I wrote this poem for a girl I like (it was requested), and the ending was being she uses the hashtag #Resist. I don't think it's all that good, but I wrote it in about 10 minutes so here ya go.
What’s the definition of flawless?
Idiots might think it’s the orange in the office,
Or maybe it’s the purity of solace,
It could be the nature of the beast, the lawless.
The lawless anarchist,
The bigoted racist,
The bumbling sexist,
Some might say these are the flawless,
Most would call them the jawless,
Brain warped and ball-less
Maybe it’s the tallest,
Or the most honest,
The one who keeps their promise
To me, MY definition of flawless,
It’s not the anarchist,
Or the racist,
Or the sexist,
No, it’s just a girl who has the power to resist.
I'll keep that in mind next time I try and argue about the overall healthiness of the site, and as if this has anything to do with the topic at hand.
Like I said, I wrote it in ten minutes. It's also my first foray into poetry. But I do appreciate the criticism, if I ever want to write more poetry I will definitely revisit this and learn from it.
Never thought I'd say this, but I agree with some of the points Mizal is making. It's freeform, so structure like syllable count and such don't matter that much, but the way the poem flows really jumps around. I think a bit more structured metre might have improved it.
As for the contents, I think the overall message of 'I like my girlfriend' is about what you'd expect from a love poem. There's not necessarily anything wrong with that, but it might have been a bit more touching if you actually compared her to people that are generally likeable. What your poem is now basically saying is that your girl is more flawless than anarchists, racists and sexists, who generally speaking don't really set a high bar for flawlessness. Though that's just my opinion of course.
I totes understand this. And yeah, I probably should've set the bar higher. I called her flawless, though.
But, y'know, she liked it, so thats a big giant W for me.
What the hell is a bumbling sexist? Someone who goes to try to grab the girl’s ass, trips over his feet and only grabs her ankle instead?
Look man, I wrote it on the fly. I figured sexists usually are assholes with no real points as to why they think they're better, maybe bumbling racist would've made more sense.
Strange, I was relatively sure you were one of the pro-Trump site members. Anyhow, this is a terrible poem, but I've a soft spot for romance and writing poetry for a girl is adorable, so whatever, well done.
Tipping my fedora as I read this. I tipped too far, the fedora tipped back.
Yeah, I guess the poem is good enough for a commendation not just solely for the humor aspect.
In any case, if anyone else wants to submit poems for their crushes (or anything else I guess) this seems like the current thread to do it in.
I'm a bit busy this semester, as I'm writing my thesis/going abroad/ and all that, so I've put most of my CYS things on hold. Of course, if you want to brag about your poetry, you could always make a thread of your own.
End, for my *cough* crush I just told him a little Pokémon verse...
*clears throat* Okay.. Here it goes. (It's shitty, but they liked it because they accepted me.)
Charmander is red.
Squirtle is blue.
If you were a Pokémon... I would choose you!
Yep, I won't be posting anything in the creative corner anymore. I'd rather not be the laughingstock of CYS.
Alright, here's my analysis of this obscure, seemingly trashy poem that I have found whilst traipsing about in the forums of CYStia.
Oddly, the speaker of this poem starts with a rhetorical question, representing his uncertainty about perfection. The reader imagines the speaker lying placidly and meditating in a bed or under a tree. The speaker emphasizes the solitary setting by mentioning "the purity of solace." However, the word 'flawless' becomes a mask for a strange new world of thought which blooms in the speaker's mind while he lies in repose. The speaker refers to "the orange in the office," a jarring combination of the biological and the clinical. The speaker contrasts everyday life experience with an everyday object to introduce the absurd. Suddenly, though, the reader realizes that an orange in office is a perfectly normal phenomenon: employees bring oranges to lunch on in their offices all the time. This, truly, is the "nature of the [lawless] beast": the transition from reality to daydreams in the wink of an eye, the wild promise of adventure in the everyday.
