Does anyone have any poetry they like to share? Here is mine...

Medieval End to a zealot Religion:

Where in the books of life, in the hands of faith has others been fated.
Mentality of human nature, guided without cause we see our soul
All that we thought it, all that we thought without it, all gone

Now naked in a field of fire the goodness of what we were vanishes
Demons preached by drunken pastor, his mind of his own
The rivers of blood swam by the condemned

There is no justice; there is no strength, a collection of a cult
A million people of one tyrant, of one power
When there is nothing secret nor safe in its destruction it will destroy its own, itself

To betray and be betrayed and the heart of the golden man,
Through time, it has ended what goodness it enclosed
And now sights are blurred and battered and its old rule all but fading


For Myself:

The heart of the forest misty and dark,
Lesser than a heart of warmth
It is cold and frail, the glass that surrounds it of no reflection
Which the cloud denies

When in sudden light there is a burst of sun, a shred of hope,
To the forgotten one,
I see myself and for what its worth, there is only fear and spite that feeds my hate

What I can’t find I might never see, that which is gone from me is never free,
If its heart comes to me, it will only fuel what I hate in me

Than there is darkened flesh,
More of beast than humanities most faithful test,
If its consumption is too much to beat, I will be alone bitter in despair,

what do you think?

I used to know a girl who wrote poetry, than she left me aint that a b*tch

I have read some sick but funny poetry

The countless days of waiting all roll through to one painful
moment of asking. Everything surges through the brain of
a mortal. For a split second the world is bliss.

--Then she says "No".

Thanks for that Goose.

Heh..it's funny because it just happened to me.

That is good, goose. I like to see that extended into a few more sentences to develope the scene more.

what you guys think of what I wrote?

Come on you guys you have to have some of your poetry? nothing you just came up with while you were bored?

Elrond, your poetry is quite stunning.

I don't know too many guys who can write poetry about themselves like you have just written.  It requires a certain combination of skill and raw emotion many men either just are not gifted with or simply cannot relate with inside themselves in the way you've expressed, as it tends to be more of a feminine than masculine quality.  I do applaud your talent. 

While what I say you may find disagreeable, this is solely what I take from your words.  I apologize but I tend to read people by what they write, so please stop reading now if you don't wish to read my interpretation of what you are trying to say.  Or you are not looking for an interpretation, rather just compliments on how beautiful it is.  It's quite beautiful.

To me, it reads you use your poetry to convey your need for human interaction.  You crave it but you will say it does not matter to you.  You mask your loneliness by comparing yourself to things that are dark;  this is your method of seeking attention.  Internal desires you supress and your perception of self.

But when you feel you have received what you seek, it becomes your sky, moon and stars.  It makes you feel...elated because you like you finally have that connection.  They make you see inside yourself.  Those aspects you despise.  Those you think you can never make go away.

Frustration.  I see a lot of frustration. 

But what do I know, yeah?  Keep up your writing.

Here.  I will submit something I wrote for you.  It's entitled "The Memory of Mountains".

The memory of mountains
spreads anger like fire
through my veins
like wind through empty passes
birds fill crimson skies
devoid of clouds
I sigh and think of coming rains
when all will not be so well

I’ll remember I cannot swim
and let currents carry me
downstream,
until I cannot help
but flail my arms
and cry out in vain

And maybe I will catch a limb,
or a drifter will 
come to my rescue and
I will convince myself
they were waiting all along,
waiting for my floating form
to pass
waiting
for my burial at sea

On my back I am thinking,
if only it didn’t hurt so much
my head toward the sky
making faint shapes of
weather beaten rocks

My eyes half closed

Water fills narrow channels
carving paths along my
misshapen nose
it’s longer now

I imagine it won’t always
be like this
dream life impending

I wait for the day
when one morning I can
wake up and think of
absolutely nothing at all.

I found this to be poetic...

"I dreamed I was a pure white falcon, flying up a
mountainside, with a quiet sea beneath me, and bright
stars above me.  I was holding keys tightly in my talons.
Then I heard your voice, as you said, "I'm with you, Buster,
hugging you as we sit on this rock." Then I reached the top
of the mountain, and became a boy again.  I was six years
old, maybe seven.  I was wearing white robes as I drank
clear water from God's fountain.  Then I jumped into a
scarlet robe, ran to a cliff, and looked at angels;
they wanted to wash my feet, but I assured them I
could do it myself.  So I washed my hands and feet,
and then I woke into this BETTER, MORE PLEASANT dream
of you being here to love and protect me, to teach me about
the world.  I love you, mom." -- BUSTER CHAN

I'm considering adding the following song to a future edit of the scene where Banana talks with her friend Adam Sprite...

When ADAM SPRITE calls BANANA his NIRVANA GIRL,
Banana asks:  "What's a Nirvana girl?"
Adam holds her hands, looks in her eyes, and sings:

Everyone's comfortable because of your love;
they smile with comfortable certainty,
knowing that they'll always see
your smile.
Everyone who feels loved
because of your smile,
feels so loved
that they smile!
Your smile makes them smile -- it makes them feel loved!
You make them feel loved.
You are good enough
to defend good or bad
from feelings that are sad.
The un-free that are free
because of your smile
are countless innocents!
You make the guilty innocent!
You free the un-free!
I feel good enough to see the
one who smiles!
I am good enough to see the one
who smiles!
You are good enough to be the one
who smiles!
You're my Nirvana Girl.

