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Writer's Block

Poetry Break

Write a poem or share one that you like.

Answers (347)

  • "The Dark Night" a poem by St. John of the Cross 1. One dark night, fired with love's urgent longings - ah, the sheer grace! - I went out unseen, my house being now all stilled. 2. In darkness, and secure, by the secret ladder, disguised, - ah, the sheer grace! - in darkness and concealment, my house being now all stilled. 3. On that glad night, in secret, for no one saw me, nor did I look at anything, with no other light or guide than the one that burned in my heart. 4. This guided me more surely than the light of noon to where he was awaiting me - him I knew so well - there in a place where no one appeared. 5. O guiding night! O night more lovely than the dawn! O night that has united the Lover with his beloved, transforming the beloved in her Lover. 6. Upon my flowering breast which I kept wholly for him alone, there he lay sleeping, and I caressing him there in a breeze from the fanning cedars. 7. When the breeze blew from the turret, as I parted his hair, it wounded my neck with its gentle hand, suspending all my senses. 8. I abandoned and forgot myself, laying my face on my Beloved; all things ceased; I went out from myself, leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.
  • I will sacrifice a freewill offering to you; I will praise your name, LORD, for it is good. Psalm 54:6 Photobucket
  • Intimations of Immortality by William Wordsworth Longfellow



  • Todo es hermoso y constante,
    Todo es música y razón,
    Y todo, como el diamante,
    Antes que luz es carbón.
    - José Martí
  • I'll fall away Save my emotions for another day nothing you can say can make me stay cause I'm falling, falling away Can't you see the pain that you're dealing me so shatter my belief
  • I must admit, I'm not a big fan of poetry. I know, bad me. But there is one poet I do really like and unfortunately she passed away a few days ago.
    So to honour her, I'll share with you my favorite poem.

    In Praise of Dreams

    In my dreams
    I paint like Vermeer van Delft.

    I speak fluent Greek
    and not just with the living.

    I drive a car
    that does what I want it to.

    I am gifted
    and write mighty epics.

    I hear voices
    as clearly as any venerable saint.

    My brilliance as a pianist
    would stun you.

    I fly the way we ought to,
    i.e., on my own.

    Falling from the roof,
    I tumble gently to the grass.

    I’ve got no problem
    breathing under water.

    I can’t complain:
    I’ve been able to locate Atlantis.

    It’s gratifying that I can always
    wake up before dying.

    As soon as war breaks out,
    I roll over on my other side.

    I’m a child of my age,
    but I don’t have to be.

    A few years ago
    I saw two suns.

    And the night before last a penguin,
    clear as day.

    Wislawa Szymborska
    View with a Grain of Sand (1996)


  • in a world of sparks and bombs, do flowers and trees exist? just barely. does one ever truly win the war? war wins war. look at the balance of daggers and sugarplums. constant push and pull. luckily until war wins, in a world of sparks and bombs, flowers and trees still exist. just barely. though. ps. and i am fight'n hard for 'em.
  • Don't Fear The Darkness by BP Think (me)
    A dream within a dream...

    the magic of depth.

    Ever changing, re-arranging...

    don't fear the darkness.

    Like the changing leaves...

    like the changing tides...

    Like the curving lines of fate,

    bent ever so slightly in our favour...

    just like these dreams.

    We are but a breath...

    an inhale of the world...

    just like a blade of grass...

    like these calm hours...

    Glowing of red,

    just like the fresh blood...

    fresh blood of the new generation...

    Don't fear the darkness.

  • We are all doomed.
    Doomed to love.
    To be enthralled by love.
    To fail at love.
    To pick up the pieces, dust ourselves off;
    Only to fail again.
    It's a beautiful tragedy.
    Embrace it.
    We never stood a chance anyway

    ~Gabe Saporta

  • I have no talent for poetry, but this one actually know by heart. It reminds me of the English Literature classes in high school. I loved those classes. We always used a book called The Horn Of Plenty. I've been looking for that book for years. If you ever find it somewhere, please buy it, I will return the money plus a very big, financial thank you.
    The poem itself is written in the time of the first world war. I used it many a time in my classes to underline nationalism. I am aware that it's content is strongly nationalistic. However, for me, it's the perfect image of a young English soldier dying in a foreign (probably French) field. Those soldiers deaths seemed so useless, dying in trenches, fighting for inches. The only little salvation is knowing that where he will fall, his body and mind will make that small piece of earth a little bit more England.

    The Soldier by Rupert Brooke

    If I should die, think only this of me:
    That there's some corner of a foreign field
    That is for ever England. There shall be
    In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
    A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
    Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
    A body of England's, breathing English air,
    Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

    And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
    A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
    Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
    Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
    And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

    In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

    I'm a strong Anglophile, so most poetry i ever read is English. But there is one Dutch poem i found as stunningly beautiful. Basically at describes the Dutch landscape, with it's trees, it's rivers, it's villages, farms, grey skies and fear of the water. We are the lowlands, after all. (That's what Nederland - Netherlands) means)

    Denkend aan Holland (Thinking about Holland) by Hendrik Marsman



    Denkend aan Holland
    zie ik breede rivieren
    traag door oneindig
    laagland gaan,
    rijen ondenkbaar
    ijle populieren
    als hooge pluimen
    aan den einder staan;
    en in de geweldige
    ruimte verzonken
    de boerderijen
    verspreid door het land,
    boomgroepen, dorpen,
    geknotte torens,
    kerken en olmen
    in een grootsch verband.
    de lucht hangt er laag
    en de zon wordt er langzaam
    in grijze veelkleurige
    dampen gesmoord,
    en in alle gewesten
    wordt de stem van het water
    met zijn eeuwige rampen
    gevreesd en gehoord.



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