The speaker then brings up imperfect examples of flawlessness. Of course the reader does not expect the anarchist, bigot, or sexist to be flawless. The word 'bumbling' emphasizes the pathetic nature of these characters. However, by doing so, he distorts the arbitrary definition of a word. Again, he asks, what's the definition of flawless? They are flawless in that they are the pure, distilled form of an idea. Complete anarchists do not exist in real life; only people who believe in anarchist ideals exist, and even they do not reject order all the time. The speaker emphasizes this flawless uniformity with redundant words of 'bigoted' before 'racist' and 'lawless' before 'anarchist.'
The next paragraph introduces an element of whimsy on behalf of the speaker, for he toys with these fake, non-human entities, these ideas. Of course ideas do not have jaws, nor brains, nor even balls! They reject all carnality even though they are flawless. However, he follows those examples with even more ideal characters: the tallest, honest, and loyal. However, even they are not truly human: they are ideas, just like the whimsical antagonists of the previous paragraphs.
The final paragraph is truly a work of art. The speaker rejects others' notions of flawless in the form of the ideal. He stands up and cries out to anyone who will listen, even to uncultured plebeians on the internet, his own definition of perfection. He includes anaphora with the word 'or' and repeats the characters of the previous paragraph to emphasize the defiant, entire rejection of the residing definition. The speaker thus elevates the drama of the poem until he voices, finally, the answer to that question that has hung over the heads of both the reader and writer. The speaker breathes out the last line with a satisfied resolution - the girl he loves is not an idea but just a girl, a girl with the power to resist. The reader asks, what is she resisting? Now, if she resisted something, she would turn into an idea; she would become not much more than the sexist who opposes women. This girl simply has the ability to resist the static state of a universe that flows and changes; she has the power to question and defy the standard definitions. She breaks beyond the typical definition of flawless and becomes a wild, adventurous spirit with no chains to hold her down
For that girl whom he admires, the speaker steps beyond reality once again and into the great mystery of life and of love, never to chain himself down again.
Thank you, Regal Ghost, for this masterpiece. Amen.
Might I compare thee to a summer's day?
Because with you, I like to sit around
And ponder the important quandaries
That have empondered man for centuries.
When you are with me, I ask myself, "What is perfection?"
Is it flawlessness? For surely that's boring, and a flaw in itself. Is it fantabulousness? For in fantabulousness there are flaws, however minor, that rob it of perfection. Should perfection even be chased? What would we do if we had it? What is perfection?
"What is love?" A confuzzulary that has oft dethoughted my fellow men of thought for the decades that civilization has existed. One may as well ask "What is existence?" Or "What is the meaning of meaning?"
Well, some believe they have found an answer.
Some say that love is positive vibes, or magical threads that tie the world together, or the act of a baby not to hurt me. But personally, I believe in the words of my philosoforefathers-
In the words of Aristotle:
"Man's purpose is like Chipotle:
To be rational in the face of all things
Including questions that don't make any sense
Because Love is not a question to be answered
Love is the answer, much like violence is never
And therefore I will answer the fuck out of all your questions
Because I love you
With a love as deep and as vast as my brain
If my brain isn't just a simulation
And if you are not just Bigfoot, being cleverly disguised by the reptiloids, to keep Humanity from knowing the truth:
That they are not the only mammals in the universe
Because I know I'm not
I will never be lonely, because I know I have you AND bigfoot,
And I know you have me and the reptiloids, who we must band together and destroy before they brainwash us all in a psychic death orgy
And brainwashing is bad, for it removes our depth
And your third eye is almost as deep as mine, so that we may philosophically stimulate the smartest and wisest of thinkages in one another and bring enlightenment through love
I only hope that your vagina
Is not as deep, nor as vast, as your thinky thoughts
Because in the words of Nietchze, "God made you perfect, then we killed him."
Wow, she's really going to think about how thoughtful you are while the football team is running a train on her
Do you need a Snickers?