Banana says, "Just so you know:  I already have a boyfriend."

ADAM says:  "Just so you know:  So do I."

Banana laughs hysterically.

S P R I N G ' S          B R E A K




Rebirth of death unto its former shape,
Whose icy tentacles will soon perish,
From vanquished, burst forth new green forces draped,
Budding life replaces the nightmarish.


Where tiny alabaster icebergs clear,
Meld with branching seas of envious hue.
Then Winter's fangs shrink to degrees obscure
Whose translucent blood nourishes anew.


Windy howlings cease to pierce the aether,
The chattering of feathered kin will sound,
Hoary rays of sunshine tempt the meeker,
And cerulean canvases astound.


Then what was once, will then come once again,
But metamorphosed, filled to edges brim.

The Last Chance

To whisper that love is a garnet rose
Of virtuous temperance and radiance
That, weary minded, forgets all our woes
To dare to emanate some brilliance

Whose hands of ancient carved you in soft jade?
Heavens bright beacon to bay at the hounds
That none born in hell could tempt her to fade
Whose breath doth breathe Natures wind in sweet sound

Cascades of amber gracing the flawless
And eyes the tempting shade of summer skies
Possess ange'lic grace of trapped enchantress
And with a single touch lifts souls on high

Mere smile with brandished, marring elegance
A mortal goddess gifts her mortal realm
Wielding pureness of earthly permanence
A laugh a tempest to uproot life's helm

To clutch with a stuttering hesitance
              Bleed away our souls with a flowers thorns   
Virgin wounds opened in anxious presence
To be near, to touch, and in dreams adorn
   
Withering as soft petals of virtue
No kind words, no phrase of some assurance
No joyful hori'zons for to follow you
Only sorrows sad endless occurrence

Reminisce of lost times and last chances
Face Fate and turn your back to the expanse

              The Golden Path



When I plead to the darkness, and find it's touch

See through blackness, it's fingers come groping   

Blindly to meet the harbingers approach

I herald my friend, cease vainly hoping



In dark bosom we're illuminated

In panes of divinity brightly reared

Epiphany that which is created                         

From minds fathomless depths where others fear



Wrought in tranquility of solitude

Thought wavers like ribbons in loneliness

Casting lonely shadows of fortitude

That fear should engulf such a holiness



But I, alone, don't succumb mortal wrath

And will tread, courage bound, the Golden Path

Last Rites

   
                    Sickly intention borne to cunning ends
            That weeps crimson tears of fatality
                          Blaspheme stagnant tasks it cannot mend
                                                                  Through rosy veils some reality
   
   And tempered within a seething furnace
   Revenge insidious instigation
   Melds with chrome, obsidian blade burnished
   Purpose moulded in vendettas salvation

                                                                Burning desire to rout and to wreak
                                                        A catharsis of melancholy wiles
                                                                                Vampiric embrace, a thief scorns the meek
                                                                                Collapsing honours walls like veins defiled

No solution in death, none too in life
For mistaken of welcome apogee
If not in blood, wheres the end to our strife?
Condemned to the yoke of our savagery



No ethical walls to breach scrutiny

With the return of fated destiny

                    G A E A ' S      E M B R A C E
   


Hearth of stone in cradle of sanctity
Nestled 'tween the white robes that suffocate
Where, eloquent, resides some harmony
Guarded by an emerald sentinels mandate



Where lucid consciousness scorns ignorance
Reflects my image manifestation
That bends like waves, and flows in brilliance
Falls from skies as sweet tears in it's patience



The denizens of various actions
Furred, feathered, clawed, winged, abound in their mirth
Mete predation with predators passion
Soothe instincts rites of bequeathed and the birthed



Survivals destiny written in sands
   Of sanguine eras and lost, endless lands

Expression


Anticipate such a beckoning flight,
Wherein reprisal of freedom allows,
Upon a nestling cloak of sundry white
Where boundless borders common seeds are sowed

Every compass shadowed in icy doubt
Yet summoned by ancestral spirits guile
To appease endless sacrificial rout
In supplicant endeavours we revile

Taste the shuriken of Natures sweetness
As wooden legs dive like dolphins beneath
Elegantly stumble like feigned weakness 
Where Winter scathe hubris with sword unsheathed

To sing of sun-blanched immaculate planes
Where arbitrary choices find their bane

my English project in full....hehehheh

Alan, I imagine your dreams are like vivid technicolor,
you swear you've woken up but you are still dreaming....

and paradoxical has overwhelmed me with beautiful
musings I wish to breathe within and feel to the tips of
my tingling fingers...

When Shaman writes, he distances himself from his words.  He feels them but from a stiffly professional standpoint.  I think of old English royalty having tea in the castle garden.  When everyone interacts with one other from a certain amount of polite distance, an impersonal formality.  Remember Rose aboard the Titanic?

You are careful to rhyme.  You don't free flow.  And as you say this was an English assignment, so I detect that internal need to make it as eloquent as possible, perhaps in Shakespearean style.

For you, I would like to see how you write when you aren't thinking to rhyme or conscious of it being due as homework.

Lesley that was great. I applaud the way you interpreted it and what you said was absolutely correct. I really appreciate your support that was very kind of you. Thank you very much.

I tell you these poems are great. I cannot pick out a certain poem that isn't deep. Specially Lesly and Shaman.

Alan, I like the song. It is very well written for your series and I like the response Banana said, that was great. You bring a comical edge to your writing and that is a good style.

