Question by TD Euwaite™: Inspired by a growing group of people with varying levels of sanity, I’ve written a poem. Do you like it?
*****
Flying machines
These clanking contraptions with wings
Our calamitous cacophony,
…we roll, pitch and swing

Traveler brings
Loose baggages bound up with string
Our ballooning belongings,
…from the birdcage we sing

Roaring choruses
Of songs from singers unseen
Come in and join us
…rubber-band air flying thing

*****
You may answer in free verse or iambic pentameter…
We both yoinked it from ‘Wizard of Oz’.
Silver missed all the fun last summer. We found many forms of formless poetry. Verse Libre, in general, requires only artistic imagery and some discernable rhythm. Non-rhyming iambs, in any syllable count (meter), is only one type of Verse Libre.

Best answer:

Answer by listen_2_me
shall answer in free words!

its so good
too musical T D
well written!
hope to see more n more

thanx!

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Question by Ezekiel W: Here’s another poem for you guys to rate : )?
Good Abraham

There once was a man past ten feet tall,
The tallest man I’ve ever seen.
Broad was he as the China Wall,
And strong as any machine.

So amazing was his brilliant power,
I can’t explain it even now.
I’ve seen him pull a cart for hours,
Meant for an oxen or a cow.

To say he was rough is a score of lies,
Being gentle as any man came.
Now he’s gone for every man dies,
But I’ll never be the same.

My father died in a storm at sea,
And my mother broke her head.
An orphan lad I came to be,
Not a place to make my bed.

I lived alone on the cold wet road,
Not a friend in the world had I.
I lived my life by the beggar’s code,
And I learned how never to cry.

Every meal I ate was a stolen one,
I was swifter than any ol’ fox..
I could tell the hour by the shining sun,
And slept at nights in a box.

Well, I was caught one fateful day,
For I stole from the giant man.
I thought I was gone when he came my way,
But instead he said “I’m Abraham.

I can see you’re down on your luck, my boy,
And I’d like to give you a job.
If you say yes it will give me joy,
And you’ll never have to rob.”

A stranger still he was to me,
But I did not turn him down.
And on a farm I came to be,
On the outskirts of the town.

He took his time to teach me how,
To gather and to chop.
I learned quite slow, as I think back now,
But he never blew his top.

Eventually I had it down,
And I worked from morn’ till night.
The work was tough but I never frowned,
Cause he treated me alright.

He was the kindest among men,
That I had known to live.
So one day I asked him then,
And this explanation he did give…

“I assure you I’m no saint” he said,
“But I try to live like Jesus.
You see, my boy, we’re bound and dead,
Until He comes and frees us.

And when you let the Savior in,
And such love He gives and shows you.
How can you but love all men,
When you realize He has chose you.”

It’s been many years since he’s past away,
But I’ll never forget good Abraham.
Especially not that brilliant day,
When he showed me the Savior who saved him.

There once was a man past ten feet tall,
Broad and strong as the Wall at Cathay.
But stronger still was he when he’d fall,
Down to his knees and pray.

Best answer:

Answer by Carrie
1-10…I would give it a 9

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Question by CLASS OF 2011: POETRY LOVERS, I NEED INTERPRETATION OF THE POEM “BETWEEN THE WORLD AND ME”?
THIS POEM IS WRITTEN BY RICAHARD WRIGHT. All I need is someone to interpret the poem and/or answer the questions in full depth. THANKS.

