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Would you like to read more of the poems I've submitted to the Blue and White Ink publication? |
Yes, please! I like your stuff. |
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Yes. Maybe you have better poems. |
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No, thank you. I don't care for your work. |
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Heck, no! Who wants to read your crap? (Me: Aw...*sad face*) |
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Total Votes : 2 |
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Posted: Tue Dec 15, 2009 9:29 pm
So, my high school has a creative writing club, of which I was recently voted vice president (hooray!). We put out four issues a year, one for each quarter. I've decided that I'm going to put up some of the poems that I've submitted. These two were in the Second Quarter Issue of the 2009-2010 school year. This is the fourth year we've been in print (and my third year of being in the club), so I may add more of my poems later on (I've accumulated quite a lot of them). Oh, and the issue is called Blue and White Ink, thus the title of this thread (blue and white are my school colors). I hope you like them!
What is Love? What is love to me Who knows nothing but sorrow? What is pain to you Who even joy must borrow? I'd rather have my pain As long as it's my own. For someone else's joy Is torment like a stone. Perhaps someday I'll find The joy that others feel. But when I do, I promise, My happiness is real.
My Dear Friend The strings that bound our hearts together Were tied with care to last all weather. And should one loosen or others break, A dozen more form in their wake. Although in silence the years have passed, Though I've not seen you, the ties will last. And even though we've grown apart, My dearest friend, stay near my heart.
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Posted: Tue Dec 22, 2009 5:36 pm
I love how good you are with meter and rhyme. I think both of these poems are great but have one critique. Something about the line "Is torment like a stone" doesn't seem right. Is that just me? Keep writing!
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Posted: Fri Mar 12, 2010 3:40 pm
That line kind of bugs me, too, but "stone" rhymes with "own." I couldn't think of anything else that rhymed and that might fit the poem's feel. I tried to stretch it to mean something like having to pretend that you're happy is just as bad as being bombarded with rocks; both hurt.
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