12 Days of Poetry

what the **** is this

Doggerel

Santa lost his sack one day
It seemed that it had run away.
He searched for it high, he searched for it low,
But nowhere at the North Pole did it show.

"Oh no, what shall I do?" he cried
"It's like a part of me has died.
Without my sack I'm half a man.
Anyone, help me if you can!"

But just then, Mrs Claus stepped up
And said, "Honestly, give it up!
You old damn fool, stop talking tosh.
I just put the darn thing out to the wash."

Phoo-ey! Now that I've gone and finished stuff, I can finally catch up on this! :3

Rhyming

Today's evening is tomorrow's morning
Yet I cannot say what I truly feel
Although I try to say what is inside
I have wounds that have yet to heal

For it was an afternoon of sorrow
And a morning filled with joy
Today's evening meant a fruitful morning
But my days were nothing but a toy

I cannot see but I can feel
Your words may seem strong and bold
As my days are counted from every hour
But yours are still waiting to be unfold

Haiku

It was still evening
12 o'clock midnight has struck
It is now morning

Limerick

(oh god I knew this was going to pop up ;_;)

Let us all remember this day
When we shared what we have to say
When we leave we say goodbye
When we meet we all say hi
I cannot wish, but I can pray

Enjambments

(this is really not something I like doing...)

I hid behind the chimney
While waiting for you
In my hands are milk and cookies
Waiting to be eaten by you

I have never seen you
But I know you exist
And if ever I don't see you coming
I still have your milk and cookies

So hey Santa Claus
I saw you kissed my mummy
So you have to take my cookies
Or else, I'll have to drink your milk

Acrostic poem

People everywhere are rushing
On every store they run
Kept on running before midnight rests
Everywhere was very crowded
Mothers push their carts
On crowded counter tables
Not a sight of joy was found in their faces

Doggerel

(and I was like wuuuut xD)

And Santa came rushing down the vent
A very unusual place for him to go
Although I know he can make it through
He didn't seem to fit through it

So I went and rescued him with my stick
I poked and poked the big fat man
But to my surprise it wasn't a man
A donkey jumped up, to my surprise!

This donkey had stockings where it shouldn't be
Had socks where his mouth should have been
But alas, it was again an illusion
A cruel, fat Santa came into my sight

So I let go of the man the red suit
And down the vent he came falling
I cannot stop myself laughing
For he is stuck in there again

I might as well. I'm horrible with this daily kind of thing (does anybody remember the 30 days where you had to post a video?) but it seems really fun (I said that about the last thing I joined something @__@)

They are going to compose a story, told from various different people or sometimes narrated 3rd person. I think it's going to be more fun, artistic and enjoyable, not to mention intriguing. I am totally not campaigning for User of the Year

1. (Freeverse) The Girl Who Knew No Christmas

Once there was a girl,
A girl who visited these lands when she was young.
She left out of spite and misery
Pretended she was
Travelling, Journeying
Searching for peace and love
But in reality, she only searched
For what she never had.

The guilty pleasures she kept in her heart
Drove her to envy and malice
Flame-headed and innocent
She started, naivety impeding her path
Anger dwelling
In the dark lair she calls her mind

Never had she any love
Save for her apathetic mother and forgetful father
Who, in retrospect
Were little to combat
Such jeers, such negative thoughts.

Never knew any Christmas,
Thoumaeus, girl of red hair.

2. (Rhyming) That Poor Little Girl

I knew when she was a lass
At dawn she would catch bass
At the little pathetic lake
She called her only break.

When she made cookies with me
I could not help but cry,
Could not help but sleep with the sheep
That night everything felt right.

Thoumaeus, sweet girl of rowan
What happened, what happened to my rowanberry?
I knew I treated you with neglection
I knew I was little of a mother for my little rowanberry.

Your father and I, although we got by
We missed you without comparison
There's still some cranberry pie
Waiting on the counter, topped with rosemary.

(I apologize for a) switching rhyming format after the first stanza and b) the last stanza not rhyming in the least, the only other thing I could think of was "marijuana" XD)

3. (Haiku) Desire

What she wants from here
Nobody knows, Intrigue floods
These streets filled with jolly.

4. (Limerick) Doubt

(I'm going to *try* to make this Anapaestic, based on the not-very-reliable information Wikipedia offers <__<)

Sensed something bad about her
It feels wrong to have her learn
What has changed with this town
When I saw her on the mound
To have her near, she isn't dear
To these streets she shouldn't be

5. (Enjabments) Knowlegde is Volatile

(I'm syllable-free! YAY!!!!)

I know
What happened the night
She appeared, as if out of
Thin air that was so sweet
But has turned so bitter
With rumors and malicious comments.

I know
Why she decides
To face this town that hates
Her, only her,
That wishes her gone
Wishes her suffering
Which is crueler?

I know
Why she braves her fears
Why she seeks this path
Of inevitable doom
She seeks to redeem
She's tired of hiding
She wants freedom,
Chains of guilt unravelling.

I know
They say I'm weak,
I'm a fool
But I could care less
I have this knowledge
I will confront her
Help her
For a know the feeling of being lonely

So,
I, Coyle, puny weakling of this town
Will stop thinking
And start acting.

6. (Acrositic) They Turn Blind Eyes

Stop pretending you don't see
You know it's happening
Don't deny it
I know you're hiding it
A poor girl is trying to feel content
Nevermind another's intent

I will not tolerate this.
Maybe you don't see

Baker I may be
Easy to say I'm useless
Trouble to convince the masses
That I can make a difference
Eavesdropping say I'm not popular
Regardless...I won't stand for this

Trouble to comprehend this
Hard to say I'll be heard
And I understand your defendance of your town but
Negligence won't improve it

You may be right
Of course it would cause a riot
Understand this poor girl's suffering.

