Recent posts by POPPY1061 on Kongregate

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

Got a bit bored this morning, so I decided to rack up some keys on WhatPulse. I think it turned out pretty well.

The night was quiet. I peeked into my parent’s bedroom and, seeing them asleep, I continued on to the front door. I eased it open, hoping Dad had oiled the hinges like he’d said he would. Sometimes he didn’t do everything he said he would, but it looked like Mom had nagged him enough about this. I patted my pocket, making sure I had my wallet (yes, I carry a wallet, not a purse), my ticket, and my key. I crept out into the silent night to head to the Christmas Concert in City Park. After the concert was over, the girls would go into the rec building for a lockin. I had my sleeping bag and pajamas in my backpack.
It was Wednsday, December 23rd, the night before Christmas Eve. I had made a deal with my mother that if I could successfully sneak out, then I officially had permission to go to the concert AND the lockin (gotta love moms). So far it looked like I was going to make it. I hopped on my bike and pedaled like mad. Turn the corner and…I made it! Becky and Rachel were waiting for me at the corner. Rachel scowled. “It’s about time you got here,” she complained. “I had to make sure my parents were asleep!” “Alright, alright, let’s just go,” Becky said.
They grabbed their bikes and we headed off. Glancing at my watch, I said, “We’re going to be late!” “Well, that’s your fault,” Rachel grumbled. Rachel was one of those girls who carried a grudge to the grave and back. You didn’t want to get on her bad side. She had dark skin and brown eyes, and black hair that she never wore down. Becky was light-skinned with shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes. She got carsick really easily and usually played as the peacekeeper and the go-between whenever me and Rachel fought.
I wear glasses with blue frames and a really thick right lense. I also have shoulder-length hair, but mine is dirty blonde. I prefer boy’s clothes to girl’s clothes, because they’re more comfortable. Rachel wears girl’s clothes and, once again, Becky was caught in the middle.
The rest of the trip passes silently. As we neared the stage, the crowd got louder and louder. Just as we were handing our tickets to the ticket collecter, a man came up to the stage to introduce the first band. None of the artists’ names were released until after the concert. Getting tickets was the hardest thing on EARTH. The first group was Linkin Park. They played My December and What I’ve Done, along with their version of Little Drummer Boy. Then the Jonas Brothers came up and sang When You Look Me In The Eyes and Lovebug, and the Twelve Days of Christmas. Colbie Calliat sang Bubbly and Falling For You, then Silent Night. Now, obviously, each artist did their own styling of a Christmas song. Green Day played Holiday and Know Your Enemy. Their Christmas carol was Away in a Manger.
At midnight, a man got up on the stage and announced that it was time for the lockin and would all the girls who were staying form a line in front of the exit? We marched single-file to the rec building. We all managed to fit our sleeping bags in somewhere, with me, Becky, and Rachel side by side. Everyone managed to get changed before 1 in the morning. We watched movies and ate popcorn, but nobody slept. The doors were unlocked at 8 in the morning. It was Christmas Break, so my parents would be asleep. I rode my bike home after bidding my friends farewell. All the lights were off in my house. I crept in through my bedroom window and into bed. Good thing I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas! I tossed my bag in a corner and slipped into bed, and none to soon. A few minutes later my mom knocked on my door and walked in.
“I see you didn’t bother sneaking out last night,” She teased. “Or maybe I’m just sneakier than you thought. I could have been sneaking out every night for years and you’d never know,” I shot back. “Well,” She said, “That would explain why you’re always so tired in the morning.” She paused. “Tell me the truth, did you go out last night?” Knowing how to deal with my mom, I only said, “Why don’t you ask Becky and Rachel?”
Several hours later, My mom came into my room again, looking smug. Becky trailed behind her, looking very guilty. I raised an eyebrow at her, like, “What did you do THIS time?” Before Mom could say anything, Becky burst out with, “I’m so sorry, Brina!” She called me Brina when she did something wrong. She never did figure out that it only made me more mad. “I didn’t mean to! She squeezed it out of me! She tortured me til I talked! I didn’t want to! I’m so sorry!” “What she means to say,” My mother cut in, “is that she spilled the beans about last night.” “That’s is?” I said. “I successfully sneaked out. I won the bet. Maybe next time you won’t fall asleep when you bet something like that.” “You’re not mad?” Becky asked. “I won the bet. I had permission to be there. No reason to be mad.”
“Now,” Mom said, “Now that I know you CAN sneak out, how many times have you?” “You’ll figure it out eventually.” I just loved giving answers like this.

