Where did poetry go?

You make more money becoming a songwriter or singer.

Look up Michael Ondaatje. Canadian writer and poet. Some of his stuff is weird but I like it. The best two I've found so far are Spider Blues and The Cinnamon Peeler's Wife. If you can find them... Canadian writers are not very recognized on the web. o.0

Blooming red lotus,
Why are you sad?
Oh blooming red lotus,
All alone, with the pads,
Of fallen white lillies,
Friends you once had.
Their is joy in remembrance,
Yet pain in the past,
How long will your wounds bleed?
How long must the red color last?

Did you write that?

Yeah, I did. it sucks. -_- I need to get back into practice.

I don't think it sucks. I rather like it.

It's really good.

Sometimes you know when you'll take your last breath.
Understanding this made Little Child feel
Stupid, yet dangerously close to death.
Colorful darkness was simply not real.
Except 'till Child finds the Black Demon who
Paints all the sadness and nightmares around.
Trampling evils are taunting the Child, few
Insensitive to his nauseous breakdown.
Before trouble came, he shielded his heart.
Ivory clouds flowed under the sun, and
Little Child knew the Grim Reaper had come.
Insane movements create their work of art.
Tonight one fighter will be left to stand.
Yellow swords echo with a holy hum.
------------------------

I think that poem is far from... "suckish", darkest. I like it.

btw, sam, that up there is one of my recently-written poems. In italian sonnet form.

Um cool. I don't really get it but it sounds epic. Nice work heir.

Thanks, Darkest! The poem is trying to depict a sense of fear, and the idea that this was the Little Child's last battle, that he just had this gut feeling that he was going to die because this enemy was just too strong. The Black Demon is his enemy, the bringer of the trampling evils.
The last six lines of the sonnet give the solution to Little Child's problem--is that where it starts getting confusing? Should I clarify any details?

I'd post some of my crappy poetry but it is at home on my home computer and not on my laptop. :/

Once just a sketch on paper
Dull, lifeless black on white
Once nothing but some fanciful
Shapes and lines of night.

The wonder of color unknown
To this empty frame
Until that first moment that
Colored pencil touched paper.

Whirling, dancing, twirling
Colors unite and blend
While the shadows deepen
And broken lines mend

To make one whole creature.
Life, breathed into nothing
To create something
Color is life.
--
Uhh this is pretty old. But whatever.
I submitted this to a poetry contest but now it's over and I didn't win so I suppose I can just stick it up here? sorry it's long.

I like it! And it's not long, unlike the last ballad I wrote. x)

Thanks! It looks a lot bigger on Word...
Ballads are usually long, right? I don't really know the different forms of poetry.

Is nice

thanks!

Ballads are generally long--at least longer than your poem. The longest traditional form of poetry I've seen (and practiced with) is a sestina.
Btw my ambition in life has grown into teaching literature rather than just writing it. I like using this site as a guide to poetry forms: http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/types.html

fffwow that's a lot.
good luck!

Thank YOU.