Let's have a poetry arena!
Where we hurl hunks of poetic justice at each other and attempt to come out unscathed.
No one ever esponds to posts made w/poems, and it's about time they did!

We've got to get the rest of sciforums noticing our humble morsels of words!

Blood on Jono’s Ceiling: The Remixes and the HITs.


<1> Little Strabnats this time
Shut. (staid)
Now the doors are closed so I can fall asleep more easily
In the 4th room off to the left.

One by one



These lights…they all shut off!
First, second, third!
While the beat presses….

Now through the corner of my retina.
A fleshspasm, a wince.
But this is all mainly the sensation of…
(screaming down into the bark as ice and grit flow upon the in a
nothing shape….)

Shut.
Now the windows are closed so I can fall asleep more easily
The windows are closed so nothing
Not even air can
Get
In
Here!
Shut.
Not
Even
If
They
Roll
It
In by the barrel
A barrel,
Two barrels.
Some barrels.
A couple or a few barrels.
Go home trucks!

<2>Idealism
When once I decided to climb up (residue)
All the way into the airvents
And crawled and crawled and crawled.

The tunnels I used went pretty far.
Abridging many air regions.
They truly dropped off at many certain others.
I was stuck in the airvents!

Air goes long, football high.
Regions flow one against each other.

They all try to reach a consensus
Of a probability.
Something truly distinctive.

IT IS THE MATTER OF ULTIMATE WEALTH!

Scream and shout it through the air
While it bounces through the slim passage.
Soon it will find itself to the hard corner
Of impersonal liberty.
Soon We’ll be free!

Given all denominations and tokens
Of our wealth.
We do find a definite, distinct rhythm
Of something far clearer
Than us.
In that we find ourselves
And all around us.

Pancakes flapping, hissing on
The griddle as Mickey walks in.
Long day of work.
But he sits still
And listens for all will be free when the eyes are clear!!!!!

<3> Generational Gap
Number the stars in the sky, Hibbert. (muster)
But I can’t father.
Well, Hibbert, that’s simple nonsense. A simple case of nonsensicalness!
But, silly Papa! There are a large number of all those stars.
Oh, Hibbert I’ve got a story.
YAY!! I LUV You Papa!

I was a little boy in the nineteen-fifteens.
I remember crawling under my desk
Lining up in the hall
Because a nuclear missile could have been coming at Los Angeles from our backdoor
In Alaska.
A backdoor sneak, you understand.
Why yes, papa!

The stars were fewer then,
Since so many stars could have fallen.
What, papa?
I’m dreaming off…
You don’t worry.
Papa.
Yes, hibbert?

There are still a living myriad of stars!
A simple legend!

<4> Brown Eyed Susans, Aren’t they Oh so gosh golliness lovely!!
Over through the mailboxes
Tagline, darling. GO PUSH THEM!
All…
I do not want to sound like your mother.
Simply said, I am your Aunt Susan.
Your old and new mama at once.
Because your only ornate old one is dead.
I do not want to push you so that all pushing becomes a pulling-
Confusions, you know?

You are my horrible child
I dislike your methods,
Your frazzlements.
You disturb me.
You give me parturitions!
Now just go push the mailboxes
I will faint from the wretched heat
You will let it get to me, will you not?
Yes you will.
I know it.
The Virgin Mary is telling me!

Solyia Mary I commend thee!
The lord Jesus respects thy heavens above.
The angels blare their warning horns as tagline moves around
They map her out and kill her.
Oh Angels, go Angels.
A-N-G-E-L-S Go home team go! Of class, of love, and of life. Now kill her!

<5> Wishing them well, and wishing them home. How does life Take Turns Like These?
I found Johannes, next morning (obsess)
Taking his breakfast on the terrace,
Taking his companionship with the birds
In the too-old aviary.

Oh, Johannes, we all say to him.
Why to bother with the aviary in the East Wing?
It’s so old!

The room is old, dark, and unused.
It’s dusty and we all know it.
DON’T WE?

But the birds still fly,
All through the ceiling and over the iron vats.
They’re like overpowering mongrels that just fly and fly until all the weak oily sparrow meat slips off.
Like oily rubber on a car.
It just falls off, doesn’t it?
DOESN’T IT?

Peering through, again, in a routine
Iron vats and silken ceilings.
Fire wrought devilry
That brought us such joy.

(It’s too cold.)
(The room is far away, and too cold.)
(and a lady has died there!)

The electricity has long gone since there.
But the birds remain.

They remain free to fly,
Little four legged marvels of our mistake in planning.
Oh how tragic…
Our mistake,
In life and our mistake in all
That has ever mattered in this silly tub of a house.

When you look up the stairs, you can continue to look until you feel angry
And the ceiling caves in around your eyes.
You ask it, scream and shout it.
Oh Drat! Oh Snap!
Soon you spill your wine and now you’ll clean. Get down on those marvels and scrub!

<6> The Furrows
Down further from the aviary, (sustain)
We pass a ramp
By a large, monster window that glares at us.
That glares at us.
That glares at us.
That glares at us. Until.we.get.stuck….

It must have a pillow section with 20 layers.
For us to sit on them! Correct!
Along its banked tiers.

Oh, surely, but when I look out I see the furrows,
And understand it all.
The clawarrows have pierced the furrows.
Oh, how THEY SQUEALED!
When I look out, I see the village; yes.
But my glory what a space between.

The Elves carry the platters
Over and done through the floor.
They carry them empty;
Carry the wind.
Because no one eats the furrows anymore.
The wind done gone again, tomorrow, but rarely no more.

<7> Let’s go on a hunt!
Waiting in my office, (deplore)
Down by the house down the road.
I am wondering about those furrows.
Aren’t you?
I’m sure we all are.
And that’s OK.

At this moment I am being serenaded by a threat.
Once again we all will.
It’s…um well…a fact of life.
Right?

Truly, I believed you would understand!
Oh Jolliness!
AWWW, zammilia bonniaer tuba bomm!
Cabtra tryuli HHHHH YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!
(that little reprieve)
(Let’s kiss the snowflakes, Johannes.)
(What, no?)
(oh that’s cool with me.)
(GoodBYE Johannes.)
(Ha)
(ah
h

the monster-the worst thing to fear.
Congratulations, Mrs. Fisher.
You’re not the monster.
Neither is Mrs. Yuknis.
Or Dr. Monks Oh good lets keep searching until we get a hit.
Click, Click, BOOOMMMM!!
I KNNNOOOWW WHHHOO ITT ISSS!!!
It’s my Famous Cuisine Tutor.
Mrs. Candromie.
I truly dislike her ways of cooking.
She…adds the spices in at the wrong intervals.

<8> Rivulet Handparty
Oh Dera!
Oh Dera!
I did not spell that wrong, since you are Dera.
You were born Dera Hanover Mixxington!
In (12-45-77788- 1875.) the house by the end of the road.
In the room that is now the office.
Let’s go hunting for your origins.
I am certain you just know me
And not my mother.
She never held it and now we have a stain.
Oh it just tickles my rivulets!

In the Grass
Wriggling through the tiny naturals of dirt
That form rivulets.
I find a secret
An accurate copy of the life that once followed me around.
Shed it off Jonathan Shed it off!
Watcha’ back!
It gonna’ eatcha’!
Bad and so bad you can never decide to be…. (blasé)
And I know you hate it.
You can never take it.
Cause I’m unbreakable.
You, Jim McGreevey…
You are broken.


SECTION TWO
the inner circle
of triangular strength
is heating in
we in and its out and I love
for you to suffice me, I will not respond.

forever inside the night
we will be devils
we will be locked inside
heating this glowing oil
living on the scraps again.

quite bluntly,
you lay there on the chaise
as if nothing has happened
noting rotten things but your own private circle
tell me how do you feel as me?
do you feel so nice

the bears rummage in the town with
the room that is covered in redleather
small silver crystal cut
flat and divisive and clearly blue
(thin)
plenty in this room commands me.

remember the time I jumped down the staircase?
all those fantasies that just didn't sort right?
well congratulations, Jonathan.
you are now
you are now...
somewhat older, perhaps.

terribly inkier
living in the Halloween scraps
much repentence
but no cure for the sickness.
(too bright!) oh, turn the neons off!
turn them off, like rubber lamps
(congratulations, congratulations) u keep sayin 2 yerself
for my tea (before you count one, two, three)
I keep sayin to myslef
and then exhaustion arrives

cold nips at my face
slowly unpins the canvas of fibre
slowly melts the frozen green threads
and washes me free.
carries me down the river,
I am thawed.

(III) CONCLUSION

Handed up to me
the little parcel was handed up the rocks,
over to my head
now I see the brightness!

Oh, what an expanse of sky!
For a man as such, a lover as much
I cannot cast aside this flowering of hope!
Given to me, over my head, I'm living in the sky,
when the eye pulses.
to the back of the fabric,
I see the ocean
frozen in my midst.

I sat, and asked myself:
What are the parameters of my midst?
the stupid pressured thing, the little dandy
he told me, so I believed.
the eye pyulses to the limit

one leg, across to a second
up into a waist.
severed at an angle
up past my arms, through my fingers
downward, reaching my head.

I see 5, 456, 789 trees
suffering in dark unison.
I see an idea suffering in the blackness, and I can see it!
As I can see the trees.
Grasping each tree,
given up to me
my feet are raised in gratitude.

For your hand has littered my spacious allusion.

And they come from your spellbooks. Engrave them into stone for they are more precious than time...

But before you do that, however, you should copyright your work if you haven't already. There are theives and triflers who will plagerize and capitolize if given the chance. This is why many hesitate to post their valuable writings on the internet.

Nice work, hopefully some others catch on!

Namaste...

I really would like to join, but I write in my own language: Dutch.
I did write one or two things in English, but they are not really that good. Still I will you let you in on one.

Diana
The damp forest surrounds me,
and I am entangled by the air itself.
The green light fills my eyes,
until I cannot see anymore
The birds, the breeze and the falling drops
sing an enchanting lullaby;
I stumble, fall - and my drowsy lips
feel the kiss of Diana.

the following is something I wrote for a voluntary writing class I have every tuesday:Data Bank

My photoreceptors focus on the buildings
They are everywhere, stretching into the cloudy sky
There are no shadows in these bowels
The sun cannot shine where megaliths blot out its intensity
Since I am curious I open my memory banks
I recall the data of this place’s past

Two of the tallest towers climb into the sky
Then fade away along with hundreds of other structures
Other, smaller buildings sometimes replace them
But eventually they all slip away
As a lush ocean of green vegetation spills atop the landscape.
I watch as a battle between tanned humans begins
Spears and arrows tear across the sky like bullets
Some are lit with fire
There is a rain of thin projectiles and the continuous noise
Of bodies thumping atop the green Earth

The ground lurches under my feet and I see a seashore in the distance
The sky darkens to a pitch and rumbles with lightening
But only briefly, and it soon disappears to reveal a long column
Of colossal lizards lumbering into a blue sunset
There is a commotion not far away
One of the creatures is bawling and bracing for an impact from the brush
Like torpedoes a trio of predators emerge and hurl through the air towards their target
They leap high into the sky, their audible hiss stirring the components of my ears
Their claws dig into the gray flesh and yank the beast into the sand
Lifting a plume of dirt into the air
The animal’s bawling stops, and its surrounding counterparts grow wary

The land is suddenly overrun with lava and oceans of bright crimson that glows
Pillars of fire rise from volcanoes and stab into a black, billowing sky
There is a wall of flame in the distance that stretches into both horizons
It spits fiery boulders and meteors onto the land
Then it all falls apart, piece by piece the world is ripped into a cloud of vapor
The sun’s glow fades into oblivion, into a nebula of mucus-resembling material
There’s a violent flash, and suddenly the matter is back inside another star
This one’s much larger and colored a deep red. I can see claws of fire
Flaring up from its surface
Then the vision disappears, and I am back in the city, where I started.