I am one to prefer dark poems at times. I will post some more of my peoms here in a second and you can tell me if the other ones i posted were better than these new ones, if you could? If you like them at all.

I will try to give my interpretations of what you say here soon I am a bit busy and surprised how much great poetry has just came out of here. Keep writing, Lesley and Shaman that is really good. Alan, keep it coming I want to see more of the lighter side (more banana chan comments!). Thanks you have made my day.

My other stuff is a little more sexually provocative, so I don't know how well it would go over - this being mainly a male dominated forum and all.

I think I should keep the love stuff out of it.

I love Shamans writing. It is more narrative it feels though. Using the splashing of large words. Nevertheless, it is very well done, you must have gone through them over and over again to edit them?

I don't have time to edit my poetry I just came up with it in class when I was bored and I was feeling shitty so that is what I wrote.

lesley, your words have really impacted me and the whole sense of my writing being raw and more emotional I am glad someone point out what I can't find in myself.

I have noticed I sometimes must be in a certain mood in order to write effectively. Any of you have that same feeling?

To Hang my Hat:

Naked in the scouring moonlight,
Through a legion of whores, I find a door,
Wood a rusted yellow
Withered by times musty bellow

Upon its open, there is a light
A stream of heavy white so bright,
Likeness not of that from time but spiritual delight

From my steps I follow through,
My curious nature I know no mood
What I search for I find at last
A place of rest for my worn out hat

Deaths Calling:

Rhine of beauty she stretches far and the glory seeker makes his mark
What he thought he could not comprehend nor understand the fear in hand
And when blasts of fire and the charging men that destroyed countless towns around the land

There lies a man in fright
Every day death consumes his life
Where he thought there be a simple end fear destroyed his good intent

Fire and smoke that rains upon his head and to fall behind one will meet a sudden end
When neither earth nor tree can protect from the violent cheers and screams
There is no end to time or man

And where he thought he find himself he only found humanities restlessness
When the screams and cannons fill his world
There is no lasting peace in the smoke filled air


What do you think? Deaths calling is a dedication to WW2 veterans by the way.

the Still Man:
The hyperspace to its never-ending process
Blank faces of lonely people
To tell the truths of their dotted world
Vague and distant is in this world
And where thoughts of loyalty and justice
Betrayal and superficial greatness permeates
Dismissing thoughts of connection, where the heart could feel home
A fire has eaten the richness of the new and replaced with the old
A world of negativity and status that never existed but in mind
To break free it ends a world thought known but absent
A lasting hope of a rekindled time


Self Doubt:
When I try to think clever
I feel nothing but a fools fellow
My poem just ill spelled of a uneducated manner

The room is still and silent now
I try to write a witches spell
But what I do is not firm, separated and fragmented as the worm

Tonight I write alone in bed, mind flicking of thoughts of them
I improve myself in a world unknown to me
For this I search and forever a slave to be


I am not sure if this verse fits with the rest of the poem but it was originally written with it. what you think?'

Once I mind of myself, it is nothing special that makes me unique
Where I thought I finally stand there was no brace in the broken slab
To fall, I do not know instead to let it take my tortured soul

Of course, Elrond.  Naturally. 

As human beings we tend to dwell most on surging emotions like depression or love and hearts beating quickly, because of the endorphins.  That's when we are most conscious of what we feel and have a need to chart the pattern of the emotion.

I'm glad you didn't edit what you wrote.  You shouldn't even now.  I believe poetry is in its greatest form when it is free flowing and unedited.

Beautiful job.

Oh wow, you got your stuff in there while I was writing... delayed post.  hang on I'll write more in a minute.

These are all unedited and a little raw but I guess you see the truth behind it before it is twisted to sound even deeper.


What you think of the new poems Lesley? Better or worse? Which ones aren't as good and which ones are good? Any one you personally like?

From where I stand, sadness consumes a great deal of your life.  What are you searching for, Elrond?  What do you feel like you need? 

Anyway, don't answer that if you don't want to.  Don didn't make this a self help forum. lol.

But you reveal so much through what you write.  You really do.  It's so incredible...
And yes, I loved them all.

I like to talk to you about it personally through instant messanger but not to much on a message board.

I have only written 9 poems in the last couple of days but how I write reminds me a lot of these famous poets (I am not compariing myself to them) such as robert Lowell who went through depression and such and wrote it to make great peoms that are still loved to this day. If you met me you wouldn't see a very different side than the one I write. I guess this is called "confessional poetry" I believe.

See ya.

Quoted from SonofElrond, posted March 21st, 2004, 7:20pm at here What you think of the new poems Lesley? Better or worse? Which ones aren't as good and which ones are good? Any one you personally like?

Honey, I don't know that I have a personal preference as you've hit me with quite a few at one time and it's sort of hard to pick when faced with so many. 

They all have their unique merits.  You're a beautiful poet and it's beautiful to see you have an appreciation for poetry in general.

I'll talk to you soon, okay?

That sounds great. I look forwarding to chatting with you. All the information is in my profile.

I can't wait to read some of your work though.

Hey Shaman, what you think of my poems?

See ya later!

Here are some of my new poems. They are very new so what do you think everyone?


