Thread: A Poem Thread

  1. #441
    Jesus: Mythstory--Not History! Medicine*Woman's Avatar
    Posts
    8,342
    Wow! You all are great!

  2. #442
    The paradox of this paradigm,
    is it leads these words to form,
    in time, a rhyme that echoes answers
    lost and never found. But if forces
    you cannot control, would somehow
    come and take over the little mind
    you thought you could not lose.
    Would you see that which is and not
    be caught inside the sieve of lies
    that hold the little minded back.
    Is it that you're somehow blind
    and cannot find inside that mind
    the path that leads to truth and
    not the path that leads to ties.
    Shackles and chains await you,
    friend, to carry you unto the end.
    To hold your brain inside the mold that
    they would use to take control of
    everything we think we're fighting for.
    They twist the words of those who came
    before they ever had a name. Before
    they even ever dreamed of coming to
    this world. They would twist the precedence
    that was set by presidents who never had
    to face this malformed world in which we
    live. They send our soldiers off to war
    when, in truth, our soldiers are no more
    than children lost and seeking for a freedom
    that was never there. The darkness they have
    brought this earth has caused, in light, a subtle
    dearth that no one seems to see but all
    have sensed in misery. They look away from
    what is there, and weild a shield of apathy
    to keep away the monsters that are grief
    and loss and fear. If only we would take a stand
    and finally say, "This is OUR land, and we will
    no longer idly sit and watch it die." Then, at last
    we would be free and maybe then the world
    would see that we are not as stupid as our
    leaders make us seem. That is what I call a dream.

  3. #443
    Gendanken:

    Here is a rose for your summer potpourri,
    Bask in its scented glory.
    Take care to not condense your nose
    In the litany of yet another triumph to gloze.
    Apollo’s whore--
    Readings and pilfering(s) of the past,
    Following always, the insidious thoughts of the dead.
    Sophocles’ whore—
    The pupil of those whose opine and desecrate the glory of the dead.
    Webster’s whore—
    Alluding to the obscure—visit your lover.
    Hypocrisy’s whore—
    Feverish in the rat race against the capricious
    and indestructible dawn of another day in the rat race.
    Steal ahead, by God, poison it!
    Refrain from screaming when the burning steak
    Is planted again and again in your vindictive heart.
    Poetry, my dearest pitiful,
    Has no student s or classrooms to measure up to the glory of the past.
    Poetry is for the living to do as they may.
    In the granary where we store and amass the wealth or hurt
    of life’s most miniscule, I say stay if you wish, but, Oh!---

  4. #444
    Fountainhed:
    Apollo’s whore--Sophocles’ whore—Webster’s whore—
    You forgot Thesauric's whore. That's where I breastfeed, my liege.

    Fountainheadaches

    And here is some prose for your wordy bouquet
    that garland fit for prize pigs at the Carnival!
    Ope thine eyes again, fair subject
    'tis Gendanken with her fingers breathing new life in those cinders.

    Hepheastus' boar

    Given the Word, with it spin you a fabric for royalty
    Let a monarch believe himself king with his coin and fat lands- but we lively ones know 'tis the robes he wears that speak of his deeds praising his name that we spin brings him royalty.
    Not a shroud meant for lepers.
    With our words a vessel of warmth for the cold
    mail for the valiant knight who is weak without praise
    and food for the minds sicklied with ennui.

    Minerva's boar

    Verse, fair subject, she's a wonderous tune fit to be put in metre with ancient ones
    Other else 'tis a tired mule fit for flogging.
    Carry with her the breeze of tricky landcapes, one with demons and dark lands with strange moons, golden harps and viols as light as faries made of nacre-
    'tis good verse.
    Kindles there the magic of childhood, my liege, magic staffs and sorcery!

    Not the cheapened glitz of the charlattan.
    Last edited by gendanken; 04-28-04 at 10:43 PM. Reason: perfection

  5. #445
    Yearning, Burning, Churning,
    The wheel is ever-turning.
    Trapped beneath the weight of 6 billion lives,
    I wait
    For the end
    Of the Beginning.