I begin trudge into a store and ask the salesperson for a container of oil.


There's no meter in this poem/story and I've noticed that at the bottom sentences end in two lines. Ignore that and treat each sentence as one line. If you'd rather read the converted notepad document I'll post it as an attachment.

:D Merlijn-I think you should go ahead and post your poems in Dutch. There's an understanding and beauty to poetry that trancends even knowing the meanings of the words. Seeing the kind of rhythm your English poetry has, I would like to read what you have in Dutch. Even if I can't understand it, it's your real poetry.

well it appears that I was wrong. I guess you could dl the file for your own...personal enjoyment.

:bugeye: Pollux- I like your poetry, yet the great thing about free verse is its ability to hit real hard with short, meaningful lines and you're not really utilizing that. But that's beside the point.

Here's another one:

Files in a lovely correction
drawer A for the picking
files.
flies in a jar.
the flies are fat, and plump
I read the files and they tell me facts

flies in air
of lovely stone whisps
never ceased before death
as air wrapped
Providence in surrender.

as outdoors cried and heaven alarmed.
to never be right
or cancel my harm of hate,
for one to be sure
and one to be had,

Humanity leads a double session,
for two winks a fool
one traded his trade for a quintet,
his blanket for a strange set of tongs;
one long profusion of commerce.
and so the grass commenced
-outdoors.

Yogamojo we actually have nothing to fear by posting our thoughts here, since each post is dated we would take them to court and easily win all or more money they made off of our material.

I'll get back to ya, congrats.

[Beautiful Vampire]
I see you approach, I see you come.
You want my house and car,
With chatter nice and looks so good,
I almost fell in your dirty trap.

You’re so sticky and sweet, that I can see,
Through your net of love and greed.
I’m nothing to you: her eyes are saying,
So deep and blue like killer sharks jaw.

You see my suit and nothing else.
Typical slut you are,
Worse than vampires teeth,
You want to drain me out.

I laugh at her and have my fun.
She thinks - I fell,
Blinded by her sugar voice,
So sweet as a box of lemonade.

I take her to Transylvania,
Saying: let’s get married there;
And leave her in a castle old,
Hope she finds our nighttime host.

++++++++++++Bonus++++++++++++
I’m crossing the border,
Hiding behind the trees,
Making the night to be my cover;
And suddenly I’m spotted by a guard,
Who asks for my ID.
My ID?! what do you mean,
What’s my ID,
What makes me so different,
From you and other?
My location, job or dog,
My place of birth or name,
And what it all means to you?
I am myself a unique ID,
That cannot be faked or cloned.
I am for what I am,
Citizen of earth, just like you,
But so different in so many ways;
I am what I made me to be.


(c) by Mitago @ www.everypoet.com
P.S. Mitago=Avatar(I'm not stealing anybody's work:D)

;) Ahhh...perfect awkwardness. Such a sentimental feeling. You are very intense and very right, Avatar.

;) Good point, Madame Pollux. The thing is actually knowing if someone is using your poetry. They could be using it on the underground circuit and slowly, over years, accumulate millions. Then when you crack the story you really crack the bucket, so to speak. I'd love to hit some dirty pig on its face with 'Monoliths', my current little private collection. Let's go, girls!

this is one of mine its a free verse thing going on , so enjoy

The perfect sunrise
From Jonathan to Christie

I love you like the moon that shines, that is a reflection of the sun that burns brightly,
Like your eyes
Its like the blanket of stars, in the midnight hour, I dare not focus on many, when one burns so brightly like the one before me
I gasp for breath from a heavenly body, that is the beauty of the entire universe in its glory

It’s like a crystal shoreline, in the night,
There is no need for a candle for the love is bright
Its only you that can do this to me
It’s you the star I want to see
It’s your breath I want to breathe
It’s my soul I wish to bequeath
And intrust with you
I never then would worry of what to do
So long as I’m with you

The moon shines, with its glory passed form the sun that is in its self-apart of the universe in all its glory
Like a love unsurpassed, like a feeling that comes out at last, its you the one, all the time.
Like a restless sunshine
Like a wave that crashes into the shoreline

A curve in the sprinkle of water, so eloquent in appearance
But yet so complex to recreate its brilliance
Such a simple element, that is the basis of all existence
A world of feeling that is the distance
Between the sun and the end of sol
Witch is thee only measurement of the soul
And its experience of love, that makes them whole
A beginning to prase the universes extol
And the unimaginable price of its beauty
Like the beginning of a nebulas that is cloudy
No one can know the reasons why
It’s such a hard question to imply

The moon now shines above your eyes, means nothing to me, when you cry.
Like tears of heaven and the shimmer of the hope not yet dead in me
Of this another heavenly body, circling to its doom
Down the spiral to its death that looms
It it’s self the star in the cold night sky
Radiating its thoughts in rhymes
Through the vastness of space
Sending warm kisses to your face
To create we must destroy
The child now runs, trips over the toy
Trying to understand its self
The universe who else
Couldn’t be as pretty as thee
But you Christie

The moon is now setting over the horizon, the sun comes up to bring forth the warmth
To a planet An AU away from its source
To something invisible that grabs with force
The light, that shines into the eyes
Of you, the perfect sunrise

written by: jonathan ryan alligood

Originally posted as it's own stupid THREAD!

Oh DEAR! THis is some great stuff!
This is Great!


Between the sun and the end of sol
Witch is thee only measurement of the soul
And its experience of love, that makes them whole
A beginning to prase the universes extol
And the unimaginable price of its beauty

So perfect! I don't know if you meant to say 'witch' but I think it's better than 'which'. You wrote a beautiful poem-are you a professional? Because this seems to have some incredible classical underpinnings. If not, you are a natural with more talent than you can imagine.

The Earth is iced, isn't it

Exceprts form this afternoon's jam session:

[The importance of trees to my left
I am now on my cotton slip-sheet
looking through
my little portion

three band
of color immense
it is scaring the birds form their roosts
it is slowly drifting; inching.
I wish to play Brammhes, yet sky calls.
soft pillow, or dome, or leftish stitch
sky always calls]

[In my chaos, wreckage,
in my red core of wet, mushy tells me
to be strong
to do good
to be overly, succinctly, good. ( I meant wrong)

to seek an exploded life
in a white, banded bird cage now
no more steel drumbucket

symbolisms stick.

bands drift
too far, so to you can catch on them
pour moi, pour toi, pour elle, pour lui,
as I

never in steel unison
cried trees of water.
I utilize an ability just to 'say'
manifesto for corporate endangerment
tommorrow, intensify, maybe today
slam you in court
there's that smell again
Victorian whole grain goodness.]

[slowly turning purple
I turn cold-blooded
I feel...better
I feel turned upon a side.]

[For you to seek my truth,
I feel capable.
One more upon the old oak tree,
I tie you a ribbon.
Deep down, I sample your flavor.

set hole in my socks
set deep in my life.
created words of meaning,
of soft absulence in my life,
of never parting to my side
Flow to my life, bypass me.

We tried to apply rouge to your face;
You're a clown, Non?
I wish not to be you,
to be mean, in other may'aps words.
So in a clear, crystalline package. (limper,limper,limper,limper,there)
I am not funny, not quite gone.
not quite straddling a cliff of looning.]

Originally posted by Congratulations
Originally posted as it's own stupid THREAD!

Oh DEAR! THis is some great stuff!
This is Great!


Between the sun and the end of sol
Witch is thee only measurement of the soul
And its experience of love, that makes them whole
A beginning to prase the universes extol
And the unimaginable price of its beauty

So perfect! I don't know if you meant to say 'witch' but I think it's better than 'which'. You wrote a beautiful poem-are you a professional? Because this seems to have some incredible classical underpinnings. If not, you are a natural with more talent than you can imagine.

The Earth is iced, isn't it

well im glad you liked it , it took along time to write that.
im just glad some one can enjoy it. because she didn't.....:(

this is another one,

Wishes of twilight

Darkness and light
Sparks in the wind
Untouched and twinkle with delight
Uncaring and unshowing concern for what’s below
The earth in darkness and shadow

From nadir looking up
pondering ideas erupt
what is this sight
here in the midnight
the twinkle in the star
the burning thoughts that char
wondering as a child with perplexity
what is this spell you cast on me

clouds and haze
what can keep this brightness from my gaze
shining through all around you
your star IM transfixed upon
until we part, until dawn

never can you be blocked by a nimbus
always moving like Hesperus
bright and never dim
in the galaxy you swim
and I will watch and I will stare
for you are the one that is so rare

color ebony surrounding the light
in the shades of white
you are seen through the umbra
these things of scintilla
the brightest speck to blind the eye
but yet, even then id look to the sky
searching where are you, set and confusion
please don’t be an illusion
the night sky has become unclear
please don’t disappear


reverse eclipse as you wonder from my sight
watching, running as you disappear into the daylight
I will wait here, for you
And your beautiful shimmering hue
In the light always wishing for twilight
Wait Again to see you at night

by: jonathan ryan alligood, was copy writted jan-31-2002

--->>>^^^BEAUTIFUL^^^<<<---

[Joke of the Gods of Love]
I walk and walk all the time
Through the desert of a melting sand
Leaving a trail of a desperate man
Looking in the distance and smiling of my luck
Which turned out to be another joke of the Gods of love
Making to believe in the mirage of love
Love that was never known or met

And as a vicious snake in sand
There's a danger of a deserts game
For I see the dream of my life, arising in my sight
Thinking of it as another mirage of love
And letting it go as a fantasy of my mind
And after a month or so, I realize how I was wrong
Believing in my luck, which turned out to be
Another joke of the Gods of love

But all’s not lost I say and pray, for it was just a dream
A dream of a future glimpse
And a look in the deserts face
Another joke of the Gods of love
Who know how to play this game of love
You, my flower in the melting sand
You who arises from the sands of time

(c) by Mitago @ www.everypoet.com

I am Nothing

Time again welds it’s hands
Circling to doom, are the sands
Thee hour glass once was filled
But now my dream has been killed
As the wisdom comes at a price of my youth
I can now see the truth

Wasted and diminished if I leave nothing
Could I be remembered for just being

Is a life that is ordinary and plain
A life at all, wasted and wane
Forgotten is this man
Was that fates plan
To condemn me from the start
To make me want to rip apart
What I’ve done
What is seen
What I could have been

Now I look through my eternally dead eyes
On to my life played tell I memorize
How plain how ordinary it all was
Can’t it be remembered for something

Is it wasted, is it dim
My out look or is it grim
Doomed to feel betrayed
Life now confirms what I’m afraid
I mean nothing in the scheme
The bigger picture now I scream
Shout to the heavens to be heard
I just want to be assured
This was the blue print nothing more
My heart now blacked to the feeling abhor
I realize this life to be nothing
I’m remembered for nothing
The way it has to be
The way it has to be
You would torture me?

