Thread: What is your favorite type of poem?

I am inspired mostly by music, their lyrics, their emotions and the people around me. I mostly adapt to anything I get my hands on, but I rarely try hard to push far and write in the classical fashion of poetry with rules and all.

My favorite aspect? Visualisation. If I can see something in a poem, I'll love it.

An author? None in particular actually. Eventually I might have to pick one or read more from others, but until then, the few that I see on AO that I had to judge on during POTM of old when that started off was a fun read. I'd say most of the poems I read are on this site, so everyone here since 2001-2002 are my favorite authors :P

Favorite poem? Euh.....too many to think about. But since you like Edgar Allan Poe, here's a little something I wrote that was somewhat dark, yet not inspired by this author...I think :P

Sweet Sacrifice

Drying upon the desolated shore of your life,
I wander as a soulless body upon my resurrection.
Death lurks in every crevice of my undying corpse,
Degenerating as the sun sets at the horizon of what I once was.
To yield an emotion would be too much to demand,
From an empty shell of a man who lost everything.

The moon takes it reigning position and the marshes along the desert island rise,
Moaning of innocent souls cry out to my steady step.
They fear what I now desire more than life itself,
What is relentless remains the hunger of the essence of all things.
Despair flows in the air and washes as the waves come and go,
Life has no standing on this land forever forsaken of God.

Call me when you’re sober

I wake from a dream that I cannot remember,
Moments from another time long past and gone.
I wonder why a thread of darkness leaves from a window.
Eerie eyes looking at my hands, there are no other places that seem clear to me.
Leading a hazy step forward followed by another,
The mirror welcomes my reflection upon its glassy steel.
A stranger stares deeply inside of me,
Gaseous forms leap from its composition and bring back who I am.
I remember now what I have done and the void only remains,
Drying inside what was never human…



Or else....lots of nice and thought out words in this one I did too:


Power Beyond Trust

Tasteless delicacies in an age of wonder,
Endearing flesh within a hand's reach.

Polishing a shoe lace without discernment,
Regulating those desired in an intricate web.

Ecstasy in destruction fills the soul of the lost,
Vengeance a dish never simple for the mind.

Insipid and without any substance it comes,
Eloquently creeping the veins of insanity.

Others seek freedom in the palm of a benefactor,
Freely giving death in exchange for freedom.

Pained, aggressive, incoherent, malice and vile,
True intentions masked by a past impossible to forget.

Light creped clearly in a fashion barely perceivable,
Surprise bluntly placed upon the front stage.

Bittersweet unbecoming which once was harmony,
Hidden inside this harmony lies the bitterest of fruits.

A sad story finally revealed in the deepest of caves,
Desperation upon one of the main characters.

Where fierceness no longer offers adequate motivation,
Understanding the truth becomes a spiraling fight.

No one seeks to be pure in heart as it is insatiable,
Tearing away the insurmountable barrier that is vice.

Blindness of innocence that does not fade away,
Battling to the very end what makes one’s fate worthwhile.

Friendship, respect, fidelity and innocence shattered,
Duel of the morals that bind what makes us human.

Screams multiplying as it comes to understanding,
Trials continue accumulating only to succumb to change.

The meaning of not liking someone deepens and yet remains a void,
Toying of a shadow passing by brings but another tragedy along history.

Hope so small seems appreciated no matter how it may be,
Taking a pause in resolution to greater effects to further develop.

Violating, mutilating, torturing and yet alluring,
Near or far away the nurturing of an innocent child grows into man.

Definitions confused throughout this story and yet they remain clear,
Is there not finality in the dawning of the two last acts?

Good and evil tend to loose their meanings when things are at a close,
One more tear as the never ending flow of sadness erupts to hope.

One can only see happiness after pain and sorrow,
Once again hope is but a means to an end…

…FIn



As for poems on AO I liked......


Soshi Kitai did a few nice ones that I read in the past. I didn't comment very positively then, but being prolific is something I appreciate. Trying again and again :P


I so have to make some kind of POTM like the first one we did, that was a blast :P

Poem Of The Month


Peach_follows had brought a poem once that really made you feel the love of a mother.


Bah....to shorten thing, here are the poems who won during the POTM back then:

Poem Of The Month



Now, who else has input on their inspiration and what not? I don't mind that this thread exists, as long as it remains on topic and that poetry is ALWAYS discussed.

Like Soldat above, I've got some neoclassical aspirations of my own.

1) In poems I read seriously, I first look at how well the poet captures an essence -- whether it be a scene, an emotion, an ideal, or any other idea -- using nothing but his words. Structure's a close second, and that includes rhyme and meter, things postmodern poets tend to dismiss quickly.

2) Robert Frost ranks first on my list.

3) "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by the aforementioned poet. Here it is, for those who haven't read it yet:

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I must say that I've always seen Edgar Allan Poe as more then just a writer of dreary thoughts. In every single one of his pieces there is at least some small ray of hope. I find The Raven in particular intriguing in that it has the unique underlying possibility that the raven is actually serving as a symbol of the persona's lost lover. That's the one thing that people forget when they analyze poetry. The poems that are the most memorable are usually written by people who dwell in the realm of thought.

My favorite style of poetry is the sestina. (if anyone noticed, that's the only format that I have here on AO the rest are simply works of my own imagining.) I simply refuse to follow any other format except for block on occasion.

As for what it is that qualifies a poem as great in my opinion is the uniqueness of it, and the quality of the way that everything (sound imagery diction structure etc.) comes together so seemlessly. It is the varying degrees of these two qualities which determine the quality of a poem.