Poetry Arena

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?






 
The Golem of Shamus Levine...

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!
 
Last edited:
....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
Click to expand...

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
Click to expand...

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. ;)
 
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!
 
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