You are all so very good! I´m baffled...
I don´t even know if I dare to post something here, among the professionals...;)

But I will anyway, just to torture you....:p
I´m trying to write lyrics to songs actually, so maybe you can help me improve them, so that they become more rythmical....if you want to, that is.
Here´s the first one:

When we love

In a forest full of light
telling secrets is the play
running across the bushes
of new life

Becoming the creatures dreamt of
in ancient dreams of future visions
celebrating the fullness of the moment
indulging our souls

We are the flowing circles
in between times of excess
never forgetting who we are
always seeking new ways to be
explorers of reality

We will win this game
because there is no way to lose
growing fresh essence
of exuberant light and
losing our minds
in equations of mystery

This is who we are
when we love



:rolleyes:

Some torture, Beblina! (ahem...) No one could even torture a bug with that! That's beautiful.

OK- so you wanted it to be more rythmical...

1. In a forest full of light
2. telling secrets is the play
3. running across the bushes
4. of new life

5. Becoming the creatures dreamt of
6. in ancient dreams of future visions
7. celebrating the fullness of the moment
8. indulging our souls

9. We are the flowing circles
10. in between times of excess
11. never forgetting who we are
12. always seeking new ways to be
13. explorers of reality

14. We will win this game
15. because there is no way to lose
16. growing fresh essence
17. of exuberant light and
18. losing our minds
19. in equations of mystery

20. This is who we are
21. when we love ;)


Ok, I would combine lines 12 and 13 and then put in 20/21 as the chorus of the song and then go onto your next verse. I would take out the 'and' in line 17-possibly seperating it into two stanzas after that, or just letting it run on into itself. I might also combine 3 and 4. Lines 5-8 are just brilliant-if you're writing a song, those lines should be your model, because they are rythmical, Bebelina, you just have to look into the rythym of the meaning of what you wrote.

;) It's very 'there'. It isn't hiding anything, really. The suggestions I made I think would just bring it out a little bit further into the open. But really, what you wrote is what it is, and any song should work with it. But then again, I've never written a song, or even tried, and I've never really published anything at all. So follow your own instincts, Bebelina. It's not like Bjork can do cartwheels.

[Raid of Vikings]
Ship sails out of waters deep
With dragon, red from blood
From the thirst of war
Roaring on its stem

Death is on its deck
Dragged from The North to Spain
Where fame and riches lay
Waiting to be gained

It’s no game for sure
‘Cause murder comes to shore
And there’s our hero
Let’s watch his deeds

He’s tired, but fights with love and ease
His mighty axe as eagle hunts its prey
Cutting his way, to the fame of war
Knowing he might fall this very day

Arrows are shot at him
Weapons of cowards: he laughs,
Come closer that I can see
The bloody face of victory

The gold is taken, the city plundered
But where’s our hero
Lets look for him
For he is needed for this story’s end

And there he is, lying on his back
With a bloody wound in his head
Singing the song of death
Waiting for feasts in Valhalla to begin

(c) by Andris Krastins 2001

Thank you very much Congratulations, that was excellent advice, I will follow it. Yes, I was going to take away the "and", but forgot to do so before I posted it. The chorus will be very catchy like that. :p

:D Thank you, Bebelina. When you get that song recorded, you should put it up so we can hear it.

Here's one by E.E. Cummings that just struck me when I first heard it. I hope I can get it exact, becuas he doesn't just write words, it's like visual.

Pity This Busy Monster,Manunkind

pity this busy monster,manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)


plays with the bigness of his littleness
-electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange;lenses extend


unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself
A world of made
is not a world of born-pity poor flesh


and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical


ultraomnipotence. We doctors know


a hopeless case if-listen : there's a hell
of a good universe next door;let's go



Such Brilliance!
If only E.E. Cummings could know how to come back from the grave to post here at the 'Poetry Arena'. If I could write a poem like that, my ife would be fulfilled; completely. Well, i just thought E.E. Cummings was pretty great, hope you do too.

awhile ago I actually submitted a poem to this writing contest-thingy and wound up with an invitation to go to Washington D.C for a conference. I didn't go because, well, I didn't want to and I'm not really a poet (more of a writer). I'll be looking for the poem in the future.

P.S Congrats unlike the previous lil story I wrote I believe that the piece I'm looking for fits your parameters.

.................................................. .

Monkey
see

Monkey

doodo

.................................................. ..


Thank you. Thank you. *takes a bow*

:D

Monkey see: monkey do
Muliboy writes crap
I see: his poem in my toliet
(swish,swish,swish,swish,swish)
all gone!

Tell me what you think:

Fear

The darkness is there,
It does not need help
It knows you better,
Than you know yourself.

This darkness is fear,
And it takes many forms
It lies inside all
A calm before storm

It waits for a moment,
When guards are let down
Then surrounds your whole being;
A choking black gown.

The fear of death
And this darkness inside,
Are one and the same
And in us, reside.

By: me.

o0o0o0o0o! it rhymes! :p

Water fall

It spills into a sea of linoleum
The water dark, but yet filled with life
Rolling eyes, and fear to rife
Darkness consumes
Feelings condemned to their dooms

Life, spirit, soul, and essence
Like water flows from him
Through the spout
Runs through the streams through out
The ground, from its source
The lips quiver of remorse
The life now dies
His position now memorized
With the chalk
no one knows his last thought
but his body will now rot

I'm going to write this right now, it's called improvising.


TABTRIC UNDERSTANDINGS

Given to the girl in the white clapboard shingles;
given to her who could never understand
(you)
but she stares to the wall, mutters a respnse to her captor
"Ok here little one"

there's a place where nothing is noted
there's a place where you can kiss him in peace
there's a place of horrible, tantric understanding
when the beat goes (rustle) and the time is weak

A swan takes a lap around a pond
reeds, soaking here in my mouth
salmon upon me, never flinching, never breathing
she tried to break free
but.she.does.not.

sun-in my door-honey-on my head
a vistor upon my step, a jump in my step
I go to the door
I go to your head
so leaves,and reeds
sole leaves and brown rustlers
I bought a six said of trees
small, spreading spiderweb of listening to sound.

Rotary noises and waves
telling my mother to 'take a hike'
you go away! you leave me alone!
Strantium houses and mansions in quiet reproach.

Now on the waves of the lily-like coroners
Jamison gives it a wink, and a hint
so rest upon, rest upon daybed
in the day-room,
in the parlor
from teas to the biscuit crackers

The girl is held
in a room far off left
crimpets, tea mints some grass in an eyelid
the job is our helping hand

in silencing her.

This is about being held down and finding yourself. In this case, the girl beocmes part of an abstract fantasy where eventually, silent nature takes over her troubles. But at the end, after dealing with some issues, she is still being held, yet silenced by us, and resolute in her steadfast commitment to herself.

And you have the guts to critisize me?

Haven´t heard of the simple beaty of minimalism. That was minianimalism.
PostPost Modernistic heroism. You just aint avant garde enough.
Your mistake :D

I liked it MuliBoy. That´s because I´m avant- avantgarde, but don´t expect that from everybody. :p

Night

Darkness in the stillness of the night
Life takes hold.
Creatures of destruction rest,
The night, so calm and silent.
In the shadows I lie and wait,
Creature born of darkness.
Life takes hold and sets me free.
The world is so dark and silent, so still and cold.
Soon the destruction shall begin again soon the beasts shall stir.
This is our time, this is my time, a creature of life a creature of darkness.
A creature that stalks the night.
Soon the beasts shall stir and wonder
What has become of the night before
They shall awaken and life will retreat
Into the shadows, into the night, into the cold.

In the shadows of the night there lies a beast of life,
She the mother eternal, creatress, silent for a time, sleeping.
Her children attend to her (those who have not forgotten…)
Yearning for her to awaken and reclaim the light.
Mistress of night so silent, her children so eager.
She waits in the darkness for no one,
Within the darkness she is whole.

The shadows of night surround me,
The creatures celebrate my return,
my siblings children of life.
She comforts me in her stillness.
Through her my strength is shown.
Her dark beauty reflects nothing,
in her I am alone.

I am still beside her,
Life fades to destruction.
I know she will awaken.


Got bored... all my work is copy written!

this is part 5 of a poem i've wrote , tell me what you think


FIRES AND DAMNATION

THE CONFLAGRATION, BURSTED INTO ALL AROUND ME, DAMNATION
FILLED THE AIR, WITH THOUSANDS OF SOULS, BITING, TEARING AT EACH OTHER, AND THE SMELL THAT BURNED WITH THE PROCESS OF INHALATION
LOATHING, DESPAIR FILLED THE LAND, THE LEDGES OF ALL THE HELLS FILLED MY MIND, GUSTAVE DORE
IN THE BACK WITH WINGS FLAPPED, THE COLD WINDS OF COCYTUS, FILLED THE AIR, AND TEMPTED TO LORE
THE WAILING THE LETHE, I ALMOST FORGOTTEN LIFE, I HELD ONTO IT WITH ALL I COULD.
BUT THE PAIN OF FIRE, ANGUISH AND SHOCK TOOK ITS FORM, AND BEAT ME TO SOMETHING LESS THEN A MAN SHOULD
IT WAS REAL, THE PAIN I COULD FELL, THIS WAS HELL, AND WHAT IS THIS
HE WALKS ALONE NOT A WORD TO ANY, THAT WAS DIS
HE STOOD AND FROWNED AS THE TORTURING OF SOULS BURNED FOREVER.
I WAITED IN LINES OF MILLIONS OF SINNERS, ACHE AND TWINGE AT EVERY SIGHT TELL MY EYES FACED WITH NO FEAR, I LAUGHED SOMETIMES, TO MY SELF AS I COULD NOT BARE, THIS WOE, AND MY ENDEAVOR
MY BODY WAS TENDER, HEALTH HAD LOST , MY SKIN GONE AND ALL BUT LOST, I STOOD ORGANS EXPOSED, AND ALL TORMENT I KNOW.
I BEGGED TO THE WHAT I THOUGHT WAS THE SKY.. ARE YOU THEIR FATES, CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAM IN THIS TORMENT, AND THE STIGMA SHOW
I AM NOT A MAN, AS IT MELTS AWAY A SHADOW OF NOTHING, ECHO’S OF THINGS NO ONE SHOULD HEAR
ALL THIS WAS A RENEWED AND EVER PRESENT FEAR
PIERCING METALS THROUGH WHAT WAS LEFT OF ME, THE PAIN DISTRESS DID HELL NEED THIS
I FINALLY MOVED UPON THE LEDGES, ONE BY ONE, TIME TICKED ALONG, BUT NEVER SEEMED TO MOVE IN THIS

