Official Poetry Critique Topic- Now Public to anyone!

[Fantasia]

HonorBound: A humerous morbid piece. Sounds like what might go on in the mind of an intelligent, organized insect.

______________________

A Royal Poinciana
Repeated in the mind's eye to remember.
Ornaments redecorate the scene in Lento;
Young students yelling continuosly,
Androids in a loop of greed with unending stamina.
Light shines on the most beautiful,
Prowling through the mess in search of a stop.
Oiled she is, with a fragrace for two;
Illusory of an alabi,
Nigh stage is represented with strong foundation.
Colorful attraction like the heroic,
In strength, beliefs, and eye candy, all send your charm to I.
Accomplishing the appeal for response, with a phobia,
Not of discontent. I close my eyes now to retain
A Royal Poinciana

- - - - - - - - - - - - -
Now read it like this. Don't forget the bolded letters at the end of each line.

A Royal Poincian A
R epeated in the mind's eye to remembe R.
O rnaments redecorate the scene in Lent O;
Y oung students yelling continuosl Y,
A ndroids in a loop of greed with unending stamin A.
L ight shines on the most beautifu L,
P rowling through the mess in search of a sto P.
O iled she is, with a fragrace for tw O;
I llusory of an alab I,
N igh stage is represented with strong foundatio N.
C olorful attraction like the heroi C,
I n strength, beliefs, and eye candy, all send your charm to I.
A ccomplishing the appeal for response with a phobi A,
N ot of discontent. I close my eyes now to retai N
A Royal Poincian A

 

[Fantasia]

Fantaisa, that piece was so totally awesome. It r0xx0r3d miy b0xx0rz!1!1!!

- - - - - - - - - - -

An Evanescent Triumph

Feel the tension dancing on your spine;
Taste the smell of defeat creeping towards the blue moon;
Hear the sound of a drum beating, the flight of a string, Mars chasing Venus --

Blight the skies, O war and peace!

-- And witness the souls of a manufactured nation
come out and surrender themselves to the machines they created;
From whom have scorched their descendents, a picture says a thousand words.

Rings around the rosies become a reality,
and five golden rings only a luxury to the scarred generation
living in an environment of rust, where the clouds are forever black,
and the ground is charred by the moon.

Plastic litters the tar covered roads;
Golden dust flutters and trills in the cold wind;
A simple light crack in the sky bears interest in the community of beetles
who appreciate the wooden windows of the sunlit night.

The most luscious mountain sings a melody with never before heard musical quality;
Grasses on this lump in the ground sparkle with ultraviolet, and x-ray hues,
and the light reflected from the dew forms a beautiful infrared sunset: a sunset named Zeal.

A puff of soil is blown down to the ash below.
And this life covered ounce is found by all, as they realize
there is hope upon an invisible mountain.

 

[Rodimus]

straight from peotry.com (http://poetry.com/Publications/display.asp?ID=P5166428&BN=999&PN=1)

My Life

I am not mad. I am not sad.
I do not learn. I do not care.
I hate everyone. I hate no one.
Nobody knows who I am.
Everybody knows who I am.
I hate life.
I love love.
So many different moods
how do I choose?
I am not fate. I am not hate.
I am not love. I am not war.
So don't be a fool. I am not death.
I am not life. I am not god.
So do not worship me.
I can not stand it.
I can not live forever.
I love Pepsi.
I love vanilla coke.
I love music.

Bruce Allen Vest

Copyright ©2004 Bruce Allen Vest

By Mua(Me)

 

[Raccoon87]

Seeing as how I'm on my school's literary magazine, I have to write poetry. But unlike the forced poetry that I have when I write for class, this feels more relaxing to me.

I'll just start with a recent topic, and one I really like.

The Charge of the Foolish Underdogs

The tale I tell is that of a charge to victory.
How a group of underdogs succeeded.
Every one was a warrior, albeit foolish.

By my words, I must loudly proclaim.
“O unbridled joy; O heavenly rapture!”
So often you have failed this nation.
Today, however, you are victorious.
Over all, you with us happy fans stand.
No evil empire could stop your rampage.

Revelry and rejoicing replace sorrow.
Every victory, eleven, is so very sweet.
Death to that ghost; Long live the heroes!

Such a sweep began the golden beginning.
O, but such pain in the very next three!
Xenophobic, none would conquer us at home.

And so they came back at the last minute.
Repeating we would of the last battle.
Every supporter happy again late at night.