  6. #446
    Invert Nexus:
    Yearning, Burning, Churning,
    The wheel is ever-turning.
    Trapped beneath the weight of 6 billion lives,
    I wait
    For the end
    Of the Beginning.
    The world at your fingertips and this is all you could come up with?
    Country music?

  7. #447
    I don't know if I'd call it country music, but I definitely wouldn't call it good poetry. It's just something I came up with one day when I was playing a MUD. Put it in my whois. It definitely is a bit passive. Waiting for whatever. I like the end of the beginning part though. Although I'm sure I'm not the first to have that idea.

    I've tried writing poetry and I just can't do it, that's the best I got.

  8. #448
    Invert:
    I don't know if I'd call it country music, but I definitely wouldn't call good poetry
    Roll your eyes up.
    Left, upper right hand corner.
    Read.

    A.Poem.Thread.

    I've tried writing poetry and I just can't do it, that's the best I got
    In that case- shoo.

  9. #449
    Sorry, I just tried putting my 1/2 cent in. Carry on.

    BTW, it doesn't say good poem thread. I may not call it good, but is most definitely a poem.

  10. #450
    You pathetic and vindictive fool, what have you given this thread, but the parading of your ability to copy from the style of others? I’d think that after parading your ability to provide the most delicately woven piece, the sound of which is pure music, you’d give better than some insult of a poem that references shit you’d have no clue about. The language of a port is the language of his heart and mind. The sights and therefore images of a poet are those he sees in his mind or in his life. Yours lacked originality, rhyme,… But ‘twas a poem, and you made it, so Kudos to you.


    The falling rose that had lost its beauty
    starts to swagger and sway—
    Its dance, propelled by the warm rush of air
    coming from the erstwhile silent watcher.
    His massive torso rhythmically heaves—
    Flashes of white illuminate his face.
    ‘tis laughter, oh, ‘tis laughter that moves him so.
    The memory:
    Promises of wreaths of gold have become compromises of stone and bronze.
    The legs have forever stayed opened that promised to close—
    the scent of a thousand men poison the velvety—a virgin you are not.
    Promises of light; and the darkness keeps growing.
    She has stolen from the man she calls a child; even his pity won’t save her.

  11. #451
    I see certain aspects of another thread creeping it's way in here. Hmm, I hope it doesn't cause this thread to go the way of that one.

    Quote Originally Posted by Invert Nexus
    Yearning, Burning, Churning,
    The wheel is ever-turning.
    Trapped beneath the weight of 6 billion lives,
    I wait
    For the end
    Of the Beginning.
    It's a decent poem. You should keep writing, no matter what other people say. Practice makes perfect. Or at least better.

  12. #452
    Angelus:
    I see certain aspects of another thread creeping it's way in here. Hmm, I hope it doesn't cause this thread to go the way of that one.
    A little nonsense now and then
    Is relished by the wisest men.....

    (Cross my heart and hope to die, this thread here is virgin soil. It will not corrupt down to that other one pissed on by a gypsy- promise. So lighten up.)

    Fountainheadlice:
    The language of a port is the language of his heart and mind.
    But the language of the poet is what?

  13. #453
    Another poetry thread was polluted once long ago and closed down. It was mine, but people who know little outside of cynic pedancy and hard living did not know how to read it and so spoilt it with their presence.

    In rememberance (this was written to them as a scolding):


    (Loosely based on "Dover Beach")

    In past I came here, a place sure like Dover
    Where sea of prose swoll at the full
    And on banks that girdled its wordy shores like rainbowed ribbons I stood there once on hollowed ground....