ADVANCING PAINS CRAWLED ON TO ME , MAGGOTS AND BLOOD RIVERS FLOWED, GORE AND BONE
SHOWED THE LACK OF , ALL BUT IF YOU LOOKED TO THE SKY, A HEAVENS GATE OPENED EVERY TIME TO TAKE SOME ONE HOME.
I CRIED A DRY TEAR EVERY TIME SOMETHING FLOATED ABOVE, AND THEN REMEMBERED IT WAS NOT ME
IT WAS SOMEONE ELSE I SEE
THROBBING PAIN ENTERED MY WOUNDS AS BUGS AND WASP’S PICKED AT ME, IN FAMINE AND DISEASE
I STOOD IN A SEA OF MISERY, WITH OTHERS AS FAR AS THE EYES COULD SEE, THE DAMNED AND ME
EXPLOSIONS TO VOLCANOES AND MAGMA ERUPT TO THE SKY, BLOCKED BY ASH, WAS THE STARS
ALL WHO DARED TO LOOK WERE IN THE PAINS OF ALL THAT CHARS
I AWAITED THE END SURELY THEIR WAS ONE FOR ALL. THE TORTURE MUST BE DONE, AND EVEN SCREAMS FILLED HORRID TONE
I WAS NOTHING LEFT BUT SOUL AND BONE

HE WALKED THROUGH WITH NO HARM
THE FIRES WERE NOTHING TO HIS CHARM
SYBIL I SAID, HOW MUCH MORE
AND HE STOPPED, AND GARBED MY ARM, AND TOOK ME TO A DOOR
[SIZE=1]


this is copy written, thanx you very much , but what do you peoiple think

It's got some things going for it: Its depth, its variety of terms, etc. It is very 'bulky'. It seems like you put a lot on it so it gets more meaning. Which is OK.

However, it's too much like a story; a descriptive. It isn't so much a work in itself than a work with its own meaning. It goes into depth to get to the meaning (which it is quite meaningful), but it has to go very far down to get to the meaning, and it's almost as if the whole poem is the framework for gently holding up your connection to the deep. I'd say let that connection fall, and write what you feel.

:D Don't take that as a criticism- I love your poetry for what it is. However, it could just have more meaning to me, the reader, if it was a little more immeadiate. In most harsh terms, it gets a little to bulky for itslef, and in effect clumsy.

And to Muliboy, I most humbly apologize. I really want to learn how to do that 'minianimalism' thing...maybe it's like this.

A

B

C

D

Really, No, Really, Truly
(never,never, Oh! never really for mother)
(animals, in the land, mini ones, too)
(lets' go to Disney's animal Kingdom)
(and get some monkey doo)

Is it? I feel embarrassed because I was so mean to you with the toilet comment. So, I was wondering if you would want to go to Disney's Animal Kingdom with me so we can brush up on our minianimalism. Actually, we should call it 'Mulish" after you. But, alas, a sad name for a glorious movement of poetry. Iced_Earth, why don't you give it a try?

well see thats prt 5 like i said , of a poem , its a epic poem, it's the must "buckly" for the topic of its self because that's the middle of the persons torment. here is part one.



Anathema

INTRO


AS HIS TIME COMES TO AN END , THE GRAINS FALL AND DRIFT
HIS BLOOD AND SOUL NOW FLOWS OUT OF HIM, HIS GIFT
ITS WATCHED, WITH HORROR OF HIS END
BUT MAN AND KNIFE ARE NOW FRIEND
HE SEES HIS LIFE ONLY HOW HE COULD PERCEIVE
WORSE THEN ANYTHING HE COULD IMAGINE OR BELIEVE
HIS TORTURED LIFE, NOW WILL FADE, DUST AND PLAGUED
HE SEES NOTHING AS HIS EYES LOSE ALL LIFE, AND RENEGED (RENOUNCE)
EVERY THING HE ONCE KNEW, FADE OUT , A EMPTY MIND
HIS THOUGHT AND THINGS, WHAT’S TO BE, WHERE TO HIDE
HERE, IN THE PLANE, WHERE THE STORY’S OF HIS HELL TAKES PLACE
IN THIS, FOREVER ETERNAL, SPACE




SYBIL (DARKNESS)

NOW MY FRIEND I’LL BE YOUR GUIDE YOUR ESCORT , THE LEAD ,
THROUGH YOUR HELLS AND TORMENT FOR YOUR DEED
YOU WILL WALK THROUGH ALL OFF THESE , NOW CAST TO DARKNESS
YOU ENTER YOUR NEW “LIFE” ETERNAL, AND WAITING FOR THIS
HELL IS MANS BROADEST OF ALL HIS TERMS
YOU WILL SEE WHY, AS YOU LEARN
THE DARK WILL TAKE AHOLD
AND LET HELL UNFOLD


DARKNESS

ALONG THE PATH OF COBBLE STONE, RED AS THE BLOOD , THAT I BLED
I SWIM IN THIS, THE DREAMS OF DEATH, NEVER AGAIN LIVE, I DWELL WITH THE DEAD
THE SKY, SET TO DARK WITH NOTHING UPON IT , NO STARS TO SHINE , JUST LONELINESS
THE STARLESS SKY REFLECTED BY THE POOLS OF BLOOD, ON THE PATH
THE NEVER ENDING REMORSE OF MY THOUGHT, NOW FACED WITH ITS AFTERMATH
THE FOREST OF DEAD STAGNANT THINGS, OVER LAPSE THE WILLOWS
AND THIS INTENSE NOTHING, IN THE PRESENCE OF ME, IN THE SHADOWS
CREEP BENEATH, NO GROUND JUST VASTNESS OF DEPTH, AND FEAR
THE SILENCE IS KILLING, DEAF TO THOUGHTS AROUND ME, NOTHING ALIVE IS NEAR
ONCE AGAIN TAKE A TURN TO WHAT’S ABOVE, NOTHING IS THE SKY
YET DARK, BUT NO STARS, NO LIGHT, NO BEAUTY TO VIE
THE GROUND WARM OF WHAT I FEEL, THE PASSING OF THE BLOOD OVER MY TOES
THE NEVER ENDING, SILENCE TAKES ME, MY MIND IS LOST IT SHOWS
WITH NO SOUND ALL I CAN HEAR IS MY SELF THINK OF THIS
THE DARK , THE ALMOST COLD FEAR ERUPTS, FROM THIS NOTHINGNESS
I’M ALONE WITH MY THOUGHTS, IN THE DARK, AS I WALK WITH THE BLOOD
IN MY MIND THE THOUGHTS THAT SCATTER, AND I CAN’T SEPARATE FROM THIS FLOOD
THOUGHTS, RABBLES, PRATTLES, I CAN’T HEAR THE STREAM
WHERE IS THE NOISE I’M CONTEMPT TO SCREAM
BUT , I CAN’T HERE MY VOICE, THE SOUND, THE ACOUSTICS, FROM THE WOODS
WHERE IS IT, YOU TAKE IT SO I’M ALONE, WITH MY SELF, TO THINK OF FALSEHOODS
AND I WALKED DOWN THIS STREAM OF BLOOD VIVID TO MY LOVE
THE ONLY THING THAT TIES ME TO LIFE
IS THAT , MY LOVE, BUT WHAT HAVE I DONE , THE HATE WILL RIFE (RISE)

THE DARKNESS IS FADING ITS FAILING, THE SKY STILL DARK BUT TURNING TO LIGHT
WHAT IS THIS AFTER A MILLION MILES IN THE RIVER OF BLOOD A NEW SIGHT?
I CAN SEE SOMETHING DIFFERENT A COLOR A HUE
AND THEN IT AGAIN, YOU!

Sorry about interrupting the discussion between you two;) :)
Iced_Earth, I think tht a long poem loses its meaning and power to impress. But as I myself consider on writing an epos about some ancien civilization, I better shut up:)

Here's my poem, also copyrighted
(my last poem in English writen in 2001)

[Conquest of Paradise] v2.5

Create your world in seven days,
Change your fate in seven ways.
Garden of Eden, forget about your past,
Here I come with an army in my path.

See the future the way you want,
Let nobody steal away your sun,
The temples fall and empires crush,
The gates of heaven tremble by your touch

Beat the system where all is said,
Nothing can be changed or modified,
Be a God and change the world,
Let yourself in paradise!

;) You sure are trying to create an epic, I just noticed the mythological references, the astronomy references. Ananthema, isn't that a Jovian sattelite? I think it might be either the little one closest to Jupiter that Gallileo missed, or one of the tiny ones scattered about behind the Gallilean ones. If it isn't I'm pathetically stupid, but either way there is a strong sense of history or meaning simply in mentioning those words.

But honestly, it's tiring. I know you said you get this a lot, that your poetry is too long, but really, you seem to be repeating things in different forms so often that it seems naive. I have to skim your poem to get the meaning because if I just read it, I'd get lost. However, maybe that's the point, and there's nothing wrong with an involved poem.

I just know from my own poetry that when I write something like a 7 page poem, it ends up sounding ridiculous; like I had something to hide so I tried to make up for it in length. Or maybe I was unsure about my own ability when I did those.

Now, however, I limit poems to one page, and it becomes routine for my brain to move on now after one page. I'm conditioned. It's better because you can more easily and effectively explore the self in a short, brief poem. You really don't get that from an epic. Glory is not derivative of length. The Vietnam War was the longest war in US history, if you catch my drift...

Can I join in and mulish minianimalism in Disneyland? :p

I SEE WHAT YOU MEAN , (Anathema IS A PERSON WHO IS DAMNED)

BUT I FEEL TO TRUELY LOSE YOUR SELF IN SOMETHING IS GREAT, I FELL THE LONGER THE POEM THE BETTER, IF ITS A POEM THAT FEELS RIGHT TO YOU!

