ARS POETICA is a group for those who love poetry, anyone who is just curious, and everyone in between. Post your favorite or original poems.

Members: 100
Latest Activity: Jan 17, 2016

Featured Poem


Severed Selves

Two separate divided silences,
Which, brought together, would find loving voice;
Two glances which together would rejoice
In love, now lost like stars beyond dark trees;
Two hands apart whose touch alone gives ease;
Two bosoms which, heart-shrined with mutual flame,
Would, meeting in one clasp, be made the same;
Two souls, the shores wave-mocked of sundering seas:--

Such are we now. Ah! may our hope forecast
Indeed one hour again, when on this stream
Of darkened love once more the light shall gleam?
An hour how slow to come, how quickly past,
Which blooms and fades, and only leaves at last,
Faint as shed flowers, the attenuated dream.

-- Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Discussion Forum

The absence of religion in Shakespeare

Started by Luara. Last reply by Bertold Brautigan Mar 3, 2015. 27 Replies

A Dog's Mistake - Andrew Barton Patterson

Started by Bertold Brautigan Dec 1, 2014. 0 Replies

Monition - Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

Started by Bertold Brautigan Dec 1, 2014. 0 Replies

The Emperor of Ice-Cream - Wallace Stevens

Started by Grinning Cat. Last reply by Craigart14 Dec 1, 2014. 6 Replies

Robert Frost - The Road Not Taken

Started by Steph S.. Last reply by Steph S. Dec 1, 2014. 18 Replies

Deidre's Ramblings: This Dance

Started by Deidre. Last reply by Deidre Oct 30, 2014. 4 Replies

Deidre's ramblings

Started by Deidre. Last reply by Deidre Oct 27, 2014. 4 Replies

Peace and Joy - by Mequa

Started by Mequacious. Last reply by Deidre Oct 26, 2014. 1 Reply

What's Sacred Now?

Started by Ruth Anthony-Gardner. Last reply by Grinning Cat Apr 22, 2014. 7 Replies

The Indian upon God

Started by Luara. Last reply by Derek ~William Haughton Apr 3, 2014. 1 Reply

Climate Change Haiku

Started by Ruth Anthony-Gardner. Last reply by tom sarbeck Dec 21, 2013. 1 Reply


Started by Anne. Last reply by Anne Jul 15, 2013. 2 Replies

Ballade for the Delusional

Started by Philip Dunkerley May 18, 2013. 0 Replies

And in the end.

Started by Ian Mason. Last reply by Ian Mason Jun 9, 2012. 4 Replies

I little something I wrote, What the hell right??

Started by MonkeyPhilosopher. Last reply by Tony Carroll May 22, 2012. 35 Replies

God, A Poem

Started by Rev. Mathew G. Thompson. Last reply by David Sensei May 17, 2012. 5 Replies

Arthur at Avalon

Started by Ian Mason. Last reply by Ian Mason Apr 15, 2012. 5 Replies

The Apology by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Started by Steph S.. Last reply by MonkeyPhilosopher Apr 10, 2012. 6 Replies

I Go Among Trees and Sit Still by Wendell Berry

Started by Steph S.. Last reply by A Former Member Sep 21, 2011. 5 Replies

Comment Wall


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Comment by It's just Matt on October 8, 2010 at 2:37am
It is dark
so dark
here I am
this dot
this small dot
traveling in the darkness

It is scary
to be this small
in the dark
with only scattered light

What I am
to the darkness
to the scattered light
to the vastness that is not me

Where will I go
What will I do
Will anything notice this small dot

Or will this dot come and go
like so many dots before
like so many I'll never hear
like so many I'll never see
like so many I'll never touch

Afraid of what I don't know
Afraid of what I do know
Afraid of which direction to take
Afraid of moving with too many mistakes

What's this?
Could it be?
Does another dot really shine for me?