The Great Fire:

Through the dark streets, against the cold blocks of stone there blows a gentle wind, silent and ghostly as it perches over the buildings of ancient homes, habituated of the aged gene, the century family

The doors of wooded perches, dusts its only companion, fire its only enemy,
The streets of fire and intense heat

Where home once stood the sender takes its place, the great fire of ancient Europe, its surprise its plague where there were streets of enlightenment homes of old
Replaced by the broken family

The weeps and sobs that absorb the night, the smoke disappearing of days of turmoil,
Time of civilization the only hope of its survival,
To that which is salvaged

My World:

Justice in a world of bureaucrats, absent to the thoughts of progress
Its evolution a plague to its kind, victories spouted half-truths of the villains
were we to understand, to take part, folly to the man is the only who follows the likes of others, mind of lesser against wills of his own objecting upon his mind and soul
The discomfort, the pity of ones self it absorbs and destroys, trust fleeting,
For the different stand alone, the vile a many of sorts without loyalty
Where he thought he be safe he is scared, thrown by his world
The thin lines of sympathy felt before are faded to a clear exposition of truth that will disappear with the nights tide,

thanks for the compliment lesley....

your words are almost if not more poetic than the poems you're commenting on....lol

sometimes when i've read too much shakespeare though, i actually begin to think in iambic pentameter.....like dialogue as sonnets....its really cool!

The Prisoner

Misplaced conviction, looks set above deeds
Ode to betrayal cut from bloody eyes
Set in bloody mouths, reveal words which bleed
Mind imprisonment, body still survives

Stalks wary, halls steeped in night and shadow
Narcissistic in nature, not in face
Impulsively negative, shuns meadows
For closed arms, and explicit disgrace

Punished for crimes which seem ethereal
Real in vision, not auditory
Grips memories as once did cold steel
Lady's annoyance ends proffered glory

Vindictive end spawned from vindictive means
Done not with flame but gathered with Hell's fiends

For the same english assignment as Shaman..

The Obscure

Finds obscurity within shadowed form
Keeps trivial within illusion of depth
Reveals naught, bared the eye of naked storm
Maliciously placid, still draws no breath

Once created through curiosity
Engendered through interest’s continuance
Pressured willing through life’s viscosity
And death trapped in life remains continuous

Castle on insubstantial foundation
Buttressed by a whim, an idea’s knowledge
Falls lacking Thetis’ alliteration
Undesirable truth now acknowledged

From still to motion, then again to still
Notion born of ideas, not of will


My poetry is often hard to understand if you don't know me..

I like the use of words. It don't feel any emotion from it. It feels metalic, for what reason i don't know why. But interesting nonetheless.

What do they mean?

HAIKU

My lip was so chapped
That when my boss said to smile
Blood gushed down my chin.
                    -BANANA

I giggle myself
into dreams of becoming
a belly dancer.
        -MAIKO

Our games with that man
who won our hearts with his charm
were never again.
            -ROKO

Precious memories
linger eternal past death
an ironic curse.
            -ROKO

(c) - 2004, BANANA CHAN by Alan Holman

I enjoy poetic dialogue...
--------------------------------------------------

                BUSTER
        Dust off old, wasted, distracting memories of
        dreams of her fading memory -- memories of
        thoughts of her held close.  Held closer than
        enemies, demons that laugh, from dark sides of
        my soul.  Memories carried away by the bird with
        the wings of time -- memories of Maiko.  I hope
        -- a hope intact from where sanity lacked -- for
        her return.  As stories cry to an end, I cry to
        my girlfriend: "RETURN!!!"

-------------------------------------------

                LOUD VOICE
        Don't you remember the Jupiter prophesy?

                BUSTER
        WHAT!?!

                LOUD VOICE
        It said, "They'll cruise a universe, start their
        own/ write a bible, leave it alone!"  Don't you
        remember?

------------------------------------------------------------

                BUSTER
        Each of our popular fads, such as trying to touch
        your tongue to your eye, playing with your ears --
        in private, of course.  Eating hallucinogenic bugs,
        voting, or even figuring out what's the furriest:
        a southern yak or an arctic peach!  All of these
        fads have one thing in common:  their origins were
        blatant acts of social experimentation.

-------------------------------------------------------------

                BUSTER
        I dream my name/ My name is fame/ Something I said
        sticks in your head/ I'm style -- I stay a while, you
        smile! / I'm too much to touch/ Open your ear, and peer
        inside my lyrics, 'cuz your sin didn't win/ You see,
        I'm the key to your fear, a seer of truth/ The kid in
        rain hid from the train, a drain, my pain/ It's clear
        I'm here to stay, you'll pay...FOR THIS BOOK!

(c) - 2004, BANANA CHAN by Alan Holman

Yeah, I got that the first one was similar in assignment, Heretic.  I would have guessed you both were in the same English class.

Let me ask you...

Is "The Obscure" about you?  Do you see yourself as sort of an enigma, like a mystery of sorts?  It's very craftily composed.  You twist your words in such a genius way... You see yourself as light and easygoing on the surface, but masking inner depth and passion it would take time to reveal.  If asked a deep question like "What do you believe human purpose is?" you would take it into very real consideration and answer deeply and honestly.  You keep that part of you mostly hidden.

Your experiences in life have molded you into who you are.  Your have a certain amount of instability you feel present.  Maybe you see life as an ocean that tosses you around, as you say "from still to motion and again to still."

I found this immensely moving. 

This is mainly for you, Elrond.  You were kind enough to express interest in all my works, no matter the subject matter. 

You know what I've found?  My poetry tends to tell a story more than anything else.  I don't write it very often in the first place, but I tend to fantasize in my poetry.  I rarely get down to just raw emotion.  So this next one is more of a story in poetic form.  It's kind of special to me because I've hung onto it a few years.