I FELT AS IM WRITEING THIS, THAT I COULD GET MY VISON OF HELL ACROSS, (THEIR IS 9 HELLS IN MY POEM) AND THUS, AFFECTIOPNG THE READER TO SEE THAT ITS NOT ALL GONA BE FIRE AND PAIN, BUT HELL REALLY EXPLORERS YOU! AS IT GOES THROUGH IT'S SELF

DARKNESS
TO BE ALONE IN THE FOREST OF WILLOWS ONLY A RIVER OF BLOOD TO FOLLOW, A MILLION MILES TO WALK BEFOR THE NEXT DOOM , THE STAR LESS SKY ( ALLUSION TO DANTE' INFERNO)
AND TO TAKE THE SOUND AWAY SO THE PERSON WOULD BE STUCK TO ONLY HEAR HIM SELF THINK, NOTHING MORE , WHAT IF YOU HAD TO TO WALK , FOR MILLONS OF MILES WITH NOTHING TO TALK TO BUT YOUR SELF, AND TO REFLECT WITH YOUR SINS ,

COLD AND I AM ALONE

IN THIS PART , (PART 2 )
THE MAN GOES THROU A WINTER WASETLAND AGAIN WITH THE STAR LESS SKY, BUT THIS TIME HE CAN SEE THE MOON , NOT A NORMAL MOON BUT HE TAKES IT AS HIS ONLY FRIEND, HE CAN TALK NOW, SO HE SHARES EVERY THING WITH THE MOON, HE REFLECTS HIM SELF TO WHAT THE SYBIL SAID ,

"CAN YOU SEE THE LIGHT IS IT COLD IS IT GREAT AND UNKNOWN, I CAN TELL
YOU WILL LOVE IT, THE NUMBNESS THE SANITY REGAINED THE COLD
AND YOU ARE ALONE"


HE WALKS THROUGH THE WASTE LAND WONDERING WHY SYBIL SAID THIS, AND THEN IT DAWNS ON HIM , HE TURNS TO THE SKY TO SEE THE MOON GONE , HIS ONE FRIEND FOR THE LAST TIMELESS HELL , GONE, HE SCREAMS AND CRYS TO SYBIL WHY HE COULD TAKE HIM AWAY FROM HIM , HIS ONE FRIEND HIS ONE AND ONLY FRIEND AND "BEING" TO TALK TO. HE WAS TRULY ALONE NOW.

VASTNESS

HE NOW IS SENT THROUGH HIS 3RD HELL, WHERE IT IS A DESERT WITH NO "REAL SKY NO STAR THAT BURNS UPON HIM, ITS JUST LIT. THE HEAT UN BAREABLE HE STARTS TO RIP HIS FLASH OFF.

I'LL GIVE YOU MORE LATER
IDEA AND STORY LINE (C) TO JONATHAN RYAN ALLIGOOD 2002

Come on, honey! Join the party. The Mulish movement is spreading, from Muliboy to me and now to you. guard your secret carefully, for the magic of mulism is too much for mortal eyes to veil! I think the Animal Kingdom is in Disneyworld, in Florida, which is a lot closer for both of us than Sweden. Is there an Animal Kingdom in Europe? Maybe that would have some better animals, like wild goats or something, However, I know Disneyworld has dinosaurs. THAT's a big draw.

I'm going to start getting some interest in Mulism, aka with pamphlets, emails, and notices pressed on car windows at my local shopping mall(s). I'll hand out some 'minianimals' to demonstarte the kind of stuff we might be privelaged enough to see at Animal Kingdom. We've got genious here, bebe. Let's roll with it.

I claim the presidential title of this movement, as for being the soul keeper of the true meaning of muli. The secret will never be revealed...... :bugeye:

Sneaking, creeping
whisper into your ear:

I am the machine

Do unto others
as I do unto you

I will eat you
I will break you
I will hurt you
as only hard metal can

You will obey me
fear me

Be me

Steel tyrant crushes its foe
Heavy metal power
never need to care

Weak
fragile
ugly

is all a human can be



PsykYogology for the masses by Hazlan Hyperion

:bugeye:

Yes, that is correct. It is a secret word which holds much energy.
Muli.. you are closer to the light by saying it :D

MULI

I speak the word(s)
caught from forefinger to stone
rubbing, me in it

Forefinger
me
in between grinding stone
of you

I (you tried
can (he's coming!
walk (Gerald got rid of his demons
that ( no more freakish thoughts.
is why (blank)

(funny because

I (never heard Gerald scream in pain
can
talk (he seemmed..well...normal to I
so
come (oh...he was pressured.
here
I
have
a
toy- (well, sorry. I don't know how painful _______________dreaming (could be
do
you (what was Gerald dreaming about?
love me
are
you
a
boy?

;) It's got kind of a hidden meaning, if you look into the symbolism that comes with the mechanics of it (placement of parentheses, etc.) I didn't mean to put that in; it was really just an 'animal instinct' poem (aka I just wrote). But now I think it's making a social statement, which is cool.

This is the magic of Mulsim- when I go to write gibberish I end up with something meaningful!

Congratulations MuliBoy, you have finally gotten your first very own stalker, Congratulations...eh....

:bugeye:

Oh, Bebelina, and you're not stalkin' too? I'm just trippin, homedog, so stay on your own turf baby. If I would stalk anyone, it would be Chris Klein. He's worth stalking.

Lol, did I touch a soft spot? :D
I have no need for stalking here or anywhere , was just amused by your poem. Keep that poetry coming and keep on "tripping, homedog...baby". Erhum, excuse me for being swedsih , but what does homedog means?

Okay Pollux V, you have convinced me. Here is one I am still working...Also known as: Thrombuldee Blitherop



Thrombuldee Blitherop fleddled to town
On a bicycled violin,
On a bright, sunny day
Did he pedal and play,
And made everyone dance
In their tie-waisted pants
And come out from e’er whence they’d gone in.

With boots made of newts and his hat made of fruits
And a curly tailed crow on his chin,
He jumped up and down
Knocking holes in the ground,
He hummed and he prayed
As he fervently played,
And fleddled his bicycle-lin.

His clever disguise featured pinwheel eyes
And a tail that rivaled a beaver’s:
Three cumbersome collars
Of green silver dollars,
A bullet-shell belt
& a halter of felt,
And a dangling skirt made of cleavers.

The crow on his chin sipped a bottle of gin
And cawed a magnificent song:
He gargled and flapped
And kept time as he tapped,
He danced and he twirled
As his tail uncurled,
And Thrombuldee fleddled along.

The folks in the crowd held their breath as he bowed
And grinned a remarkable grin:
His teeth were like mushrooms,
From ancient, hushed tombs
His eyes were consumed,
As if he’d been exhumed
But his grin was as gracious as sin.

The Sun slowly dropped, but the song never stopped
For the dance was as merry as ever:
They glowed with a light,
Which was strange to their sight
Cold light without fire,
Without flint, wick, or wire
‘Twas an act they regarded as clever.

All into the night did their funny light pour
And the folks saw it plain
So that none could ignore:
The fleddling Blitherop’s bicycle-lin
And the song-singing, gin-drinking
Crow on his chin
Or the furious fervor that held his crowd in.

And from under the eves and the trees’ nodding leaves
Fluttered moths of the Sapphire Honey:
Ensnared by the fleddling,
Flocking and fluttering
Cornflower powder-blued,
Indigo pearl-hued
Makers of midnight blue honey.

A tale was whispered in far distant lands
And grew as a tall-tale grows
Some said that the music
Had maddened the folks,
(Years later some others
told fanciful jokes
that the moths had devoured all their clothes…)

Old Blitherop gurgled and gargled his song
The crow cawing cacophony
Folks simple or quite astute
Each wore his birthday suit
Nude as a bean
Not a person had seen
The blue moths change their clothes to blue honey!

At long last the green glow of twilight had passed
And the dim shawl of midnight hung thin
So no one took note:
Winked an eye, cleared a throat
And no one gave heed
Out of want or of need
When the Rabbi Ishmael strode in.

And gawking he stood (though he quite understood)
Like he couldn’t believe what he’d seen:
“Great Stars! So it’s true!
For these moths are all blue,
He’s returned with the crow
How can nobody know:
It’s the Golem of Shamus Levine!”

If any had guessed they’d been doing their best
To disguise any vague recognition
For Shamus Levine
Had long since been unseen
And Thrombuldee seemed
Like a man of esteem
Not a fancy of fell superstition!


And there's more to come, I haven't finished it yet, but I'll post it when I do...

Yoga you've inspired me to do 'improv' poetry...I haven't been following this forum though so I'll catch up in a 'momento.'

Once there was a bee
who would one day decree
that he
was not, but better, than a bee

Away he flew from the swarm one day
shouting in bee tongue: hooray!
but as he shot in a yellow ray
his friend's muttered 'he's gay'
but he didn't hear anyway

The forests around him were green
the sun shown mightily in the scene
It was then that the Better Bee sighed with glee
Giggling about
He just wanted to shout:
"I am the better bee!"

The last paragraph was JUST edited it....now let me see if I can recall a poem I wrote with some friends during english class.

(I can't remember it at the moment but I CAN remember one my friend said)
Muggle-Molly
Something-toot
Golly gosh!
I like to poop.

All of the poems we wrote that day were like that...needless to say our teacher 'caught us' and took them away, reading them to her much younger-than-us children.

Great, great poem Yoga, since I bet you're waiting anxiously to read the responses I'll post this then edit it!

....and upon reading the poem it appears that I have MUCH to learn about writing poetry. I'll bee back:bugeye:

(ahem)(cough) Creativity's never bad, but, well, I suppose that poem is creative. You've got a lot of courage to post that on the internet (or even anywhere else). If I didn't know you, I'd think you were a loser....;)

But honestly- when you're doing 'improv' poetry, it's better to think about saying the feelings you are feeling at that moment, and not just about saying something quickly, with obvious skill for thinking up stuff up the top of your head.

;) But, giving further analysis to the now notorious 'bee' poem, I was wondering who the bee was- was it you? I can tell from the egotistical characteristics of the bee (No, offense, but you've got to know by now that you have a huge ego, Pollux. Which, I suppose, isn't half bad beacsue you do seem incredibly intellignet, so although a large ego is never really 'justified', I am not angry at you for being egotistical in my own self-righteous glory.) Anyway, the one thing I would like cleared up is the nature of the following comment:


Away he flew from the swarm one day,
shouting in bee tongue: hooray!
but as he shot in a yellow ray
his friend's muttered 'he's gay'
but he didn't hear anyway

Is the reference to homosexuality a joke, or with deeper meaning? (You know what I'm getting at here...ahem) I don't want to seem overly prodding or overly gay, but in a self-representational poem, what part of the self would that represent?


(I'm in trouble now.)

To Bebelina:
It's funny how you have no clue as to the vernacular terms 'homedog, or trippin'. It's kind of, well...


ghetto-ish

I suppose Sweden is pretty homogenous, not many blacks, etc. But 'homedog' I suppose, is a very urban, African-American term. I live just a hop skip and a jump away from Harlem, so we have a lot of exposure to urban culture over here.

Anyway, thanks for liking the poem. I got a little defensive with the 'Chris Klein' comment. When I feel threatened, I talk like a ho. (And please don't tell me you don't know what a ho is!)

congrats you are a funny goose...takes one to know one.