Victory for the empire was slipping away.
I confess, I was expecting failure there.
Curses and swears for home forces abound.
They failed again, a third time, allowing a tie.
O, how my emotions were a roller coaster!
Resplendent if we won; lamentable if loss.
I watched from afar as my hope appeared.
Over the defenders they crushed them easily.
“Unbelievable, They did the impossible!”
Said I, ecstatic of the reversal of fortunes.

Four now needed; four more wins for us.
I could rejoice for victory with just four more.
No enemy of ours could stop our momentum.
And that was proven when a new enemy came.
Letting their ammunition out, the opposition tried.
Losing not their ambition, but our salvoes won.
Yet again the next day the underdogs prevailed.

And then a break, but who would it help?
For the next battles were far from here.
The speculation was the heroes would lose.
Ending such a campaign would be such tragedy.
Rest though only aided the protagonists.

So once again we had won but at their lair now.
“O happiness that one win will end the fight!”

“Let us be victorious, O Lord,” said I.
Over so many years, the unlikely had choked.
Not did they the second night away from home.
Greatness stood behind them to victory.

I have another that I'll probably post later, which I really like too. And a poem that Catullus readers might realize is reminiscent of. Just remember that each period/exclamation point is the end of a line. Astute readers might pick up on something.

 

[GanondorftheXXVI]

I'll try to write a poem:

-----
Time goes by
As an unworthy present
Of duties and torment

And at the temporary removal of these
Comes emptiness
And an insight of that conceivable joy
Which we cannot grasp

Perhaps it is but imaginary
An image produced that is of great meaning
Never reached, so that the meaningless
is achieved.
----

Man, that was ****ty. I'll do better next time.

 

[El Nino]

GanondorftheXXVI - You show good use of language here. The grammar is also good. I'm not sure exactly what you're trying to say in this poem. Time is passing. There is duty and torment. But without it, there is emptiness. I don't know what an "insight of conceivable joy" is. I take it to be a glimpse of joy. I question the use of the word "conceivable" here.

The start of the next stanza is interesting: "Perhaps it is but imaginary." I like it. But the next line is strange. An image is something visual. You haven't provided the reader with any imagery in the entire poem. I'd add an extra word in the second to last line, so that it reads: "so that only the meaningless/Is achieved."

You're dealing with some abstract concepts here. There's nothing wrong with the abstract. It's just difficult. At times, it gets a little confusing. I'd work on trying to convey the message in a more concrete manner. Don't be afraid to use metaphors or imagery. Your ability to use language lends itself to some nice-sounding lines. I'd embellish that aspect a little more while trying to be more concrete.

 

[GanondorftheXXVI]

El Nino- thanks for your constructive criticism. In case you're interested, I'll try to explain what I meant in that poem.

Insight of conceivable joy- The second stanza refers to the first with the idea that, at the temporary removal of duties and torment, there comes an emptiness as well as this insight in question. You are right that it is something like a glimpse of joy. By "conceivable" I mean that it can be imagined, or formed in the mind, notwithstanding the otherwise empty state of mind or any other outer factors: To put it simply, it can come out of nothing, and is a joy in no way related to material possesions.

Perhaps I should add an implication that only emptiness gives us enough clarity in our minds to have sight of this joy.
As for what I'm trying to say, I guess it can be interpreted in different ways, and that's what makes it fun:D.

My personal interpretation is that there's all this work in life and when we get our breaks, we rely on material concepts to entertain us and give us some high-quality time, otherwise there is terrible emptiness. And this emptiness, when I experience it, makes me feel that there is something greater (though I don't know what) that provides happiness. It can nerver be grasped because I don't know what it is.

Again thanks for the constructive criticism and sorry if that was sort of a sloppy poem.

 

[DarkRoom]

Grammar is irrelevant in poetry, look at E.E. Cummings, or should I say: ee cummings

I liked your poem, especially some of the techniques. What can I say, I'm a sucker for poetic techniques. Anyway, your use of rhyme or more accurately, slant rhyme, in the first stanza is nice with "present" and "torment" And do not think the "present" pun escaped me. Very, very nice. My favorite poetic technique is pun, I think.

Also, I like the contrast of "meaning" and "meaningless" in the last stanza. But I have to question what your meaning was, a poem always has a meaning, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. But you, as the author need to know what that is, and convey it in a memorable way to the reader.