Tingling I reel within,
a schoolgirl giddy on
the aftertaste
of mouthwatering
lemon juice.

Puckering my lips,
crystalline orbs penetrate
my entire being
I savor
the delicate hairs
of his left arm against my right
skin burning,
my imagination
my reality.

Tangled in the sheets
I am paralyzed:
he is desire,
a wet dream personified
It hits me.
I am fucking desire.

He says no
that he loves only her-
can’t bear to spend a whole night
without her by his side.
She is the
diamond twinkle in his
sparkling eyes.
The sun and moon rise
at her whim.

He tells me he thinks of her
as grass grows in spring,
wonders what she is doing.
Her permanent place of existence
in his dreams;  he is lost
when she is not near.

I listen to him.
I watch him-them-together.
She is beautiful,
like hundreds of lilies
scattered carelessly
over a blooming hillside
nestled against the ocean.

He is a calming rain,
blissful and soothing,
falling ever so gently
from clouds above.
Closing my eyes,
I open my mouth
and tilt my head up.

Love me, I lament,
and in my mind
I hold him achingly close.

But he says no
and swears to me
he loves only her,
with her satin skin,
iridescent eyes,
sweet red cherry lips
ripe to the picking,
to fill overflowing baskets,
to tie stems with my tongue.

She speaks in rhyme,
so innocent, so free of care.
She lives in her element
dances on stars
rides graceful winged horses
that soar through
tears in my eyes.

Bleed with me,
I beg.
I am asking too much
How perfect his svelte form
He dresses.

I stare at her photograph...
and I ask him
if he is coming back tomorrow.

hows this for off the top of my head?  Completely random words jumbled together in a makeshift pile of stinking, reeking sh*t....but i bet i could get better marks with it than some of the other guys in my class....

see what i'm talking about with my ego?  it's growing...



Bleached adolescent doused in filmy residue
Of sundry intellect and baseless glamour
That dances heartedly in variant hue
And lends its hand to tempered clamour

Voyage obscene in upbraided breach of faith
Contends with perversions of reality unearthed
Ethereal as distanced times below the wraith
Who flutter gossamer wings in subtle mirth

Beneath a throne of ebon fortitude
That resounds in harmonic passages of time
To silence noiseless epithets of brute
Now end this ridicule with a final rhyme

It's not shit.  Now you're just fishing for compliments... LOL.

And you, my friend, are a beautiful poetic mess of youth intertwined with superb intelligence and self gratification in your unique musings.

I really enjoyed this one by lesley...

Tingling I reel within,
a schoolgirl giddy on
the aftertaste
of mouthwatering
lemon juice.

Lesley what did you think of The Great Fire and My World? I am not sure if you saw them. Curious what you thought? I am writing more poems. Take it easy.

hey elrond...you have some pretty sweet stuff there...

and lesley....hahahah....i liked yours....very classy!  quite fun to read....  put up some more

and no honestly, that last piece of mine i did in three minutes flat....honestly.....its crap, trust me....lol

sweet stuff? haha, ok. Eventually when i start writing poems more I will become more dark and violent which I think it will turn into. The Raven is my favorite Poem by a poet. I want to write something like that. But I just do this as a hobby but I am more driven to directing.

Can you maybe tell me why it is pretty sweet stuff...there?

Thanks. Take it easy.

Quoted from Alan_Holman, posted March 22nd, 2004, 5:39pm at here I really enjoyed this one by lesley... Tingling I reel within, a schoolgirl giddy on the aftertaste of mouthwatering lemon juice.

Alan, the whole thing is the same poem.  That's just the format I used.

ok, paradoxical, but i'm sure folks have exhausted on my words at this point, but here you go.  this one is a little heavier, but let me clarify the person's name i used is not a real person.  ok?  i don't know these guys.  i made this up. it's called "tricks are for kids".

i'm not sure i should post this, but i will anyway.  here goes.



My head hurts.                                                                         
I had come to this conclusion
long before James flew by me
in a bright green station wagon

He coasted
down the hill,
radio pumping
full blast
and he was
waving-
signaling me.

Let me give you a ride
There’s this place
I know where we can go
and trust me when I say
we’ll have a lot of fun.

Not that I had time,
I reasoned for half a second
before flying down to
red brake lights
on opposite sides of a
rusty license plate
with dirty lettering

Bet I can make you do
whatever I want you to
Bet you can’t resist me
You never could
silly girl
Hop on in.

A jovial smile
serves as a seemingly
friendly expression.

Cruising down streets
all too familiar
Fear sets in
Unnecessarily
Thinking of my first dog
Milo
when I was five
Thinking of cherry red
lollipops
Sitting in the bottom
of my torn purse
Stopping off at a
ramshackle motel on
this well traversed main road
Tired but still mobile and
upright

Walking toward the
Same room door
Like always
Confident in my
Black heels
Black dress
Everything black
I count from one to ten
And back again
Like always

There are three
This time
Last time
There were two
Lying down mechanically
On the bed
I allow them
To strip me bare

Hating the feel of
Sandpaper chins
Against my neck
Hating the feel of
palms calloused from
Hours of play
In the hot midday sun
Hating the
Empty feeling inside
When they have come
I am once again
Completely numb.

But I’m loads of fun
James tells me,
slapping my left thigh
with a fun-loving smile
As if to reassure me
I won’t tell anyone
You never do
You silly girl.
And back on the hill
I am dropped off.

