#poetry class

[literaryluxxx]

remembering that uni starts again soon which means waking up before the sunrises to stand on a packed train and walk for 20 minutes in the freezing cold all to make my 9am class. University is evil.

[weathermanpolls]

Let's Build Sokka a Harem

Yue

Suki

Toph

Ty Lee

Mai

Azula

June

Kyoshi Warriors

poetry class students

Katara

Joo Dee

Lo and Li

Voting ended onFeb 24, 2025

[orchard-bliss]

Billy Collins, “Connect With Strangers Through Form”; Reading And Writing Poetry; (Masterclass.com).

[traveledlight]

I'm tired of waking up at 4 a.m. wasting in the thoughts that constantly haunt me.

Often I imagine the beauty of falling off a bridge

and the blissful moment of freedom as the world slows down.

I begin to fly before I realize my wings are clipped

and I gracefully kiss the water.

Those icy arms slowly cradle me to sleep

as I finally feel alive for the first time.

When they bury me they will finally fill the hole

that had grown so large within me.

I'll finally find my peace.

With my hands on the keys I rise from the dead like Christ on the third day.

My fingers breathe the Word of Life into these words as they reach your ears today.

My pain spills out like blood on the cross that screams to your relatable hearts.

It's the poetry that flows from my breast to yours that truly speaks to me.

This is my light in the darkness.

[greenapplebling]

As a kid I thought of you as a rose,

As a grown up I saw all your thorns.

I know thorns are there to protect you,

But was it necessary to turn them on me?

Of the rose garden, you're the reddest.

Could it be that your petals are painted

With the blood of my wounds?

It didn't matter if it's by force or gentleness,

If it's by rigor or kindness, if it's by hate

Or love. Your thorns hurt me all the same.

[shannonmacaron]

Modesto

If I told you where I was from, you would ask me, “where?”

It’s tucked around the 99.

No one really visits here except if they’re stopping for gas.

It was built on an old west town.

The Gold Rush brought people here and gambling was the sinner’s choice.

It was terrible from the beginning.

The bus depot is menacing and the streets downtown are confusing.

McHenry runs through the whole town and it shows what we have here.

It’s still pretty country, but it’s also suburban and a small-ass city.

Some days you’re driving by small farms, other days a homeless person is showing you their buttcrack.

Even though this place has its problems, it was where I started my first job at Smart & Final as a service clerk, it was where I went to school at Freedom Elementary and James C. Enochs High School, and it was where I discovered my love for writing in my mother’s bathroom one Thursday morning.

So if you can, avoid Modesto, because I don’t plan on sharing my land of Meth, Death, and Auto Theft.

[peachynm]

I have exciting news! I’m now teaching on Skillshare and just uploaded my class How to Write Extraordinary Poetry. If you want to learn with me, this link will give you one month free to the entire site. I’ll talk to you on Skillshare!

How to Write Extraordinary Poetry | Nicole Mae | Skillshare

Do you have an itch to elevate your poetry? Whether you’ve just begun your writing journey, feel stuck in it, or need new avenues to branch

[cthonicdemon]

I wrote a poem for you all!! I haven't written in a while, motivation, and fanfic writing has been kicking my ass. I felt this poem deeply as I was writing it. It was like a beas that was infecting my brain and needed to come out through several couplets, a quatrains, and some type of ending stanza. Enjoy! <3<3<3<3

I haven't been able to write

1.

I haven't been able to write at all

It is a shame how something so very small

2.

As a bad grade on a test or an unclean room

Strengthen the impending sense of doom

3.

Is doom, for a poet, having nothing left to say

Having words that impact in no kind of way

4.

Following a pattern, couplets I suppose

Trying to change the world through meaningless prose

5.

Is writing a poem, the way I am now

Part of the problem and if so, how?

6.

"This is not a real poem", one could say

And I would agree in many a way

7.

Am I rhyming to rhyme or do I mean something deep

Where are the answers I desperately seek

8.

I feel lost, as a poet, as if I'm no one at all

Drowning in my thoughts and feeling so small

9.

Perhaps that is why I'm not able to write

Perhaps I have given up all of my fight

10.

Perhaps I shouldn't post my words to the world

And read any comments painstakingly curled

11.

Up into a ball, do they like what I say

Do I matter at all at the end of the day?

12.

Maybe I'll break the rules like the best poets do

But then how will my message shine faithfully true

13.

There's so much confusion and way too much sound

In the conventions and rules all bouncing around

14.

Let me write, god damnit, let me right as I please

In a world with no pushback let me write with ease

15.

I have all the thoughts, they're in my head

So save your rules for the creatively dead

16.

I won't follow your rules any longer

Tryrants of poetry

Sic semper tyranis

The poem ends how ever I see

Why do I number these at all?.

And it ends like this:

I will write as I will write

And I will be who I want to be