

Your help, indeed, is truly needed
For, as but a watcher and a passer-by,
I feel and smell the stagnant Winds
From off a once was, teeming, thriving
Place full-filled with all the talents
Each did bring as unto a family, but with
None left seeing the worth, moved on
To brighter shores which left us stranded
Hoping against futile hope that her former
Glory, fame, and note were but slumbering
In the wayside, like a little child awaiting to
Be woke again to sing and paint and dance
And laugh and know the bonds of Love still
Held each to one another.

^^

[silence]

ergh, go home
or at least toss out a bone
to the rest of us who's poeticness we still need to hone?


XD just thought I'd try.
poems aren't exactly my slice of pie.

they're more like ice cream
-_- they like to melt.

[Keated]

Poetry is art.
Technique is less important:
It's all about soul.



[and whether that one works or not depends upon whether I've assumed the right # syllables :)]

[frank]

And when Friday, then, is passed
Do we sit around aghast
Bemoaning the cruel fate
Now upon our plate
Because 'tis Saturday
No more Friday play. :(

[Keated]

The spirit of Friday will not die,
Even when the day is passed,
We can continue; do not cry.
The joy is not tied to this day,
But rather, to our will to try.

[Mac]

I slowly read this thread
and then sat back and thought
but then I decided to post
just because I was bored.

=D

[frank]

Snickety, snack! Clickety, clack!
A crazy crab clawed and clewcked.
The birds warbled high above
Until hunting falcon found its food.

Clickety, clack! Snickety, snack!
A clurcking train on railroad track.
Soft summer smells seemed so real
Until the shark devoured its prey.

Friday came and went
Saturday did follow
Sunday greets me in the face
This past half hour.

Memories of what once was
And worse, what could have been
Are all my treasure trove
But , like Pandora's Box,
I walk the sands with Khayyam
And with Carrol .

Clickety clack! Snickety snack!
Run quickly from the clewkety crab
And clangkety track.

:(

[frank]

Sunday came and went,
Monday follwed,
Tuesday followed round,
And is now half gone.
The leaves are gathered
Off the grass and await
The trash truck's coming
Each one screaming a wailful
Moan of places dark and damp.
Why did we have to die?
They all asked each other
But in the asking, bedlam reigned
And none could hear their neighbor.
And like the summer leaves
Raked up as trash or treasure,
We all await the trashman
And his truck to take us all away.

[frank]

Poetry is art.
Technique is less important:
It's all about soul.



[and whether that one works or not depends upon whether I've assumed the right # syllables :)]

and for the devil of it, because it needs an answer.

If your attempt was at Haiku, then yes, by achieving the 5, 7, 5 syllaple pattern, required for that form, it was accomplished. ^^

[Keated]

[lol, was just concerned that the # syllables might vary dependant upon how you say it :)]

My friend's birthday, I did attend.
Arrived quite late, but stayed till the end.
Costume party; Alice in Wonderland.
Went as the Caterpillar, with many hands.
Some booze still in my system; It will not away.
Because of this, I've felt a little ill all day.
My own fault, of course, or at least I think:
Since I could use 3 out of 6 hands to drink.

edit: frank: nope, Haiku requires 17. Always. The other nuances can vary like weather, nature, etc., which are usualy part of it, as well as being obviously "inscrutable" but "must have meaning" to the Western mind.:)

[Sarah]

I'm not very good at this sort of thing
Extemporaneous writng never wants to cling
To this tired and timid brain I bring
But I will try, I'll give it a fling
To see if words alone can make hearts sing.

^^

[Keated]

[lol, no, I mean that the word 'poetry' may be pronounced 'poet-tree', or in some regions, may also be poetry, said in a single beat... hard to write it phonetically XD]

Time to test, time to dance
Time to eat (and blow up France)
Time to sleep, time to dream
Time to awaken (or so it seems)
Time of day, time of night
Time's too quick (just like light)

[frank]

poe-eh-tree

3 syllables.

anyone else is wrong, or so I'm told by my poetic muse.

Haiku brooks no foolishness, and is not a forgiving form at all.

It wants what it wants and if it doesn't get it, it declares the offering as something other than Haiku.

So,
Lest ye go awry
My Laddies--
Know whereof ere
Ye speak,
Good and
Present
Company
Excepted
As we
Toast the
Muse
Within
Its
Lair,
Offering
Gifts of verse and
Words and worse,
That all may look upon
Our efforts and
Proclaim them, if not
Good, then worthy of the
Task and
Of
The
Listen.

[Sarah]

After reading that last post by frank,
I'm almost afraid to walk out
Fearful he'll make me walk the plank.

^^

[Keated]

The idea, I'm sure, was not to discourage,
Rather to help inspire, to help you flourish.
My rhymes, at times it seems, are rather weak;
Perhaps for a better vocabulary I should seek?

[frank]

As we've heard 'tis said
The wise man said
Seek and ye shall find
But always short of proof
It seems to nay say
Or to yay say
The valiant efforts
Of the seeker
To make me think 'tis
Best to wait
Until the proof does come to me.