Maybe I will tear up
Two hundred dollar bills
He curls my
Open hand around
Maybe I will regain
My dignity
as I focus on
flickering sea blue eyes
Only half curious
Why I do
What I do
But hope
I don’t stop
Before senior year
is over.

i think i get the gist 
way to go!

i liked it, anyway...

Hi All

Check this, I had written this poem long back.

Flickering Bulb

Few days back
I was walking on a lane behind a dock-yard
I saw an old electric poll
Looking more like a weary soul.

On it was a wire with a bulb hanging
All worn out, like a feeble sentry in a late winter night
The bulb on the poll was flickering
Occasionally spreading its light.

I stood for a moment against the poll
And I realised that ours shadows match
He had a hanging bulb
And I had a hanging mind.

That is very insightful, Todd.  I liked it very, very much.  Makes you really think...

Oh and thanks shaman, I appreciate the nice feedback. 

I wrote this late one night in bed. As you can tell, I prefer not to rhyme.

I exhale.
The softness waits to receive.
The projector in my head is producing
my last memory of you.
The emptiness fills once I'm done.
I don't degrate you.
Your only my starting point.
The softness replaces you.
Am I wrong? Pathetic and low?
Is it the future or an alternate present?
It almost feels real, but then again,
I wouldn't know what reality is.
The knives of my past mistakes stab me once again.
Do you know that I'm in pain?
We never even said goodbye.


Any guesses on what it's about?

I wrote this another late night. What do you think this one is about?

She's unpredictable and unique.
She hates it when you critique
her.

She's what I'm looking for.
She knew it, but not anymore
I still do.

She's always moving on,
Like switching through songs.
It's not fair.

Am I the only one who sees
her complication and simplicity?
So, why is it that she can't
take a hint?

She gets put on and then dropped off.
I've known her longer then those she confides in.
Still, she says nothing to me
that crosses the line of friendly.
So, why do I still care?

It feels like everyone is talking to her.
Transmission interrupted, I feel I'm not good enough.

She's the anti-sedative because when I'm asleep
my tears can't cry.

Desperation breeds contempt, in forms unsavory
That survivals genesis, lies quite on visions contrary
Burdened with a weightless load, that deams dessication
And in our illusory caltrops, the censures distanced station

Patience in an unknown mind of fathomless depths
Whose ideals and compassions whisper in singulars breaths
Unknown knowledge, Fearless foes, and sorrows grim appearance
Cancerous flowers of the imagination beat in endless endurance

And in some dream facade we raze away emotion
Just precedence manifested in some cruel notion

TheParadoxicalShaman, I like your poem a lot. You have a real talent. Especially, with using real big words like sessication. Also, I've never even heard the word caltrops before lol.

Alright I couldn't resist.  I should technically be editing a project right now... *glances both ways*...but I just had to check in.  Call it force of habit.

marshall, while rhyming in itself can be very poetic and beautiful, I too prefer not to rhyme.  It's your style and you should embrace it.  In fact when I do write poetry I tend to convey more of a story than put words to the emotions behind it, so I suppose that would be my style.  (Oops am I venturing into another thread here?)  I think poetry is most personal when it is free flowing.  Rhyming I think requires a certain amount of thought that would not naturally occur.  It's kind of like an afterthought, like you know what you want to say, but now you've got to find a pair of words that rhyme with it.  And the right words at that.  shaman and heretic have a knack, but still I feel a certain amount of...distance from their style.  It's so very eloquent.

As for your first poem.  My guess is this.

You are in a state of reflection.  A past relationship ended abruptly, and it was something you did not expect, coming at a completely unexpected time.  I feel she took you by surprise.  Whatever the motive may have been behind the separation, in your mind the relationship was left - and remains until now? - unresolved.

You can't go back.  You acknowledge that you can't.  What you do is you let the present fill the past, allow your life to continue on as it did before, but then you dwell in your memories.  There's still that longing inside of you... You were hurt, but you try not to place blame upon her.

And no, you are not wrong to feel the way you do.  Don't wonder any further as it will just drive you crazy.  You're allowed.  It's nice to remember what was though, isn't it?

I should go.  I'll comment further on the other poems when I get a chance.  But your style is beautiful.  Keep it up.

-L.

Thanks for the comments lesley.

Oh, yeah and marshall...

Listen, just tell her how you feel.  Sometimes when you've known someone that long, you just have to confront them and speak to them directly.  It's hard I know, but at least you'll have your answer.

Additionally, even if she seems that blase about it, perhaps she really isn't right for you.  Just my opinion.

But yes, you're welcome.

Quoted from lesleyjl21, posted March 22nd, 2004, 5:26pm at here And you, my friend, are a beautiful poetic mess of youth intertwined with superb intelligence and self gratification in your unique musings.

Hahaha that's the greatest description of Jordan I've ever heard.  If you just added something about 'tall and athletic' it would be perfect.  Pretty good considering you've never met him.

And thanks for the VERY kind comments on my poem Lesley.  Nice to hear.

Thanks Lesley and everyone for those great lines. This has become a terrific tread for poetry. Keep it up

And you, my friend, are a beautiful poetic mess of youth intertwined with superb intelligence and self gratification in your unique musings.


i have to admit.....it sounds sooo nice....thank you!!


this has become a pretty sweet thread i think

For definite.  It's quickly becoming my favorite area.