No actually gay is kinda an insult and it rhymes with everything else :D

And yes, everyone I know says that I'm a very cocky, egotystical person but also very nice and sensitive:)

But not too sensitive :bugeye:

;) Of corse, no one could be too sensitive. Especially if they say things like 'gay is kind of like an insult.' Well, hmmm, excuse moi, mais je ne comprende pas ton preference pour deseragble. Tu as un grand fourche (excuse moi! Sacre bleu!- visage...ahem...Tu as un grand visage) Pollux V n'as pas d'amour, ou d'amour pour le monde. Je porte un beige pantalons, et un tee-shirt de arc d'iris. Pollux V, tu as un mal attitude.

Deux peuvent jouer à ce jeu, félicitations. J'aime le monde et la vie, et n'utilise pas gai comme insulte dans mon propre vocabulaire (mais AM entouré par les personnes qui ). J'ai une chemise noire de pièce en t et un pantalon brun. Ne cachez pas derrière le langage

Aaah, oui une "ho"....:D
Et tu habit en Harlem? Avec le presidente? :D Oh, excuse moi, ton amour est Chris Klein...:p
Pardon my french ...it´s been a while, a long while, since I had any use of the french I half did, half didn´t learn in college.
But I think we do have quite an international mixture of people here in the capital anyway, but they don´t talk "ghetto". Well, the youths do, but then it´s sort of a mix beteween swedish with outlandish accent and expressions from the country they come from. Most of the immigrants here are refugees from war.

I really liked your poem Yoga, made me think of dancing and singing mushroom elves. I think that poem belongs in film as a song.

I think your poem was very cute too, Pollux. And there´s nothing wrong with being gay, it´s not an insult to be called that, it´s a compliment. ;)

(shakes head, chuckling to self) Bebelina I'm not gay.

BTW I am a man of many languages-

Deutscher, eine schönste Sprache

Lingua italiana-dei romans, la gente più influente mai da camminare la terra

Ou Portugese, um parente e vizinho ao spain uma vez grande.

Y finalmente español, un lenguaje de emociones y el balanceo de lengüetas.

Arrr!!!

Bebelina! JE NE SUIS PAS GAI!! Je suis venu de New York mais c'est PRÈS DU POINT. Je veux dire, avancé, je ne m'habille pas dans Harlem, je suis un de l'adolescence, américain, nous ne nous habillons pas dans le tunics et des jupes hippy comme vous des Scandinaves!

aprove agora o batente seu falar em outras línguas está bem, mantenha-o ao inglês seu easyer para ler.

ok thanx

Yes, yes, yes... you think you are so fancy with the french and ltalian and whatever hugabuga language, but can you speak swedish and finnish? No, I didn´t think so either....:o
Jag kastar svampar på er, dvärgtomtar!
Minä olen kiltti hiiri! :p

I believe you Pollux, you´re a totally normal american youth, not gay at all...or are you in denial???

Just kidding....:D

"..le tunics et des jupes hippy...", I liked the sound of that. :)

Pardon!
Je parlez anglaise et francais, et ce'st ca!

Oh yeah! Pomes
One of mine then:

A Night Apart
To my Better Half

The insight of the day comes back to haunt
a mind so clamorously striving for sleep.
It sits like a wraith and gibbers at me
and keeps me from the steep
slip'ry pit of repose

Throws up quibbles and troubles
in singles and doubles
And guides them into my face
Where they rest and they grow,
so fast, never slow
What their aim is no one can know

Show me lightning and thunder,
myself split asunder,
leave the ghoulish me to miss
my better half
who's just down the hall
and a thousand light years beyond.


Michael C Gillespie

Copyright ©2002 Michael C Gillespie
(Originally posted on www.poetry.com)

I agree with bebelina:
Being called gay is more often a compliment than an insult!

Regardez, damnit que je ne suis pas gai ainsi il n'importe pas!

Et oui, Bebelina, je ne sais pas finlandais ou suédois, parce que, bien, je pas . J'ai pensé que sachant cinq langages était couramment assez

Being gay truly is a compliment.
Je suis gai et c'est bon.
Mais toi, Pollux V, tu est un pauvre garcon. Ton homosexuallite n'est pas mal, mais tu comprende le contraire.


(Congratulations thinks- didn't I start a wonderful rumor?)

No, Bebelina, Harlem is not my home. It's more like a place you never go, mostly now becasue of the possibility of bumping into Bill Clinton. Hillary, though, is not a problem. I wouldn't see her coming to visit hubby at work. She'd be too afraid of what might be going on. I only use ghetto-ish words if I want to scare light-hearted Swedish women, mind you. ;)

Ooooh, I thought she was talking to YOU, I mentioned I wore dark khakis and a black shirt and then badaboom the harlem INSULTS flew out. But upon glancing at your other posts it appears i was wrong. I preceeded to say that scandinavians wore 'tunics and hippy skirts.' I thought that was funny. I like insulting people in other languages.

BTW- Je suis réellement la bourgeoisie et suis venu de Brooklyn, l'information intéressante pour vous, hein? Nous sommes les deux New Yorkers.

IT WASN't EVEN A RUMOR.....arrrrrr this is all yoga's fault...wait, no it isn't, its my fault for writing poetry, I could write it before but now? oh no you have to rhyme day with gay and make everyone on your little internet site think you're a homosexual, when you are nt!!!

Gobacktopoetrygobacktopoetrygobackgobackgoback!!

Something I scribbled on the back of a valentines card:

Mind Forge

Frolicking lazily through
amber meadows
Brings memories of
previous oppurtunities,
exploits.

But that's all they are.
And the new ones must be
forged! Come, friends,
past crushes, various pets,
let us watch the stars
mature-grow
live our lives remembering
and forging
what we want
to remember.

This was sparked by stupid ideas of fashion in my home town. Its a bit like living in a huge olympic village cos everybody wears tracksuits and sports gear, If you don't wear the right name you're a non-person stupid but true.
Madness.
Not madness the group.
Just a small bunch of neurones, looping the loop inside my head.
I gaze at the world through rose-tinted eyes,
through lack of sleep, no great surprise.
Cos the nightmares start when I leave my bed and they’re ten times worse when I rest my head.

Wandering corridors in my mind.
They’re long and they’re dark, and there’s something behind me!!
I spy a doorway,
there,
to my right.
With an exit sign that glows green and then white.
There are chains and bars and bolts and locks.
And a woman stands beyond it dressed in bright green socks and – nothing else.

To the left of the door, there’s a sign which reads…
THIS DOOR IS ALARMED.
So I soothe it,
and it pleads with me.
“Let me out of this corridor…
I was the entrance to Woolworth before you and your neurones brought me here.
The door beyond which almost nothing was dear, but you’d often forget what you went in there for.”
I reason that this is the fault of the door.

And move on.

A staircase now.
So slippery and steep.
At the top is a tower, a castle, a keep.
Five million steps to the madness creator, and half way up it’s an escalator, moving down.
With a magic spell using dragons’ droppings, I conjure the trick used by Mary Poppins and slide up the banister tall and proud.
Passing ghosts of my history,
rending their shrouds and throwing the shreds of them into my face.
“You’re a Bastard, and Arsehole, A Fucking Disgrace”
I ignore them, as I am wont to do.
Pass the same naked woman this time in socks blue.

And move on.

I’m not sure exactly how far from the top I am,
when abruptly I come to a stop.
A landing leads off in two different directions.
Along one, a young man cuts his brain into sections.
The knife he is using is mother of Pearl, or Angie or Melanie or some such young girl that he lost his heart to, and will never recover.
He’s not learned that there is no such thing as a lover, forever, endeavours to cut out the part that attaches the eyeballs to strings of the heart.
So he won’t see them tempt him.
He won’t see them flutter their eyelids and skirt hems and then make him mutter and stutter.
And slowly dissection continues.
Until all that’s left are the ears and some sinews.
The pain is all gone but the hacking continues.

I move on.

And there to his opposite side is another.
Who looks not unlike him a possible brother,
or maybe a clone, whom on closer inspection.
We find not alone
and endowed with erection.
He writhes in some ecstasy hard to describe to a mind closed tight shut to a heart so alive.
And here in a corridor, dark and alone, they’ll sweat and he’ll hump and he’ll mumble and moan.
He thinks that the world outside won’t understand,
holds tight to another mans cock in his hand.
Until it is over,
begun then again.
When all of the worship turns round to refrains of his sorrow and guilt and of such hollow pain.

I move on

And back to the stairwell resuming my seat, a sprinkle of droppings, enchantment complete.
I gaze to the heavens
A spiral of steps makes me dizzy and leavens the whole atmosphere.
All of a sudden up there at the ceiling I see like a light at the tunnels end reeling,
a myriad stars in a circle of light bringing hope and such comfort, such lurid delight.
Not the madness creator I had at first feared.
That picked at my soul as it had done for years.
Would I mourn for the control this had over me?
Just a small naked girl with white socks to the knee
The end of the banister comes up quite soon and I find myself landing in one great round room.
Like the hub of a wheel, with more long corridors,
A door halfway down each and mirrors for floors.
What to do, do I choose?
The wrong one - do I lose?
There’s no rule – book, nor history giving me clues.

I walk to the nearest and push at the door and the stench of old memories I’ve known before rushes out from the gap and I retch and then turn and I run from the corridor, only to learn that…
I’m back where I started from, foot of the stairs.

I’m back where I started and nothing has changed except now I see I ain’t the one who’s deranged.
It’s just like a nightmare, so real and surreal which can trick all your senses
you believe that you feel.
You believe you’re unworthy cos’ that’s what’s been said from the time that you wake til your head hits the bed

Let’s move on!
It’s a great big lie people!
They’d have you believe that your socks are a measure of what you’ll achieve in this life.
Or your car, or your coat, or your name.
You are welcome, acceptable, winning, the same.

You have to conform to your peers opinion that you in your splendor, are simply a minion, like them.

This only proves fears are not always true fears
just the fact you’ve been forced to believe it for years.
Just the madness of life
no, not madness the group.
More a small bunch of neurones, looping the loop in your brain.

MOVE ON ! !

:)

love hast sent doom?

Angels and demons in the light
look forth to bask, into the sight
a angel sit with wings abroad
touching grace, and aura awed (4)
demon gazes a glimpse of her seen
beauty fills his mind; cuts so keen
vision, distant star burning bright
so pleasing is this to his sight (8)
not a word to exchange to her
but now words in his lips quiver
nothing but whispers to come he,
watches her pass , and not to see. (12)
spite, woe, and rage. fills his cruel mind
turns to red and wonders to hide.
demon ugly, non give a brow
and fate twisted would it allow (16)
an angel of such beauty to,
look at something, that is over due
thoughts in his head, can I feel
can I love, known as this real ? (20)
hell hath doomed eternal place
could she an angel kiss this face?
could the fates, that weave destiny?
be upon such anger, harsh to me (24)
Clotho who woof the thread of mine
Lachesis with length of life divine
and Atropos who cuts short
what is wrong or right in the court (28)
shell decide, and bring forth my hell
set, incased in this ruthless cell
my body chained deformed, on lake
of this a new found, world and shake (32)
thine demon into the depth feel
the angel love and seek is real
you must ascend to the kingdom
but forth to renounce all the doom (36)
that you live and hold so familiar
move, rise and come to the healer

(c) jonathan ryan alligood jan-31-02

That was fantastic Jonathan, incredibly beautiful. :)

The Fall of Flamet

For coldest light, he could not bare
The heart ripped clean, still beating there
Mortal and rabid, filled with despair
So was the fall of Flamet.