El Nino has a point, also. Your use of abstract concepts are difficult. Ezra Pound (to other writers) said: "Go in fear of abstractions."
Yes, a very respected writer and poet, but he's not God. I think abstractions can be used effectively, but as El Nino hinted at, throw some metaphors and analogies to make things more concrete for the reader. I personally catch myself using abstract concepts all the time, but I usually personify them to identify their qualities, or how I perceive them in different situations.

Anyway, one last thing, I always like to see meter in a poem, but you're writing free verse, so you can say f*** meter all you want, it's up to you. Ok, and I like to see a title. Name your creation, and titles can be used very effectively, read: "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost.

Here's a little epigram I wrote.

"Even Though" August 2004

This verse is simple-it's a guarantee
students, if given long enough, will need
learned men to translate my barbarity.

By the way, I love light verse. :D

 

[Bazooka Lucca]

Originally posted by DarkRoom
Grammar is irrelevant in poetry, look at E.E. Cummings, or should I say: ee cummings

ee cummings used his style of poetry for artistic reasons. He wasn't lazy or ignorant in grammar, and not all of his poetry was grammatically abstract. If you're gonna mispell things or make obvious grammatical errors; you should have a reason for it.

 

[Luigitoilet]

Salamanders are popping into way too many of my works...involuntarily, too!

A Rag Doll
or
A Non-Action Figure

I’m a shattered ego,
A dry weed,
There’s nothing you can do.

I’m a broken water main,
Water spouting from my ears.
I’m a crevice in the cement,
An exercise in hopelessness.

I’m a gnarled tree root,
A blind salamander,
Feeling for some light,
Mouth open, head tilted back,
Waiting for everything to rain down.

I’m a man made of putty,
In an assembly line,
Eyes glazed like honey,
I come bearing rotten fruit,
For me and no-one else.
I come, slipping on clouds, never falling back to Earth.

 

[DarkRoom]

Originally posted by Bazooka Lucca
ee cummings used his style of poetry for artistic reasons. He wasn't lazy or ignorant in grammar, and not all of his poetry was grammatically abstract. If you're gonna mispell things or make obvious grammatical errors; you should have a reason for it.

Of course, I didn't mean to imply otherwise. "Irrelevant" was a bad choice of a word. Sorry if it sounded like I was condoning lazy grammar. I'm just saying that's partially what makes poetry so great, you can break rules in order to: make a profound point, play wth the meter, etc. Of course, you should always have reasons for any aspect of the construction of your poem.

*Edit*: I suppose I can make this post a little more constructive and offer some criticism.

Luigitoilet, all of your poems are excellent in their choice of words, rhythm (or meter), and really put a nice, vivid picture in the reader's head.

I want to talk out some contradictions though.
The title is "A Non-Action Figure" or "A Rag Doll"
Assuming your title refers to the "I" in the poem, he/she/it seems awfully active in some parts.

"I’m a broken water main,
Water spouting from my ears"

and

"A blind salamander,
Feeling for some light"

But in other places, your imagery is done very well, such as the gnarled tree root and glazed eyes which convey indolence.

Perhaps though, your title refers to a net inaction, i.e., your person keeps moving ("feeling for some light" and "slipping on clouds") but never gets anywhere of consequence ("never falling back to Earth").

That's my theory, feel free to tell me whether I'm right or not, sometimes it's more fun to let the reader guess on his/her own and think that he/she is right. Nice poem!

 

[El Nino]

Luigitoilet - I read your poem a long time ago, and I was going to comment, but somehow I got busy and just forgot. So here it is, almost a month later.

The imagery is very powerful in this poem. I like the juxtaposition of the various metaphors. Dry weed, broken water main, gnarled tree root. Especially vivid for me was the last stanza, the "man made of putty," with "eyes glazed like honey." My favorite has to be the blind salamander "feeling for some light." I seem to remember salamanders showing up in another one of your poems.

I like the way you convey action. A broken water main gushing water. The man made of putty on an assembly line. These are things that stand still but are moved by the world, or have things moving through them. Even a gnarled tree root moves as it grows, only slowly, like the way a blind salamander moves.

Interestingly, the last line mentions slipping on clouds, which is a high and heavenly kind of thing that stands in contrast to the rest of the poem, full of earth-bound metaphors: tree roots, dry weeds, salamanders. It's curious that you would end it this way. It was unexpected for me.

Just wondering if you have ever considered selling some of your work. You and Bazooka Lucca both seem like you would stand good chances of being published by a literary magazine of some sort.