All boards and script talks aside, it's a personal exhilaration to see how in depth psyches can go when people allow themselves not just to conform to the traditional format of screenwriting.

But then maybe I say that to boost my own morale because I wanted a higher grade on my portfolio short I turned last week in to class (wasn't a good draft to begin with).  I got a "B" and an "I'm sorry Lesley, I can't help you any further if you wish to discuss this one on one because you've gone against what this entire class was about, which is narrative storytelling.  Your experimental ways are beyond my realm of capability because that's you inside your own head."

Sheesh... thanks.

(goes off to hang head and mope eleven weeks down the drain.)

You should of said "Thank you" and seem all satisfied. Like that is exactly what you wanted. I have been doing that a lot in all my classes and the greatest thing, they still give me A's because they know I will bitch them out if they don't give me a good grade. I am the arguer who will have 100% in the class but a B+ on something will piss me off. Don't listen to this puppets of society they are useless and the only reason they are teaching is because they have no talent in the first place to be creative enough to have their own successful career. They can go to hell. I feel you all the way. Take it easy.

By the way. Nothing is a waste if it made you feel good. Grades are superficial and nothing but a little graded by a uneducated hypocrite (this is coming from an all A's student so I am not failing). If your poetry style you enjoy do not change it. PERIOD, STAY THE WAY YOU ARE. Just keep writing but don't fail your class of course just munipulate the system to get a good grade like I do.

some of the best achievers in the world didn't get A's all the time...

i get really sick of the education board thinking they're educating us in things that will prove relevant sometime in our future....because most of it is simply redundant.  if teachers didn't get paid, it might be a different story...that is, they did it willingly, is what i mean. 

too much bureaucracy and 'mind' control...

they learn from the hand book '1984.'

Elrond, man, thanks for the encouraging words.  I think it was just disappointment in my gross mismanagement of time.  Maybe I should be up and running 24/7 instead of 20/6....  I just had too much other stuff going I thought took priority over my writing (which is what my concentration was in the first place, my main motivation for going to school) and in the end there I was Thursday at 2 a.m. falling asleep at the computer trying to revise a first draft that turned out to be a crappy second draft.

Who needs sleep anyway, right?  But then I'm told this could be misconstrued for a life crisis, so there you go.

Anyway, I'm getting off topic.  Poetry forum, no?  I see Don's really gotten in threads on all the forms.  I'd forgotten about quatrains.   

1984....ah yes...

try Alduous Huxley's 'Brave New World' for a similar theme...

You guys might think this is kind of mushy, but I wrote it for my boyfriend of 5 years. He had a light in his eyes that was blinding to me - magical. He said he was probably high! Go figure. Well, here it is:

MY BELOVED

What a light seen glistening in your eyes...
It's the light of the divine that I see.
A place where Heavenly angels have awakened,
Azure oceans - shallow unto thee.

Oh, dearest one, my only love,
hearing the sound of your name
brings a rhythm of love.

My spirit is light - soaring high above,
Lifted gently by the wings of you - My Beloved.

Your mystical hues boldly mask Autumn's bloom.
Enfusing - encapsulating me with the crimsonest of reds.
My heart  (an overflowing fountain)
My soul ( you have fed).

A new moon shines brightly from above.
Still waters double the joy of a celestial love.
In passion - mortal heat warms the blood.
Encircled in the arms of you - My Beloved. 

Cindy

I liked it. It was very well done. I don't think the thee and other old time words are needed it stands for itself without those. But do as you please. Good Work!

i think it was good....thees, thous, and such add a certain creative liberty that when used right can increase the emotion you feed into your work

To me the thee and thous is crappy and it distracts me. I can't read it when it has this talk when used nowadays makes you seem like you trying to reach to older style poetry but you can't. It seems forced, childish and ill in thought.

mhmmm
to each his own

here's another....

the waxing of immortal brilliance
a second sun that meets the dawns approach
star shrouded shafts of white in millions
defiant thee the orbs domain encroach
what fearful wail that pierce mine hearts defense?
clarified in the shrieks of rancorous flame
where passions celibacy therefore sent
'gainst mine own will towards which the goddess named
the thorn of ardour endured till Time's end
and i the moth of this gossamer flight
defelcted from this luminary blend
by misery of corporeal sight
blessed adoration of my seraph bound
below, the atavistic lover found

Very intricate, shaman.  Modern day Shakespeare I'd say.  I kind of just made this up now based on my little quote of the moment.

i cry
whilst your crystalline eyes
make me fly
by the by

as when you sigh
i brush the sky
with wisps of lashes that tickle
your skin and make you laugh
my dreamer

and i smile at
the pitter patter of little ant feet
trailing across your fingers in the grass
as you sink
your nails beneath the soil
and pull the taut strings
of my heart

i love you  

 

Here is something I wrote while sitting in the Kuwaiti desert during "Operation: Iraqi Occupation".

REGIME CHANGE

The Regime is dying.
The voices of Many can be heard protesting otherwise.
Which Regime are they protesting? Supporting?
The rhetoric of the religions
Creates confusion like the blinding sandstorm.
The noise of the thunder overhead is deafening.
Death defying.
The locust carries fate under its wings.

On Locust?s wings we ride.
Carried into battle to do as It is written.
For Him.
As Fate has determined.
Should we believe in Fate? Him?
Why do we stake our lives on such
Nostalgic ideas?
Should history repeat itself?