    But now I only hear its melancholy long withdrawing roar

    It pains me lords, it does eat holes in me
    To see its rosy cheeks trod mad by hoofs of swine
    Fools, you smote a helpless babe I mothered once!
    This here was child of mine

    Why the fangled mutiny?
    'twas beauty here that grew once
    'twas fairies here that flew once but coil now in your fires with their wings ablaze
    And so a shadow looms and where it casts in caverns brothels yawn, from whence through broken windows air that chokes will strangle

    It rests on you then fellow scifers-
    Restore my babe his rosy cheeks or choke him with the airy filth of whores while yet he rattles in his grave
    In nature there is no blemish but the mind, was wrote once
    But mind so easy for the brothels slave

  14. #454
    Fountainhead,

    Are you defending me or attacking me? I'm getting mixed vibes. Too many you's involved. If all the you's are me, then thanks for "parading your ability to provide the most delicately woven piece, the sound of which is pure music". I think. Poetry is confusing.

    The problems I have writing poetry is that it seems to degenerate into wanting to throw in a bunch of flowery this and that, but in the end it's not saying anything. The poem provided is the only one I can remember writing that actually meant anything. Even if it means wishy-washy, it's better than nothing. And I don't do rhyme to well. I prefer more of a free flowing type thing. Although, I do count 5 rhyming words. So it rhymes. Sorry, I don't know anything about formal poetry, iamic pentameter and all that. I know some words but no meaning.

  15. #455
    Invert:
    Why would I attack you? You have done absolutely nothing to me. I addressed Gendanken, who for her nonsense about how poetry should be written, did not have the originality to compose somethign entirely her own, or a rhyme scheme to back up her owns--I expected no less...but hey. Mind you, I have no respect for formulaic poetry. You need not concern yourself with metres and nonsense like that--poetry is not a bloody math. Enjoy or pain yourself with it, simply write and let the naysayers remain just that--naysayers. Most often than not, thhey cannot write....


    Angelus:
    I see certain aspects of another thread creeping it's way in here. Hmm, I hope it doesn't cause this thread to go the way of that one.
    Don't worry I'm done with her, as far as this thread is concerned. She has shown nothing so far to hold my interest. Besides, I have too much respect for some pieces in here, especially the one I alerted you of...

  16. #456
    Ok, that's what I thought at first, just wanted to be clear. Carry on.

  17. #457
    Left

    My love, you love me this way,
    and I can't be any way.
    The silent voice that echoes from within my heart
    shall forever remain silent.
    I dare not expose it,
    Lest it it runs free--
    (That I miss you)
    I dare not release it--
    (That I want you in my arms, the light of moon on your face, the sight of bay to share, the softness of your lips to feel, the sweetness of your mouth to taste, oh, the smoothness of your skin to feel)
    I dare not uncage it--
    (That I miss the smile that brightens my day-- threathens the wall)
    I am a cold heart,
    the pain of your loss shall surely kill me--
    Not warm enough, I dare not tempt the icy lake with jumps.

  18. #458
    smoking revolver
    Posts
    19,084
    [Girl's morning song]

    Below the mud
    I know
    the stars shine as fine,
    as fine as they did last night.

    Got drunk, got fucked,
    was kicked and soaked
    in sweet
    lemonade.

    Oh, my lord,
    my sins,
    they know my sins;
    my shower is my prince.

    No wine, no drugs
    today for me,
    keep the guns
    in a safe distance from me.
    --
    30.04.2004.;16:26
    © 2004 by Avatar

  19. #459
    smoking revolver
    Posts
    19,084
    The tiger crawls
    through the grass,
    no one see's
    the tiger crawls
    with it's claws
    sharp shining this night.

    No one hears
    it's steps,
    no one dares
    to scream
    this night.

    Fires burn,
    blood is frozen cold
    just like the moon
    behind the clouds.

    No one stares
    where the tiger crawls,
    no one hears
    tiger's claws
    tear my skin.
    --
    30.04.2004.;18:56
    © 2004 by Avatar

  20. #460
    wow! look whos here,Its been Loooooooooooooooooong Time Av,with a new Av too?!
    Pleasure's all mine,believe me.

    bye!

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