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

Originally posted by Pivotman99:

Boxing Day, Boxing Day
The day after Christmas is Boxing Day!
Boxing Day, Boxing Day
The day after Christmas is Boxing Day!
The twenty-sixth, the twenty-sixth
What a holly jolly hol-i-day!
Boxing Day, Boxing Day
A day dedicated to boxing, yay!
Boxing Day, Boxing Day
What a wonderful European hol-i-day!

---

:D

I thought Boxing Day was Canadian?

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

I started writing poetry a year ago. Since then, I’ve gotten much better (if you think it’s bad now, you should’ve seen it then). I still don’t think I’m any good at it though, so I may just switch to short stories and books and stuff like that. It’s more my style, because I like telling stories, but I don’t like people staring at me. What I want to know is, what do you guys think? If I do make the switch, I will post a farewell-to-poetry poem.

Topic: Technical Support / Whisper Problem

Okay, what happens is I can whisper to other people, and they can see it, but when they reply, it doesn’t show up to me. I have tested this. I can’t seem to fix it. I use Firefox, and I was wondering if it might have something to do with that.

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

Originally posted by SaintAjora:

Let me ask you a question. Have you ever, ever, EVER written poetry and had some idiot like you make a comment like this?

Alright, two things here:

→ I have taken a number of literature classes and have written quite a bit. I am not an expert, but I do consider myself well informed. I am not “some idiot.”
→ You asked for constructive criticism. I did my best to figure out the flaws I could find in my work and point them out to you so you could improve.

If you want to be an asshole to anyone that says something you don’t want to hear, then don’t post your work and ask people to critique it. I remind you:

Originally posted by POPPY1061:

Questions, comments, concerns, or suggestions, you can always reach me here.

But you know, my bad. I won’t make that mistake again.

Poetry is not all ‘rhymey words’.

Rhyme and rhythm are separate concepts. I haven’t said anything about rhyme. “At least try to sound like you know what the hell you’re saying.” Narf.

I write freeform sometimes. If you don’t like freeform, don’t read it. Simple as that. Got it?

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

Originally posted by SaintAjora:

It is absolutely not mandatory. Ever heard of free-form poetry? Rhythm in a poem is a total stereotype.

Rhythm in a poem is like paragraphs in a story. In order to break the rules, you have to understand them and master them first. Otherwise you are just putting words on paper, not making something worth reading.

Throwing words together is like this.

Your poem has no structure and is not compelling in any way. There is nothing holding it together. Those who break standard forms need to have a firm enough grasp of writing to make up for the loss. Your writing does not reflect this.

I think the most important part of poetry is the meaning.

Unless you are only writing for yourself (and even then I would argue against it) this would be a false presumption. You are posting this publicly, so other peoples thoughts and opinions on it does matter.

Anyway, if everyone excuses bad writing because “well I saw a professional writer do it once,” then they will never ever learn to write well. As I have stated, learn and master the conventions before you give thought to breaking them.

Let me ask you a question. Have you ever, ever, EVER written poetry and had some idiot like you make a comment like this? Poetry is not all ‘rhymey words’. Get used to it. And if you have never written poetry, then you have no place criticizing it. At least try to sound like you know what the hell you’re saying.

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

Originally posted by POPPY1061:

Originally posted by SaintAjora:

Well this isn’t going to be in depth because it is midnight and I don’t have the energy to go through with it, but I do want to say something in case I forget. Your poem has no rhythm. While some writers have broken from that tradition, I think that poetry really needs to have some sort of rhythmic structure to it. If you are a beginner I’m going to go ahead and say it is pretty much mandatory. Otherwise you are just tossing words together. I will try to dig up some good guides for you later, but if you want a head start look up metrical patterns.

It is absolutely not mandatory. Ever heard of free-form poetry? Rhythm in a poem is a total stereotype.

I mean, it’s completely idiotic to say that all poetry MUST have a rhythm. It’s not just throwing words together. Throwing words together is like this. I go come said from the be true does bring irrelevant paint to. Poetry has a meaning, whether or not it has a rhythm. I think the most important part of poetry is the meaning.

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

Originally posted by SaintAjora:

Well this isn’t going to be in depth because it is midnight and I don’t have the energy to go through with it, but I do want to say something in case I forget. Your poem has no rhythm. While some writers have broken from that tradition, I think that poetry really needs to have some sort of rhythmic structure to it. If you are a beginner I’m going to go ahead and say it is pretty much mandatory. Otherwise you are just tossing words together. I will try to dig up some good guides for you later, but if you want a head start look up metrical patterns.