And one morning while in the woods I stumbled
suddenly upon the thing,… Now I am dry bones and my face a stony skull staring in
yellow surprise at the sun… http://edhelper.com/poetry/Between_the_World_and_Me_by_Richard_Wright.htm

1.In the course of the passage, the speaker moves from detached observation to
A. vicarious suffering
B. callous indifference
C. terrified flight
D. solemn resignation
E. stubborn denial

2. The speaker’s description of the gruesome site in lines 1-2 suggests that the site had been
A. totally obscured by vegetation
B. accidentally preserved by nature
C. formally designated by an historic marker
D. recently concealed by the perpetrators of the violence

3. In the poem the charred stump of the sapling may be said to do all of the following EXCEPT
A. provide enduring evidence of the machine crime
B. reproach the divine for human wickedness
C. contrast with the otherwise idyllic setting
D. guard the entrance to the clearing

4. In delinating the scene of the ghastly event, the speaker makes the LEAST use of
A. the clothing of the deceased
B. the personal items discarded by the vigilantes
C. the ashen remnants of the fire
D. the skeletal remains of the deceased
E. the location of the incident

5. The incident at the site seems so recent that the speaker claims he can still detect the smell of
A. cigarettes
B. perfume
C. tar
D. gasoline
E. liquor

7. In the second stanza (lines 4-17), the poet personifies all
of the following EXCEPT
A. the skeleton of the deceased
B. the burnt sapling
C. the ropes that had bound the deceased
D. the night wind and the darkness
E. the killing ground itself

8. In effecting his imaginative transformation from belated witness to actual victim, the speaker relies primarily upon images of
A. sight
B. sound
C. smell
D. feeling
E. taste

9. At the end of the second stanza(line 17), the speaker emphasizes his helpless position by means of
A. hyperbole
B. metonymy
C. personification
D. irony
E. allusion.

10. The extraordinary realism of the final stanza (lines 18-25) is achieved primarily through the use of
A. purely chronological development
B. the simile comparing the flames to a boiling kettle
C. the contrast between the victim’s black skin and the white feathers
D. enjambment that accelerates the stanza’s rhythm
E. participles and verbs that intensify the speaker’s desperate agony

Best answer:

Answer by libby l
Are you SURE that’s all?

The least you could do is give us the complete poem here! Forget using links.

Add your own answer in the comments!

Question by autumlovr: What do you think of this new poem?
WAR

She was barely 17
he was 21, they
thought that at the end
of WWII,
all wars would be done.

Boomer babies came like the sea
from a soaring post-war economy,
with joy unbridled and hope regained
that never would we go to war again.

It broke their hearts
to know their sacrifice
was only the beginning
of conflicts and pain, watching
their beloved country revisit
the need for war
again and again and again.

So many, this boomer wonders now
if my world will ever see lasting peace,
and just how long our own babies will continue
to grow up in a world of constant wars,
while we try to point them to the stars.
Can it be that war is who we really are?

Korea was awful and Vietnam even worse
now the Middle east, though we all know
we were duped into that particular feast.
Are we to live forever bound to this curse
of warfare and killing and death’s sour dirge, our
economy swallowed up in the war machine purse?

Where have the peacemakers gone?
Are they as hungry for understanding,
calm and good will,
or are they fat and satisfied,
feeding on the hill.

Perhaps they too are all gone
leaving us
to follow
their wars.

Best answer:

Answer by kolbie f
i’m most likely to young to truly appreciate it.
but i like it

i’d just spell out 21 and 17

What do you think? Answer below!

Question by Sara: What do you think of this poem?
For school, I have to write a poem about writing, and what it was to us. Here is mine. I don’t feel it’s quite right so I’d really appreciate some advice or opinions. Thanks!

I weave together words, leaving a verdict in my wake
Filling the pauses with a melodic noise.
Syllables are the metronome, the tic-tock that pounds out each mistake
Until the machine hums out the beauty beholden in my choice.
Reflected in myself, I see the people I create
It’s from my mind–my rib they’re made.
Fermenting there, that’s where they grate
Until somewhere on paper they have strayed.
Innate gears tremble, tumbling under the weight
Left by the mass amount words,
Reorganizing themselves, until they stand straight
Organized to a v in the way of soaring birds.
For its structure that imprisons me, grammar is the bind
That shakes as the digits hit the keys,
For this is the monster, I find myself entwined
Much too wrapped up in, too in love with, to ever leave.

Best answer:

Answer by VampierGirl
That was really good!!!! great job!

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