Poems in Dedication.
 

Ever written something in dedication for someone? Care to share?

Troll

Come on, bitch, take another pot-shot,
you're holding back now, give it all you've got,
because if you think that you're making me cry,
by calling me names and making me 'die',
then you are mistaken, my little friend,
you'll just feeding the fire that will be your end.

Stooping so low, calling of names,
but it is I that is winning, playing mind games,
you poor little soul, homicidal indeed,
you're just one of those annoying breed,
attention seeker, smothered little girl,
go on, get your guns, give 'em a whirl,
you can't bring me down, you'll just carry on,
trying to win, but losing all along.

Dedicated to the 'gothic one'. Oh, you've made me laugh...

Dignity Bereft

I feel helpless like a child
I feel hopeless as the dead
I wish that I could smile
Let alone raise my head

Words are what compose me
Just an intricate type of verse
I see the lines below me
Though I've forgotten to rehearse

I fail as a matter of habit
In all endeavors meaningful
If I truly wish to have it
Fate makes me seem the fool

Love is all I've left
For someone so forlorn
Of dignity, bereft
My soul so crudely torn

These jagged peaks I ride
With vehicle haphazard
I wish to run and hide
Away from all that mattered

One more saving verse
Instead of saving grace
I'll try to stay the hearse
‘Til I can see your face


I wrote this for a woman whom I've never met, but somehow fell in love with. Its an apology for things best left unmentioned, but taken as just poetry I think its not bad. think you could give me an opinion? I don't get much criticism and am in desperate need of it. I plan to buy my freedom with words, or something like that.

More poems. This is good. Though I can't remember ever written a poem dedicated to someone, I'm sure that some day I will. And until that day I will stikck to the 5minute poetry. Actually I don't write much poems anyhow. I usually tend to write 5 minute poems and not to take too much time. 10minutes tops usually. And it was after the 5minute poetry thread that I started to write more poems than usual.

Anyway...Not to interrupt your poem posting here anymore, I will not post until I write a poem dedicated to someone.

Poem For Sister

To mommy ran the little girl,
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter
Crocodile tears down her painted cheeks,
Mother exclaimed "What is the matter?!"
Well, mother dear, let me explain -
it's another game of tell-tat-tit,
Just because she didn't get her way
She threw herself down and had a fit.
A little paddy on the floor,
throwing things and cursing loud
Surely, mother, that is bad?
Does it make you happy? Make you proud?
Wash her mouth out with the soap
like you did to me when I was young,
make her suffer for her actions
teach her not to be so high strung.
I hear the bitching when my back is turned,
Oh, how she thinks that I don't know
that little wretch that thinks she's Queen,
that mouthy little so-and-so
So mother, when you hear her out
and think to yell up to my room,
remember that she's not quite grown up yet,
Don't be hasty and fire too soon,
Because though I'm mature to take this shit
And though you think I can leave it be
I assure you, mother dear,
I can be as big a bitch as she.

I did write a poem dedicated to someone once. It was near the end of my high school year and someone actually got into a car accident and died. I can't share though since all my stuff is in another city.

that was hilarious! I'm a little scared though, especially after noticing the script under your name. Worst nightmare huh, I'll buy that. ha hah ha! I don't write too many humorous poems, if I do they are usually just rediculous made up words and stupid puns. now that I think about it maybe this wasn't meant to be funny, but that just makes it funnier.

Gilded trays lined with fare
So delicate and fragrant
Enough to savor, even share
Desire hidden, yet flagrant

Flasks are poured in salute
Drank in hasty, shallow sips
Diners become less astute
Leading way to easy quips

Round the table in a flash
News of victory and loss
These men rejoice at the cache
Of exploits, seeming cross

With fate for its meandering
Always out of reach
Few escape a slandering
Or slurring of their speech

If not for light they’d assume
To live this night forever
Revelry their nom de plume
Ties to madness they must sever

this one is dedicated to my friends and I (I was going to say me and my friends, but felt like being a bit more grammar minded) I think its a little funny.

Oh, these weren't made in jest. It's my way to get my anger off of my chest without actually having to result in angst poetry. My sister never got to read that poem, though it still stands true. Biatch~

Show it to her. Just to see the look...

I was pretty sure that you didn't write these expressly as jokes, but they still strike me as funny. Not in the capacity that they are rediculous or ingenuine, just in their blatant honesty, something of a novelty these days. I don't know if I agree with the statement that you should show it to your sister, that could lead to hurt feelings, or broken bones. I wonder if you used the word biatch as a reference to your sister, or if it was aimed at me, either way I think thats pretty funny too.

A Poem for English Majors
 

Analysis

The men there gathered round the table
To inspect the specimen
“Tis a work of art,” says one
says another, “Shall we begin”
They all go to a nearby rack
Don gloves, mask, and gown
The specimen whines nervously
As they look it up and down
The sound takes on a new note now
Now one of fear for life
As men struggle to hold it down
One approaches with a knife
They move the scalpel carefully
And cut the writing style
bleeds symbolism everywhere
They collect some in a vial.
“The skeleton: the story-structure”
“Well I guess that’s a start.”
“Hey look,” says one, “I found the theme”
and removes its beating heart
The plot, its central nervous system,
Is pulled out piece by piece
The conflict taken from in its bowels
Now an empty masterpiece
“Now that I know what’s in it, well,
It doesn’t seem sublime
The plot is rather shabby and
It doesn’t even rhyme”
They put it back together then
And leave it there for dead
But somehow, in some strange way
It had some time left instead
It lays gasping on the table
And as the end draws near
It calls out for its father
The name it says: “Shakespeare”