It is absolutely not mandatory. Ever heard of free-form poetry? Rhythm in a poem is a total stereotype.

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

Hey, guys. I’ve been meaning to post this for a few days. Sorry. It doesn’t have a name yet, so if you have suggestions, feel free to tell me.

With three windows in my room,
It’s easy to hear the rain.
Hear it, and see it.
But I can never feel it.
I want to feel the rain,
Stand in it, no less.
Play in it, run in it,
Until I’m soaked to the bone.
I want it to wash me away,
And rebuild me completely,
Somewhere else.

Questions, comments, concerns, or suggestions, you can always reach me here.

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

Another interesting set of lines. May I suggest to mimic the contrast between “love” and “loss” in the 3 lines that follow, to further show the contrast?
In general, I think you are trying to talk about the passage of life and the problem between going fast, or moving slow. When we go fast, we miss out on the subtle and special things in life.
There is the conflicting tone between the many different thoughts of the persona. There is a heavy use of questions to show the conflict, as well as the multitude of “question” words.
I think my only serious issue with the poem is the lack of relation between “Eight Bells” and the rest of the poem. If you chose to use a particular image, it is useful to reinforce it with the poem, be it via contrast or similarity. You may know the image better than I do, and it is effective to subtly hint at what the imagery means, especially if it is more unique to you.
Overall, an interesting piece to read. It would be very nice if you could split up your work into stanzas. :)

I like that I’m getting positive commentary like this. I believe I posted this before I realized it let me skip lines like that. Sorry about that, I will try to fix it. And, just for future reference, I would like to say that my mind does tend to wander and does not always stay on topic. I have reason to suspect that I have ADHD, so I have trouble staying on topic. Heck, I can’t even walk straight. Sorry about the babbling and rambling, I have been working on that.

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

Originally posted by Laxaria:<br

I don’t really like this. It is an interesting 4 lines, but I don’t think “give flight a try” and “pass all this by” contrast properly. Perhaps you mean to pass all this by as in to not experience it all, or to slow down and miss out on what’s to come. The contrast in your set is good, but I do not think it fully emphasises the power of moving through life fast, or enjoying life by going slow.

Point Taken. Keep in mind that I’m 13 And a beginning poet. I also wrote this very quickly, especially that part, it being in near the beginning. It’s just how my mind works.

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

“Eight Bells

I actually had to google the symbology behind the “Eight Bells”, but I realised that it was not very significant. Or, I don’t think so."

Well, if you look in the stanza above the one that mentions the Eight Bells, it will tell you the Eight Bells of Humanity.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

Originally posted by rigariga:

roses are red, lemons are sour, you are so stinky you need a shower

roses are red, lemons are sour, open up your legs and give me an hour… (sorry…)

roses are red, limes are green, i am so hungry, i’ll eat your spleen

sunflowers are yellow, strawberrys are red, you are tired, rest in bed

if you dont think this is poetry, its not :P its a very short poem to express someone

You’re so pleasant to be around * sarcasm *

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

Got any new poems?

Topic: The Arts / [group] Writer's Block

What? Nobody liked my poems? I didn’t think they were that bad…

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

Originally posted by m45t1c:

Yah, I’ve seen writers block. And np, thanks for sharing the poems =D (this is Ozzy, I got silenced for posting a rick roll >< did u know u couldn’t do that???)

I think that’s a violation of freedom of speech. Which only works if you’re in the US, but oh well.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

I really appreciate your comments, Ozzy. You should check out Writer’s Block. I’m on pages 14 and 15 so far. I might be on 13 as well, but I’m not sure. I think a short attention span is great for writing poetry. Especially long poems, because they turn out so different from what you planned. Off-topic, in a good way.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

Originally posted by ozzy123:

Originally posted by POPPY1061:

Originally posted by ozzy123:

Again, good poem. “slowly, but surely” sounds a bit choppy to me tho =/

I’m only thirteen, don’t be so harsh.

I said good poem!!! and that was only one line =P

8 bells:

Good poem as well, reading the other now.

The other poems long, so i got a little lost =P Good poem tho =P

Like, I’ll be reading a book, and I’ll see a good topic in there, then it starts with a short rhyme. The rhythm usually comes later. I find it interesting to see that little piece of a rhyme, usually only one four-lined stanza, turn into one of my long poems. And my mind works so I have to stop reading and immediately take out my notebook and jot down the poem. Then after that I have to work on the poem because I won’t be able to read until it’s finished.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

Alright, it’s getting late. I might stay up another half hour, but probably not. It’s 11pm and I need sleep. Remember, I suck at naming poems.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

If you guys think you have a better title for one of my poems than the one I used, post it. If I like it, then I might use it.
I don’t have a title for this poem yet, so leave suggestions.