With Kings once walked this errant knight
And Queens, danced enchanting delight
In battle, side-by-side did fight
Thy bravest deeds untold they say

Then one day his lust desire
Yon fair maiden with eyes of fire
An eagle soaring ever higher
Thy love would grow each day

Zounds! Gadzooks! he railed at thee
She loved another, it was not to be
His world was crumbling violently
As the lifeblood flow gave way

The light grew colder, darkening fill
The toll hath wrought thy empty will
Her name he called, and all was still
So was the fall of Flamet.

Flamet H. Rower

Not bad. :)

Although this may seem like old news but when I said

"le tunics et des jupes hippy"

I was just wondering if you thought the playful insult was funny or if you were asking aboot what it meant.

I have a confession:
I DON'T KNOW A WORD OF ANY LANGUAGE EXCEPT SOME SPANISH!!

I used altavista's babel fish! There, I said it! Check for yourself, search for babel fish and click on the fishy, you'll see, everything I've written, from portugese to french, was just a (gasp)...computer TRANSLATION. I would've done chinese but my computer didn't recognize the symbols!

J'ai estudie francais pour sept ans en ecole, mais je ne practice pas parce que mes amis ne parle pas le langue. J'ai oublie le plus, c'est tres dommage, n'est-ce pas? And this is genuinely from my memory, not babel fish...

Pollux, you hippy! Babelina you hippy! I'm glad you liked my poem, there are more where that came from if y'all are interested. Oh, and Pollux V, I never for a second mistook you for gay, you don't seem at all like the type through the correspondace that we've had. Although I have to say, the "ruggedly handsome" note in your profile took me for a minute... (Don't be scared, I'm only joking!)

Shall I post another of my poetic efforts? There are some pretty hardy representations here, lots of good work! Keep the faith!

Yes, let´s see some more poetry Yoga. :)

Pollux, I knew what it meant and thought it sounded chic. :p
I suspected you used babelfish though, I mean how smart can a 14 year old be? :D Just kidding, you are very smart for your and any age. :)

Well it wasn't meant as an INSULT, it was really just a joky sort of thing. Babel Fish is a very useful tool...but I've noticed that while translating what you two or three wrote it gave me very vague answers and it took a bit of effort to grasp what you were trying to say. Did it sound the same with what you could understand?

AND WILL THE LIGHT NOT COME AGAIN TO THIS OUR SWEET SUBURBIA. AND WILL NOT DEATH'S DARK, COLD HAND COME, TO WRAP AROUND THE WAIST OF IMMORTALITY
bbcboy aged 12 (LOOOONG TIME AGO!!!)scary or what?

:confused:

I choose what.

and to yoga...

N'étudiez pas, ne laissez pas les robots effectuer le travail pour vous! Robots, oui, robots!

Well a fourteen year old can be very smart.

Hello from the other side of dark
Hello from inside mincemeant baking, on Grandmother's pressure
cooker
Hello from the side of the ocean where the tunnel-bridge bases over to the Rocketry Center
Hello from you, colleagues,
Hello from my conscience
Hello from three concepts
Hello from two, seven, eight, concepts
Hello from here, from here to you.

Tommorrow I will be gone from this side
Tommorrow we will never see, never speak
But we all know, to go there
Just following up a regular contact schedule
Following ourselves up the bay into the dreams into the amniotic sac into my head through the gate of your hair. We all followed you, we all abated our inhibitions, we all tried to make ourselves
think. Well, it worked, to say the least, and we can now say
HELLO as a group conscience
HELLO as a greeting of unilateral assurance, of unity, that's what
hello from me, one part of great waves
hello from here; from here to you.

;) bbcboy- that's not scary, it's just way over what you expect in terms of content for a twelve year old. It's strangely beautiful- full of understanding that only an unjaded child could have. I don't know what it means- but it says you're better off for being at whatever stage in your life you were, because whatever color lift you were in, you were on the right floor.

Please don't think I'm sick, folks. I'm not really...It's all just a guise:



Bicycle Seats & Almonds


I happily prance through the radish patch
And gratefully gallop through greens,
Predaciously prowl through persimmons
And notice the new nectarines.

I willfully waltz through the willows
I kneel in the reeds and the breeze,
I laugh on the lake with the lilies
And wake with an awful disease.

A pink pirouette through the pea-patch
A turn through the trim tangerines,
A dainty descent through the daisies
I perch while the peacock preens.

We shuffle through fresh-fallen autumn
And rest with the gold winter-wheats,
We call to the walnut and almond
And sniff babys' bicycle seats.

;) Hey Yoga- exactly what were you sniffing on those baby bicycle seats? That's great though- your style is very traditional yet also very eccentric, I think. Lots of reference to knowledge (the plants and such) is very cool in a poem.

welp im new to the forum i thought this would be a good place to make my mark.

lost in darkness,
a never ending void,
you reach for me,
pulling me out of my loveless void,
to imbrace in eternal light,

AND ANOTHER



I languish near a sunlit pool and smell the fresh cut grass.
The sun is strong and filtered thru the biggest, whitest clouds.
Shadows are cast over patchwork fields that run for miles screaming rape.
It's the end of the summer, the end of the week.
The end of you and me and that should never be.
I watch you swim, bounce fractal stars of sunlight off your back.
You say, "There's just no magic anymore"
And in a flash, you disappear.
Like the sun. LIke the summer.
Like the smell of fresh cut grass.
A brief and brilliant high of life... Faded.

(the laughs of a teenager [not me] on drugs) huh huhhahuh

Scifikiller join us under scifi! Welcome to sciforums (the sci is for science fiction)!

There's a comma at the end of your poem sfkiller, is there more that you didn't paste or type? (BTW I was kidding about that sci thing)

bbcboy-heavy...

Maybe I'll write something later, I'm at school now, and its 12:05, so if by chance you want to figure out the time differential to your location then by all means PROCEED!

hunter

i was ready for this
i've done this thousand times in my mind
i noticed the bird watching me
not trying to fly away
and before i pulled the trigger
the bird sang, "shoot me first".

one i wrote today hope u like it

Laying in waiting,
Watching and Growing,
Delaying till the time is right,
it's coming,
the stars will cry,
she will cry,
and i will sit in my glass house

Here follows an exerpt from my story:

Across this bridge you find relief!
Hurry; hurry, for it must be brief!
For if not then glance at the sun once more,
It will be the last time you see its lore!
In the tunnel of Evermore.

In this realm only one other lurks!
In darkness, as he watches, he will smirk!
Take your goods as well as care
If you do not flee you will despair
In Evermore, where your hackles tear

So turn back now unless stomachs and mouths are parched
If the latter then take great risk as you march!
Descend into the depths, into the catacombs
As you do it will be time to say goodbye
To loving wives and sand smoothed homes.

You can also view parts of the story under the 'writers' thread if you're interested. An exerpt is at the bottom of the last page.

to immortals

balance your life with death
but do not die.
let others take care of dying,
and yourself only cry.

native

this island of mine,
was not made for me,
but i was here first,
and that they just cannot see.

snowflakes

here comes the snowflakes
and wonderful, calming show
first flake has a message:
"we're going to bury you in snow."

KEPT OR BROKEN.

So called because the last word will be 'kept' or 'broken' depending on how ya feel. :)


Crying strangers crawl on hands and knees to greet me.
They crawl, encumbered.
Weighed down by a life which no longer owns them.
They are welcome here. I expose them.
Dillying and dallying in the depths of dark, desparaging promises

Broken.

They call on me in the name of a love that's lost or has the chance to be.
Secular, insular, draculas' who cannot thrive in daylight.
They hold out their Achilles heel and grit their teeth in fear.
Fear of unknown quantities.
Fear of exposed fantasies and
Fear of all those histories which are best left alone.

Come to me Achilles
Let me stroke you for a while, I'll not harm you.
Promise.
Promise.
Broken.

Will you share your soul with me?
Or simply spread your hole for me?
Will you share your life, your dreams, your bastardised soliloquy?

Stay with me and let me warm the limpets of your heart.
Let me smother you with charm and grace, ne'er look upon anothers face.
And let me make you promises we'll never be apart.
We'll never stray to smell the scent of others fair predicament.
You'll never cry or hate again.
You'll never scream to have explained your life and all its facets plain
You'll never walk alone.
Promise
Promise
Promise
.....:rolleyes:

Forefinger (he’s asleep, good slip under his door crack and put the presents on his head.)
me
in between grinding stone
of you
talk (he seemed…well...normal to I
so
come (oh, oh!...he was pressured.
toy- (well, sorry. I didn't know how painful …..dreaming (could be


Fleming Angustis tore open his package
Gerlad unflew his evacuation down to a point, grittled into his head. Now he rests.

My appearance next to you is uncustomary
My flying abhorrence at you is not right; I must stop it.
We have a method of empathy that works down to any point; that it succeeds
In loving two humans together-ether.

Your comfort in spirit is torn between you and your existence, and your location-
As if Gerald could be ‘just a little mouse’- in inspiring and awe
Your crags and shores and caves and thrush-downs are in a slow swirl of dramatis
Inside illusion is the key to your eyes.

Drowning in non-pain yet flowing towards numbness,
You feel a soft lad calling, calling, calling, (so quietly)
How is it, right now, in dangerous days-
The Walt Whitmans have gone and the Michael Jacksons have stayed?

We re-ask together, in non-lotus we sit folded under
Talking down a gale-heather,
Talking of no things and all things we must carry.
“Pont” I speak the words. “Pont” the nonsense is a
fountainnous well of true sinners
Mountainous in an angle that reaches and unpins her so
Delicate for you and never

No for me to speak
No for the watercress, yearning for Vanguard, so no no no! for lettuce and water flown under my belt to my core of stomach no food for the wicked no fire for the cold and please just unzip us from life’s so bold! You are ok for me, we go good together. A feather, a faerie a belt in fine weather. A rabbit was trouncing in a bit of Clean Air Act of 1990, so re-elect her to post her opinions dear Merriweather. A sigh! A sigh! And have you even yet unlocked my eye?

(well, poor Gerald, confusion is over)
(the grip on the confused is falling fast over.)
To my right is a sunshine of enormous depth- miraculously, I am not swallowed.

Hey Congrats,
If you're not a fan of Tori Amos already I think you should be.