The sleeping Dragon is awake.
He violently waves His gun in the air
And shoots culture between the eyes.
Nostalgia is dead.
Is this a new beginning?
Or an old end.
A means to an end?

The Machine is hiding something.
It has betrayed us over and over again.
Yet, we listen and we act
According to what we hear.
The Revolution is coming.

A short poem about everybody's favorite person, Miss, oh wait Mrs., no it's miss again, got married again so it's Mrs., now I lost track, Jennifer Lopez.

Oh J-Lo, what does the future hold?
What will you do when you're old?
How many husbands will you tally?
Will you find your next one drunk in an alley?

Memo to you, nobody on Earth cares
About your marital state of affairs.
Try making good music or movies we can bear.
I'm serious, Gigli made me run scared.

Marc Anthony, get out before it's too late.
Take your ex-wife out on another date.
J-Lo's desperate to get people to watch her.
By next week, she'll be with another.

OMG, this was the most hysterical thing I've ever read, Rob.  I just heard today.  Poor sap.

Ah well.  This was damn funny!!!

(And I think Anna's preggers...no?)

My fiance' wrote the following during one of her breaks at work.  She gave it me and I thought it was pretty cool.

"Television"

It's America's favorite box.
People on couches, in a daze
Watching the Yanks pummel the Sox
Or weaving through the channel maze.

It's dumbing down our nation.
Insulting those who like to think.
Hitting us with their 'reality sensations'
Which in my eyes, just plain stink.

I can remember a greater time
When TV had some class.
I was never good at finding a rhyme
And network execs can kiss my...

Rob, I thought she stopped writing poems.  When did she pen this?

She never did really stop writing poems.  Every once and a while, she writes one.  Habit I guess.  She wrote the "television" poem a day before I posted it.

The moon shines slowly, pulled away by the
cloth of seething moonlight. The tiger looks up
at it, crystal eyes burning brighter than any
fire ever seen. The tiger takes a deep breath,
standing just as a majestic as ever and
FARTS.

"Inside"

The next door neighbor, seems so normal
A car in the driveway, curtains in the windows
A pool in the back, close to the porch,
And an empty doghouse, old and blue.

Went to see what was inside.
Its pull on me, I could not explain.
So perfect on the outside,
Must be as good inside.

The furnature, broken down and frail.
Nothing works, all is in disrepair.
The darkness feels of midnight gloom.
So many tears were shed in here.

Passed through the door to the outside world,
Nothing is what it may seem.
The signs are there if you carefully look
Of the contrast between body and heart.

From a longtime UNC fan to a Duke coach.

Coach K with the name I cannot spell
Said no to the Lakers' circus from hell.
Makes me wish Jerry West is still there
To bash Kupchak with a steal chair.
I bleed tarheel blue,
Glad to see he's still there.
Duke wouldn't be the same without you.

"Second Chance"

I'm not what I used to be.
I've grown past my infancy.
No more crazy heights and goals.
To my love, I give my soul.

Hear the words of an open heart
Seeking a chance for a new start.
Forgiving me won't be easy
But the guilt drives me crazy.

I don't deserve one more chance,
Not one more kiss or another dance.
"All is possible" you once said.
I must believe our love's not dead.

Interests poems, Rob.  I just thought you wrote funny ones

Who is "Inside" about?  I get the other ones, but "Inside" strikes me as being very personal.  Who are you talking about?  Anyone specific?  Anyone I would know?

You remember the kind of stuff I wrote back in high school.  I'm returning to that.  But I am currently compiling material for a new slam-against-celebrities poem that I hope will be really funny.

As for "Inside", it is personal in a way.  And you should know who it's about.  But we all know at least one person who fits this mold.  So great on the outside, but sad and depressed on the inside.  That was the basic idea behind it all.  The old, blue doghouse is the most important part of the poem.  I'm surprised you said nothing about that.

"Lotto"

Weath, the door to eternal bliss
A solution to one's every problem
Happiness to follow lotto win
But the cost is your soul.

Keep the money and lucky fame
The luxury cars and pricey homes
A model wife and quicky divorce
Flowing fountains and tennis courts.

Call me crazy, I don't care
I am rich in my own right
Money may be short
But joy is in abundance.

Strange.  That coming from a guy who told me that he would love to win the lottery and retire to a large mansion.  Very strange.

feeling otiose and so out of place
a little corticose under a tree-like face

you've always embrangled me

take my glass heart and pull it
i'll lack the strength to make cullets

sensitivity gets you nowhere

you're an angel among the wicked
a shining light from a sect of bovine
animals

you seem to want the visciousness

playing nice and playing fair
makes me a whisper among a blare

in your eyes

when bad makes you feel good
I must have misunderstood
what I thought you needed

I'll always adhere, I'll always be myself
and when you become a souvenir,
I'd pine to be your shelf

what I knew doesn't matter
what I learned is that
sensivity gets you nowhere

I don't want to change

There are some really moving ones here.  Marshall, i like it.  Don't worry, I won't dissect it like I did the other one.  I just like it is all.  Good job.

Wow, Rob, you've been going to town.  I didn't know you and Andrea knew each other off the board, but I gathered it.  "Second chance" called to me.  

I think you should be moderator to take Elrond's place.  Maybe I suggest it to Don but only if you're up for it.

Oh, please dissect my poem! What do you think it's about?

Yeah, Andrea and I are close friends.  We went to high school together.

Go ahead and suggest it to Don.  I'm willing to do it.