okay. so I wrote this poem for a school poetry contest because there was a prize. ive already submitted it so I guess it doesn't really matter if its good but I'd like to know. don't be afraid to be honest, I know writing isn't my strong suit:

No. 4: Kindling

in an attempt to spit out
a few lines of star crossed balladry
I found myself revelling in the virtue
of a girl who doesn't exist
with skin like rose petals
and hair like spun gold
it was a stanza of follow words
penned down by a hollow girl.

in an attempt to spit out
a few lines of acbcdefe rhyme
I ended up with a stave of vague symbolism
about feelings like flowers
and boys like books
I found give/live and you/blue
but I didn't find my voice.

in an attempt to spit out
a few lines that meant anything
in searched for advice on how to craft the perfect poem
"writing is all about personal experience"
but my veins have never filled with fire
and my heart has never been set alight
and I realized I'd never loved anything enough
for it to be my muse.

in an attempt to spit out
something, anything, anything at all
I ended up with 35 lines of reconstructed ruins
an amalgam of all my past mistakes
somewhere between an enumeration and an apology
its not sonnet 18, no song of myself
no somewhere I have never been gladly beyond
its only kindling [kindle, v.:
1. light or set on fire
2.arouse or inspire (an emotion or feeling)
3. (of a hare or rabbit) give birth]
for something which will never burn.

Interested Athenians. Plato is his most famous pupil. The Socratic Method is based on question and answer in an attempt to find the truth. You ask the question I give an answer; you then point out the flaws in my answer, I then give a response, and so it continues.
Socrates refers to himself as the gadfly of the state and at his trial makes the comment, "I am the wisest man in Athens because I know nothing" This of course went over very well because as history records he was sentenced to drink hemlock.

Compare a person to a tree in a poem?

Can anyone use the characteristics of an old tree and compare it to the characteristics of a person? Like using the tree to describe them?

Oh,I see smoke let's run;
the moon is taking all our air.

The rain doesn't come I'm scared,
fuel up the spaceships,
Put on your suits,

We're out of here.

byeeexxx

It's a song, but how about "I Am Woman" by Helen Reddy

I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back an' pretend
'Cause I've heard it all before
And I've been down there on the floor
No one's ever gonna keep me down again

Oh yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong
(Strong)
I am invincible
(Invincible)
I am woman

You can bend but never break me
'Cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
'Cause you've deepened the conviction in my soul

Oh yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong
(Strong)
I am invincible
(Invincible)
I am woman

I am woman watch me grow
See me standing toe to toe
As I spread my lovin' arms across the land
But I'm still an embryo
With a long, long way to go
Until I make my brother understand

Oh yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to, I can face anything
I am strong
(Strong)
I am invincible
(Invincible)
I am woman

I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
I am woman

When the heavens touch us with elegance... arriving in our earth, we begin to stop mourning...
we might drown if left to our own, yet the invisible reaches down and pulls us up through these sacred waters... learning to swim... sometimes the backstrokes keep us afloat, freeing us, from going asunder.

As some new ink has been written in our pages...

Taking us into drealms where new articulation is formed...

I like your poem... for we live in an elegant universe, yet it remains so unknown...
yet the ideal of breaking out into words sounds like that which imprisoned you, lost it's power...

like all that was radioactive in you, felt the current of the air... a draught... your being swept upwards by the air current and out into the atmosphere !

There are sweet rivers of spring thawing ... wintery frosts...