(I couldn't resist. It was the first thing that popped into my head when I realized my first stanza said "SYDI")

7. (Doggerel) What is She Doing Here

I was at this pastry shop
Which sells these small
Really, really, REALLY
Tiny bagels
That taste like blue cheese
When I peek out the window
And through the falling snowflakes and cover of white (which, I should add, is similar to my cat's fur, except white because my cat's fur is black)
I see against the white, a flame-headed girl stands out
(Because we all know that red and white don't mix. Except for that one time when I saw this fat chick at the mall, who was wearing a really hot red & white coat that reminds me of my cat's fur, except red & white)
I said, "Oh crap, what is she doing here?"
I remembered what I said to her the last time
And I ducked behind the clerks cashier counter

He shrieked
And had a heart attack
I was stuck in a dilemna: Let the guy die, or bring him to the hospital at the risk of being spotted?

I decided what I said last time
Was far too frank
So I let the poor guy's little heart beat out
It's last little beats while I hid behind his counter
(Which is like my cat's fur, except harder, smoother and made out of granite and wood)

So then suddenly this prostitute
Comes in, snuffs her cigarette
I was incredibly surprised
I thought our town didn't have any prostitutes.

But then I realized
In a shocking revelation
That she had no cigarette, she was no prostitute
I was just my imagination.
She only seeked a Christmas gift
For tommorow's Christmas celebration.

Then I suddenly pondered
As the false-prostitute chick let out a shriek of her own
Whether Thoumaeus would show up at the party
It would be incredibly awkward if she came and we met faces.

Yet, I wished not to miss such fest
So, buttoning my vest,
I brought both to the hospital,
One I found on Craig's List.



That's it! Writing it was surprisingly fun, too. (Except for that stupid limerick--that was just boring and stupid and a nightmare to write. It isn't even real literature as far as I'm concerned.) Well, I'll subscribe to this thread *just* make sure I don't forget.

And remember kids, now you know who to vote for User of the Year

Doggerel ~ Anger Games

Your wrath was comming again, I knew too well
Your staff at an intimidating angle once I fell
I cried for help, but those two didn't come
They knew better for they would feel it too
I couldn't blame them,I don't think
But how could they sit there and watch me sink?

It's a silly game we like to play
Who can anger him the most and get away?
Clearly not me, as you can see
He was going to swing and I could see it now
A big bruise, the size of a stone right on the crown!
So, those other two had better run away
For I most definitely will make them pay

Definitely not my style of poetry, hahah.

On the eighth day of the holidays, the Poetry forum gave to me...eight Imagery poems

Imagery Poems draw the reader into poetic experiences by touching on the images and senses which the reader already knows. The use of images in this type of poetry serves to intensify the impact of the work.

Click to expand...

More https://www.types-of-poetry.org.uk/27-imagery-poems.htm]here

This is nothing compared to that retarded limerick I had to write...*shudders*

8. (Imagery) Doorway

Crimson lines
Golden trimming
A button so innocent
That could cause so much misery
It's only purpose
Make a noise
Yet somehow, so chaotic
Would be the result of such a noise.

Finger against doorbell
That wretched sound again
The girl hadn't heard it
Since she fled these streets she loathed.

Then, that gateway,
Into a world now unknown
Some would call a encounter
Some would call a greeting
Some would call a reunion
She would only say she's
Met this woman before.

The door, the door
With it's wreath of golden red leaves
Knob of delicate designs
Holly trees on either side
Guards, to this meeting on what
One would call a doorstep.

It was with a tender hug
That now meant nothing to her
That Thoumaeus, fiery red hair
Auburn like the leaves of said wreath
Adorning such gateway to possibility
Adorned itself with rowan.

Imagery ~ Moonlight

Gentle breezes sweep the hair from your eyes,
We both smile and look up to the skies,
The stars are shining golden tonight,
And our faces stricken pale by the moonlight,
The trees rustle with the breeze,
The air filled with such serenity,
Will we ever have another night as perfect as this?
Could we seal this memory with a kiss?

On the ninth day of the holidays, the Poetry forum gave to me...nine verse poems

Verse is a single metrical line of poetry, or poetry in general (as opposed to prose which uses grammatical units like sentences and paragraphs).

Click to expand...

From here

Astinus said:

On the ninth day of the holidays, the Poetry forum gave to me...nine verse poems

From here

Click to expand...

I...don't understand...

When are we going to do ballads or couplets?

Since this kind is rather confusing, I'm going to change it.

The new poem type is tanka: five lines of poetry. First and third are five syllables and the rest are seven. And I'll also give extra time for everyone to work on their poems to make up for this.

Tanka ~ Easier Said

I will try for you,
Although my heart aches this way,
It's easier said,
You must be worth it all though,
For me to feel this strongly

Tanka, huh? Well, it's certainly more understandable if not a haiku rip-off.

9. (Tanka) Those Insulting Stares

Only insulting
Eyes, those of malice, arrogance
Greeted her entrance
Uninvited arrival
Only disturbing the fest.

Imagery

And as the war continues
The more red blood is spilled
And the blue skies turned gray
For it was a day of devastation

Faraway was the land of salvation
Filled with streams of cool water
And bluer skies than any other
But alas, only a miracle can save us

And as the yellow sun turned red
It marks the end of another day
Many have died, some are fatally wounded
But yet we still choose to continue

When will we finally see that blue sky?
When will we stop spilling blood on earth?
How much more do we have to take?
When will this war stop?

Tanka

Always confusing
Writing syllable-based poems
I am not happy
For counting with my fingers
Is never an easy task

Ehh, this'll have to do. xD

Ballad

A ballad tells a story, typically about love, and has a repeated refrain. Think of it like a love song.