| Author |
Message
|
Rose
|
 Posted: Mon Aug 03, 2009 11:53 pm Post subject: Writing Letter Poems |
 |
|
Pure Essence
Joined: Aug 02, 2009
Posts: 350
Location: Ontario, Canada
|
Letter poems were poems that were written in the form of letters. Emily Dickinson, a creative poet of the 19th century used this style of writing.
Perfumed Letter for My Love
Oh my dear sweet love, I received your letter today.
Oh how I miss thee.
The nights are cold and lonely without you.
I do await your arrival home soon.
The days of winter have been long and lonesome.
I look out my window, seeking a sign of spring.
I await the return of the sweet sound of the hummingbird.
When I think of her soft melody, I think of you.
You exist, my love in my dreams at night.
I savor the taste of your last kiss.
You are so far away, my love, but not far from my heart.
I must go now my love, as father is coming.
I will write you again soon.
Until we can again be together, tuck my letter under your pillow.
I have scented it with my favorite perfume.
Love, your precious Rose
© Rose DesRochers 2005-2007
You know the drill. Give it a shot poets. |
|
| Back to top |
|
 |
DragonMistress
|
| Posted: Sat Jul 24, 2010 1:47 pm Post subject: |
|
|
visiting addict
Joined: Aug 05, 2009
Posts: 80
|
I don't feel so bad now, this, I imagine, is what my poetry is? Letter poetry? So it doesn't really have to rhyme at all to be an acceptable form. Rhyming is not easy for me, although I struggle with it.
Gretchen  |
|
| Back to top |
|
|
JakerBaker88
|
| Posted: Thu Jul 29, 2010 2:19 am Post subject: |
|
|
Official member
Joined: May 05, 2010
Posts: 35
Location: WA
|
Ever Regretful
To my old friend, you were like a brother to me.
I have always considered you family;
In fact, I assumed you had felt the same.
I was always the presumptious one.
Shouting the sky is falling like Chicken Little
When it was only just the rain.
I suppose I was wrong?
The words you said cut me to the quick.
I felt wounded.
In the caverns of my heart,
The fire for our kinship ran cold.
If we meant half as much to eachother,
Then you'd never have ridiculed me---
Unless your pain has made you thoughtless?
Someday, I know you will be sorry;
The spite for my friendship with your ex-flame,
Replaced with nothing but indifference.
Remember, I loved you like a sister---
And perhaps always will.
Signed, Ever Regretful Jacqueline. |
|
| Back to top |
|
|
DragonMistress
|
| Posted: Thu Jul 29, 2010 6:39 pm Post subject: |
|
|
visiting addict
Joined: Aug 05, 2009
Posts: 80
|
I'm A Writer!
I'm a writer, not a poet,
my verse it does not rhyme,
I try real hard but this is definitely not my kind.
Although my words are well accepted
It's not comfortable or fulfilling.
I find it hard to express what I'm thinking
It's unfortunately a sad dead end.
My stories I will tell so vivid and alive
From experience or strange visions
That occupy my creative head.
For I "see" these things before I write,
The "videos" that repeat in my mind
And drive me crazy keeping me from sleep
Until I let them out you see.
People say I'm nuts, sometimes obsessed
But it's my head that won't stop, not me!
I'm ready to drop and give up all this
But then my head says "Get up…
"You've got a story to write!" it says
"I won't be still until you do",
and so it goes from day to day
my subconscious has its way.
|
|
| Back to top |
|
|
tswilkins
|
| Posted: Mon Sep 06, 2010 8:34 pm Post subject: |
|
|
Frequent flyer
Joined: Sep 26, 2009
Posts: 52
|
Well, this is miles away from how I usually write--but I find it interesting. I will give it a shot. Help me out with suggestions if you want to.
Without Words
Precious poetry of my soul, I hear you call to me.
I wish that I could comprehend your language—
And that the gentleness of your whisper
Would reach the tender part of my mind
That is accustomed to your embrace.
However, I can only hear you mumble—
Only hear you weep from a distance,
And as the arms of my mind reach for you…
I cannot grasp the smoothness of your rhythm,
Nor the elegance of your language, and your rhyme
Is a distant cry away from the shore of my soul.
But, keep sailing dear poetry…closer to me.
Keep calling, keep speaking, and I will hear.
I will understand, and when we meet in
Our sacred place of serenity—I will cherish you.
Waiting for you, your poetess T.S..
~T.S. Wilkins~ |
|
| Back to top |
|
|
|
|
|