Here's an example of her lyrics.


Tuna, rubber, a little blubber in my igloo.
and I knew you, pigtails and all
Girls when they call
And they said Marriane killed herself, and I said
Not a chance.
Not a chance.

or


Hello Mr Zebra,
Can I have your sweater
cos it's cold, cold, cold
in my hole, hole hole.
Ratatouille strichnine
sometimes she's a friend of mine
with a gigantic whirlpool
that will blow your mind

Maybe it's just me but I see a basic similarity here. And for the life of me I can't find a meaning in what you just wrote.

No bad thing. That's the beauty of poetry. It's personal and it doesn't need to make sense to anyone but you.


Create on:cool:
Respec'

I believe now we should all take a brief brake and critique one another's poetry.

varkas-The first two are great, especially the second, however I think that the last line of the third had too many syllables to fit in with your meter (I may be a hypocrite).

bbcboy-Excellent organization, use of language though is extremely good in some areas and normal in others. Repeated sentences are great.

congrats-
faerie
(laughs again like a teenager on drugs)

Just kidding. Great stuff, juxtopositions are everywhere (a good thing!!).

Great stuff, people. Shoot! I haven't written anything lately. Maybe I can pull out some old stuff.

...love
I gaze into your eyes
glassy water wriggling
Will not forget, not even after I die
Your mouth grins-giggling

...art
The world intensifies
thine eyes stinging, watering
its beauty could never fall, lie
never cease gathering

...literature
The library is gone, I am here
wandering with you and your friends
Fleeing the Nazgul, their hooves and shrieks
The book closes, and I am back in my pen
of reality.

...conclusions
What would life be without fantasy?
Harsh realities dampen our futures and hopes
Jumbles of letters give birth to new ones
For better or for worse,
all that matters
is that they are different, and you need not worry.
You are only a watcher.

I look upon you all and see imaginations in need of kindling.

Thank You, bbcboy, I don't have any cd's by Tori Amos but am always considering buying them when I go to Borders. They tend to be dropped off with Kate Bush at predetermined scattered places, in an attempt to find them and buy them another day.

"Faeries" For you, dear sweet Pollux...
Someone found three boxes of wood.
Someone found three papery faeries in them, made of wood.
Sliced.
Someone, who was me, happened to be inside that box.
Someone’s father was outside.
Someone spoke to the sullen, elderly faeries.
Someone wondered at the brightness of their hair. They were old.

Someone was dancing on the path back to the home.
Three stones, in a quartet,
Stood to the left of my right foot.
Just slightly further back from three feet ahead of his gait,
Someone saw the brightness of the stone. Dull rock old rock stones in his eyes.

To his shoulder, he peeps.
Three cubes are looming on the edge of a great field.
His first encounter with was to be friendly with him,
Someone was blinded by brightness.
;) ;) ;)

This is the last one but edited for comprehension value.

Nakedness of the Confused

“Caves, in mice of humans and Gerald is confused. Modern Day Man is a confusing beast- he breathes in sweet unison, digresses on horrific opinions. If Gerald and his lover were a mouse they would be two as one in a hole and never be exposed to what makes us a monstrosity of confused convection ‘swirling’ up into the eyes of God and Allah.”

My appearance next to you is uncustomary
My flying abhorrence at you is not right; I must stop it.
We have a method of empathy that works down to any point,
That it succeeds with virulence
In loving two humans together (ether, an ether, he grabs a cloth)

Your comfort in spirit is torn between you and your existence, and your -location-
As if Gerald could be ‘just a little mouse’- in inspiring and awe
Your crags and shores and caves and thrush-downs are in a slow swirl of –dramatis-
Inside illusion is the key to your eyes.

Drowning in non-pain yet flowing towards numbness,
You feel a soft lad calling, calling, calling, (so quietly)
How is it, right now, in these dangerous days-
The Walt Whitmans have gone and the Michael Jacksons have stayed?

We re-ask together, in non-lotus we sit folded under
Talking down a gale-heather,
Talking of no things and all things we must carry.
Thinking of those we must keep unassumed


“Not for me to speak
Not for the watercress, yearning for Vanguard, so no no no!
For lettuce and water flown under my belt to my core of stomach.”

“No food for the wicked,
No fire for the cold, and please: just unzip us from life so bold!”
You are ok for me, we go good together.

“A feather, a faerie a belt in fine weather.”
Rabbit was trouncing in a bit of Clean Air Act of 1990,
Re-elect her to post her opinions, dear Merriweather. A sigh! A sigh! And have you even yet unlocked my eye?
(Well, poor Gerald, confusion is over)
(The grip on the confused is falling fast over.)

To my right is a sunshine of enormous depth-
Miraculously, I am not swallowed.
It is us ?

This is all old crap I wrote when I was an annoyingly angsty teenager.

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

Forgotten heroes in unmarked graves
Seasons weathered in mismatched grace and destruction
Ambient lies create new truths, new reality
A new apocolypse diverts momentary, travelling, and unwanted attenion
Forgotten heroes in unmarked graves
Seaons weathered in mismatched grace and destruction

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

Momentary, savage bliss
A thousand eyes, a thousand lies
Given freedom thrown down once again
Too many hours wasted
How many times, how many ways
To live life in confusion and haze

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

The sky under freedom's banner rains with pale stale blood
Given by slaves forced to believe in their own freedom
Mutineers on a ship in a bottle

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

The Sleeping Gang
We're going to get you if you leave us alone.
Are you sure we're so passive and indifferent?
One eye open.
My dreams rule the world.

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

Well, those are the least angsty and objectionable bits of fluff I wrote while drinking far too much and being miserable about things.

thank you pollux v. english is not my native language (big surprise).
for every post i make, i have to think it in MY language first and then think a way i could translate it to english. it's very frustrating when you just can't find the right words.

your poems are great, i read a lot of yeats and poe, and these(yours) seem just as official to me as those. :)

ps. same goes to everyone here. so much talent in here.
(does this make any sense to you?) :)


edit: don't ask....:D

Hey, thanks varkas.

all the gold you can find
take it, nature is so kind.
plate your house with this gold
in golden mirror watch yourself grow old.
pair of golden shoes on your feet
you've got even a golden teeth.
you were greedy right from the start
people know you for your "golden" heart.
but when you die, you avid fool
gold comes back, nature is cruel.

X-RATED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you watch the beggars from your golden tower
as you take your daily golden shower.......:bugeye:
:D

between the walls

here are my enemies
here are my friends
what i see, no one one else sees
here are the beginnings
here are the ends.

the poster on my livingroom wall says: i want to believe.
i think it should say: i want to know.
but it says i want to believe. and it means i don't believe.

believe what? the picture where the text is?
or is it just there to brainwash me to believe anything?
(there's was a knock at my door.)

they sent me two of those.
i ordered just one. was it a mistake?
i like to think it was.

there's a word "lie" in the word "believe".
i don't remember why i bought this thing.
did i bought it at all?
maybe they sent me a wrong poster.
(i didn't answer the door.)

who made this poster? the picture is fake.
it's so obvious. and they know that too.
so maybe it's not the picture, maybe it's the text.
(i waited.)

but why two posters?
why even one?
i want to lie. there's the message.
they want to lie. and that means they know the truth.
(i got up and went to the kitchen.)

i want to believe. they don't believe, because they know.
(i looked through the window. there was a man waving at me.)

they want me to know it too.
why two posters? two different meanings.
i want to believe the lie.
(i ignored him. on my way back to the bedroom, i noticed a letter on the floor.) that means i don't believe the lie, i know it.
what do i know?
the lie or the truth?
the truth, i think.
(the letter said: so you didn't open the door. don't worry. there's a man outside waving to you. follow him.)

the truth that there's a lie about the truth.
why would i want to believe the lie?
(so i followed. i don't know why, but i'm glad i did. after i saw what happened to you down there.)

measuring the sun
------------------------
don't ask just do, remember?
i don't think we should be so near
we are doing this for her
damn, it's getting hot in here



view of the future
----------------------
look how happy they are,
their children playing,
in harmony, no cruelty,
no hatred among them.

i'm almost glad they did come
and conquer our world.

and i can see why
they locked us in these "houses".
they know us better than we ourselves.

look how happy they are.
they are what we're meant to be.

okay, this one is true...:)



to that evil printing press
--------------------------------
"deliver" is the word you should use,
when you change your ones into twos.
it's like you had a mind of your own,
when you're printing that tome...
of the book not known...yet.

A lost ship on a cold ocean I see,
Large clouds above that cast darkness and gloom.
And there in dispair's shadow turmoil breeds.
Raining on sad decks fall anguish and doom.

Tossed by waves of gray, the vessel flounders.
Bridled by heavy cargo and torn sail,
It rolls and wanders. The storm growns louder.
Threatening to plunder, a dark troubled gail.

From safe shore I yell, hold tight your strong grip!
Hold there yourself, against that stormy wind.
Do not surrender your troubled ship.
Hold there still your courage.

I see in the the distance a calm clear place.
Hold steady your courage. Give not pain's haste.

--Bowser Wowser

Not Bad Bozo, Not bad at all

It's very good, really.

Bah, humbug!

What's wrong, Adam? Have you lost your Christmas spirit?

Love and Eyes

I look into thine Eyes
Their gaze lift,
Meet mine
Beautiful, soft grin
A pit in my stomach
many, or one pin

Incomparable beauty
Almost like a dream
But solid reality
I witness
Your Eyes gleam

"Be careful," I utter,
"I may fall in love with you."

"Who's falling?" she asks.
"I've already landed."

hey all! sorry i havent posted in a damn long time just been doing alot od stuff lately, any way heres a poem ive posted before but thin is the whole thing.

love hath sent doom?


Angels and demons in the light
look forth to bask, into the sight
a angel sit with wings abroad
touching grace, and aura awed
demon gazes a glimpse of her seen
beauty fills his mind; cuts so keen
vision, distant star burning bright
so pleasing is this to his sight
not a word to exchange to her
but now words in his lips quiver
nothing but whispers to come he,
watches her pass , and not to see.
spite, woe, and rage. fills his cruel mind
turns to red and wonders to hide.
demon ugly, non give a brow
and fate twisted would it allow
an angel of such beauty to,
look at something, that is over due
thoughts in his head, can I feel
can I love, known as this real ?
hell hath doomed eternal place
could she an angel kiss this face?
could the fates that weave destiny?
be upon such anger, harsh to me
Clotho who woof the thread of mine
Lachesis with length of life divine
and Atropos who cuts short
what is wrong or right in the court
shell decide, and bring forth my hell
set, incased in this ruthless cell
my body chained deformed, on lake
of this a new found, world and shake
thine demon into the depth feel
the angel love and seek is real
you must ascend to the kingdom
but forth to renounce all the doom
that you live and hold so familiar
move, rise and come to the healer
her light shines into your eyes now
I’m in love but I know not how
apprehension would it find me?
would it shed t