OC Poetry

45 readers
1 users here now

Welcome to this little space for poets and poetry enthusiasts to share their original creations and insights!

Here, we celebrate the craft of writing poetry and the art of interpretation. Feel free to post your own poems, provide thoughtful analysis of your work or the poetry of others, and engage in meaningful discussions on poetic techniques, themes, and styles.

However, I request that you refrain from sharing previously published poems by other authors to keep the focus on original content. This is a place for personal expression and genuine poetic dialogue—let's explore the beauty of words together.

Rules:

  1. Be kind.
  2. Constructive criticism is encouraged.
  3. Post original poetry, although analysis of prewritten works is allowed.
  4. Although it isn't disallowed please tag anything AI.
  5. Follow instance rules.

founded 1 month ago
MODERATORS
1
16
An Introduction. (self.originalpoetry)
submitted 1 month ago by Lacanoodle to c/originalpoetry
 
 

Hello, fellow poets and poetry lovers!

I’m excited to open this new chapter here at OC Poetry! I’ve recently started to appreciate the ability of poetry to be a powerful way to express, reflect, and connect, and I’m looking forward to be a part of a community that values original voices and fresh perspectives.

In the days and weeks ahead, I’ll be sharing some of my own work with you all. From new poems to reflections on my writing process and personal interpretations, I hope my posts will spark some meaningful conversations and maybe even inspire others to share their thoughts, too.

I'm also here to learn from you! If you’re posting your own work, analysis, or poetry insights, I’ll be looking forward to reading, discussing, and celebrating what you have to offer. I would love your critique too.

Here’s to an inspiring journey of words and ideas! Let’s build a supportive space together—one that’s rich with creativity and thoughtful exchange. Happy writing and reading, everyone!

With love; Lacanoodle.

2
 
 

I think I did well with the musicality of the rhythm here although I haven't written a formally structured poem in a while and that'll be what I write next.

Would love feedback on this!

3
 
 

Once again the title is a reference to a Borges quote, my favourite writer. Once again the poem has nothing to do with the ideas of the story, just a sentence I found beautiful and wanted to expand upon. A fairly straightforward poem here.

I had so many ideas for this poem that it eventually became a bit of a mess, started as a sonnet ended up without even a rhyme structure. Maybe I've shoved too mauch in here? Might rework it a little.

Would love some critique

4
9
Eye Of The Sun (literature.cafe)
submitted 2 weeks ago by Lacanoodle to c/originalpoetry
 
 
5
6
 
 
7
 
 

Started this when I read a short story by Borges where I loved the line, 'he was seeking a soul worthy of taking its place in the universe'. Now this poem does not build upon any of the ideas of said story but borrows a beautiful line which I'll credit both Borges and the translator (I forgot who) for.

This is one of my few direct and simple to digest poems. Hope y'all like it.

8
 
 

'You can think of imagery as an entryway into a poem: a physical realm allowing us to explore the mind of the poet.'

9
10
Hanged Man (lemmy.dbzer0.com)
submitted 1 month ago* (last edited 1 month ago) by SnokenKeekaGuard@lemmy.dbzer0.com to c/originalpoetry
 
 

Between two trees, he sways— one root in the earth, one reaching sky, bound by a thread of light to the quiet pull of space. His head tips down, but his eyes turn inward, searching the seams of shadow for a crack, a tremor, a way out of the silence.

Coins spill from his hands, not gold but weightless, each one a thought discarded, a truth left hanging like breath caught between worlds.

Suspended, he becomes the question— neither here nor there, but hung in the aching space where the body bends to dream.

Red and white, his blood sings the song of every sacrifice, a rhythm lost in the sky’s endless reach. He sways, not from wind, but from the soft unraveling of the ground beneath him.

To hang is to listen, to let go, to cling only to the pull of the unseen, the rope a tether to the self he cannot yet name.

He is offered to himself, and the trees— those pillars of thought— stand silent, waiting for him to fall, or rise. 20241105_185549

10
 
 

Never was really happy with this. But the first poem I wrote, I was glad I could make the structure work.

11