The people we are,
If we’re people at all,
Is what makes us proud;
Makes us stand tall.

If you’ve something to brag,
Poetry or art,
Show it all off,
Do your cultural part.

That’s what I’m doing,
In this poem right here.
On the internet,
I’ve nothing to fear.

There’s no prejudice,
No judgement on Kong.
My poems are safe,
But for how long?

These poems will last,
I might get discovered.
A long time from now,
They might be recovered.

Recovered from books,
From videos and tapes.
I’ll write up some heros,
With masks and capes.

I might be famous
A long time from now.
I’ll write my best poems
And I’ll try to learn how.

How to write all I can,
To see all there is.
To hear all, to taste all,
To feel the ocean’s fizz.

This poem is not finished, but I will finish it later.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

Alright, now I’m gonna hit you with the long, meaningful poem that talks about the crap people always get themselves into. There’s no humor in it, like in my I Wonder When poem. It’s completely and deathly serious.

A World-Wide Convention

Inspiration hit
Like lightning today.
Then it was gone,
Just up and flew away.

Now it is back
And I’m writing like mad
To get it all down
Before it’s been had.

Start one thing,
Finish another.
But will we have time
To care for each other?

To address all the issues
Existing today?
Well listen to me,
I’ve got something to say.

We’er an uncaring kind,
All humans alike.
We think about peace,
When we’d just as soon fight.

Poetry bonds us,
Each stanza connects.
Each line makes us think,
Each sentence reflects.

How long will it last,
This poetry thing?
What will we write,
How true will it ring?

Poetry’s ours,
Human’s alone.
We keep it alive,
We keep it our own.

Deer do not write,
Neither do squirrels.
Nor does a flower,
When it unfurls.

This is unique,
Our own invention.
It’s spreading anew,
A world-wide convention.

You’ve probably noticed that I’ve been mentioning truth a lot lately, and it’s because there’s not enough in the world. A billion lies are told every day, and only about a hundred truths. Through poetry, we are honest. We say things that are true. We speak of honesty highly, we talk about there not being enought truth. Then we go and tell lies to people we know and love, and we go against what our poetry says. I’m not saying we don’t mean it when we write these things, I’m saying people need to listen to the poets and hear what they say, then take the advice. People always tell us how valuable literature is, and how true it is. How we should stick to the morals of the fables, even when they don’t. They’re hipocrites. If they want to tell us to do something, they should learn to do that thing first, starting with telling the truth.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

Originally posted by ozzy123:

Again, good poem. “slowly, but surely” sounds a bit choppy to me tho =/

I’m only thirteen, don’t be so harsh.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

My poems seem to be getting shorter, but don’t get used to it. There’s a longer one coming up soon here. Not this one, but the next one. This is the third poem from Bronx Masquerade.

Eight Bells

Will you find yourself
In the time of your life?
Will you at least try
To end your strife?

Will we all end up
In the very same place?
How should I live,
And at what pace?

Should I move fast,
And pass all this by?
Or should I slow down
And give flight a try?

Love and loss,
And lack and light.
Talk and whisper,
And yell and fight.

It seems to me,
That’s all we do.
Eight bells ring,
And they all ring true.

When I finish these poems, I think about how one day, maybe, a teacher will ask their class what the author of this poem means when she talks about eight bells.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

Originally posted by ozzy123:

Yah, we just had a poetry unit in our English class, we had to write 10 poems in a month, I loved it =D Today was the end of the unit, we got hot cocoa, and read the poems in class =D

Dude, no fair. We had to write a freakin bio of our poet, then read out loud one of our poems that was freakin based off of one of our freakin poet’s poems. I had Robert Frost. My poems sucked. I was stuttering and shaking and people were laughing and it was horrible. I’m a terrible public speaker, you understand. I’m hyper, but shy. I couldn’t make a speech to a fly if he was the only thing on earth, besides me.

Topic: The Arts / Poetry of the Tomboy

Another poem inspired by Bronx Masquerade

The Road to My Mind

A heart is an onion,
Layered aplenty.
Often I think about
Where it has sent me.

Where will I go?
Will I follow my heart?
Trust it completely,
Or only in part?

So may questions
Bashing my head.
An asprin, I think,
Then right off to bed.

But that will not fix me,
I know this is true.
Someday I’ll find answers,
But how about you?

I’m finding myself,
Slowly, but surely.
The road to my mind
Is convolutedly curvy.