Where has this other dot come from?
was I really awake or merely dreaming?
let me never sleep
let me never awaken

To think another dot would come along
another dot would stop
another dot would stay
another dot would share

Why would it not keep going?
Why would it not search for more light?
Why would it rest with me?
Me, the scared, unsure,unknowing

How long has it been there?
How many days
How many months
How many years

Have I overlooked this dot
in my search for great light
great hope
great truth

Does it know is shines?
does it know I am here
watching it
thanking it
hoping it never leaves

How do I?
How do I show...
How do I show that I'm shining too

But this light isn't mine
I'm borrowing it
I hope that's okay

I think I'll find my own one day
but for now
I hope it's okay
for me to stay
in the warm light
of this other dot
for awhile
thank you little dot
than you for sharing your light
Comment by Jaume on April 16, 2010 at 3:18am
The adult Arthur Rimbaud now has a face:

See the full pic in this article (Le Monde, French). This photograph was shot in the 1880s, in Yemen. Prior to its recent discovery, we only had shots of Rimbaud as a teenager, and a few bad photographs taken shortly before his death.
Comment by Jaume on September 5, 2009 at 9:13am
Feeling creative? Join the limerick contest!
Comment by Ajita Kamal on August 24, 2009 at 7:08pm
Have any of you heard of Sarah Lindsey? Here's one by her:

Underground Orchids


Sarah Lindsay

Life on this planet persists in knitting its minerals
into animal and vegetable variations, behaving
at all times like the central point of the cosmos,
and because it is water it seeks the paths of least resistance
and pauses sometimes to admire itself,
because it is earth it may subside in camouflage
or darkness or cease to move for its own good reasons,
because it is air it might seem like nothing
yet be the invisible sustenance of oceans or forests or a shade of blue,
and because it is fire it leaps and is uncertain
and leaves smelly waste and goes everywhere it can uninvited.
It presses its lips where boiling sulfur cracks the ocean floor,
swims in acid cavities below the roots of mountains,
burrows and flits and infects and strangles and hatches,
constructs mats, reefs, trunks, tunnels, stained-glass windows
and ad campaigns for raspberry-scented chinchilla dust.
Mammalian bipeds especially intrude where they are unfit to go,
chewing coca leaves to walk on ridges where oxygen falls away,
training beasts to carry weight in the desert and drinking their blood,
beating sea water back with little hands.
On the southern ice cap, one turns his frozen socks inside out
and shakes his blackened toes into his lap.
In the country he comes from, earth is parched,
air warped with the heat he longs for.
Thirsty flies glue themselves to plants that begin to digest them;
modest orchids bloom underground. In his country
glinting saucers are filling with penicillin
while soldiers don uniforms. There is singing.
A shimmer over cannon mouths. Fire consumes. Mud consumes.
Many stars since they were born
have been sending their light to shine upon us,
but some are rushing away as fast as they can.
Comment by Ian Mason on May 16, 2009 at 2:22am
"How selfish Sorrow ponders on the past" What a great line! Good poem. Thanks.
Comment by Brad on May 15, 2009 at 12:35pm
Yes, Shakespeare is one that I like to ponder on now and then. I'll have to read that today, as it is a cloudy, drizzley day here. A good back drop for a little Shakespeare, Poe, Auden...
Comment by Brad on May 15, 2009 at 12:04pm
sorry, I meant to add that that is only my perspective of Byrons poem, To Eddleston.
Comment by Brad on May 15, 2009 at 12:02pm
To Eddleston, what a beautiful poem, about finding yourself amongst all that is wrong with the world, and trying to be...happy, in the present time, to live lovingly (peacefully) in the now. easy for some, but as Byron explains not easy for others to not think about the past, knowing full well that it has everything to do with the present. Some people care so deeply, making it nearly impossible to live a carefree present, those are the ones that "fully" understand that the past is woven in such a way as to give it longevity, that is the sadness.
Comment by MJ on May 6, 2009 at 8:16am
I just got finished with an English class, and we had a poetry project as the final essay. I wrote a few poems for class, and this one may be appropriate here:
A comet swung low,
To gather true believers.
They reaped what they sowed.
The Comet was much brighter,
More so than the followers.
Comment by Dionysus on April 18, 2009 at 3:01pm
I'd highly recommend Robinson Jeffers. He uses nature to deliver what has to be some of the most incredible poetry you'll ever read. I'm also a huge Charles Bukowski fan. Good ole drunk Hank had more to say about life than most and his simple, clean, prosaic styles trounced all the academics of his time in the sense that the typical person walking down the street could relate and enjoy. He could be pretty dark (Dinosauria, We) or pretty damn funny (a threat to my immortality). He's definately be a huge inspiration to many.

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