 

[flamingfalcon]

My attempt at humorous poetry:


I have a cat who is fat and sits on a mat
What? They say that's not good enough?
They say that I'm not up to snuff?
That's ridiculous! It's preposterous! How absurd!
Whoever thinks that must be a turd!
What do you mean it's not poetic?
At least it's not kinetic!
Actually, "kinetic" wasn't the best word choice there
I just needed a word that rhymed...chair!
My point is, don't be so quick to judge
unless you're tasting my uncle's awful fudge
I hope you've learned a lesson today
Will this poem be good? It may...

 

[El Nino]

Beautiful.

 

[Giygas]

Drifting

The sweet, sweet departure of a sweet, soft-hued cloud;
it sails over the rise.
But it matters not, love, for you’re there with me now.

Warming to the glowing of your warm, loving face,
I slowly, slowly sank
into brief eternalness; your quiet embrace.

The drifting dreams of our drifting, dreaming minds met,
and we saw ourselves meet
for the first time, shyly smiling and wond’ring yet.

I took your hand in mine and mine you took in yours;
I inched closer, hoping
that what we would soon see... would be not like before.

We drifted off to a better place together;
and I smiled, then you smiled...
all the while knowing that we’d be here forever...

 

[El Nino]

I liked the line: "The drifting dreams of our drifting, dreaming minds met." The repetition is used well here, and it works. I liked the irony in "brief eternalness" and the imagery of the "soft-hued cloud." Overall I liked the way this poem sounds when read outloud.

There are a few things I would change though. In the first line of the second stanza, I would change the word "glowing" to "glow" because the repeating -ing sound draws too much attention to itself. I also think the third line of the fourth stanza is a little too vague. What exactly are you referring to here?

It's kind of a warm and fuzzy poem. The sentences drift, like the title, going on and on. You could add more imagery to it though.

 

[triad_prodigy]

Business gone wrong

Only on a plane like this will you see corporate giants. Buildings, animated characters, food taking over your life engulfing you in a warped pathway that seems so morally wrong….how? Why?

How can someone be so selfish where they must make profit at the expense of your health and safety? How can anyone be so morally wrong? How can men be without a soul.

Truly everyone with a soul would notice what’s wrong with the current predicament we are in……making humans slaves to the tobacco and fast food industries ….so much wrong in such a beautiful world.

Making a dollar off someone’s life HOW? Why would anyone do that…..the reason why so much is wrong in this delicate world is because the human race is to incompetent to stop a wrong doing at the safety of themselves and enjoyment of themselves…..if you saw someone at gunpoint on the street and the man with the gun allowed you to leave at the expense of the strangers life would you accept those conditions?

When Africa is getting destroyed by disease and poverty what do you do….make a Muppet that has aids to boost ratings on a children’s show. Surely you can do more.

Truly these are great acts of selfishness among us and sadly its almost to late to make a change….. making a change is as easy as making the wrong choice…..so next time you see something wrong and corrupt ask why and how a human could do something like that to a fellow human.

 

[Hilary]

I know you hate me, and you try real hard,
to wipe away my smile and forget body parts
you told me you loved my thin arms
they always hold you *this* far from harm.
but your legs aren't around me anymore
you've cuddled up to someone new, i'm sure.

Your perfect body,
burns so hotly,
it scalds into my skin,
it aches where you've been.

We want to forget beds and long hair,
remember ending things with blank stares,
eyes that darted straight to their sides,
walking apart with breaking strides,
forget to remember to remember to forget,
it's so confusing we don't want any part of it.

The phone rings eight times before a beep,
i hang up, because i don't know how to speak.
there are boxes on my front porch,
with letters on top bent and torn,
saying "i loved you when we first met,
and i hope it lasts us until death."

my trembling hands held it,
as shaking fingers felt it,
line after icy line,
a frigid lock for a boy's mind.

i don't think i know how to see you,
and you forget to see me too,
we looked at our shoes and then away,
kicking dust without a thing to say.
"you look good,""and so do you"
yeah, our new couples look real good too.

you so rarely say "hey, Hilary"
that i expected it to kill me,
to hear you and your mother juggling the phone,
"sorry, she's not home", click, dial-tone.
you told me ages ago,
"this ended, baby you should know."

formality might be the measure of erosion,
the end that starts sparkling eye explosions,
i don't think i can catch up to you ever,
so "see you when i see you" sounds alot better.
no pleas, nothing sweet, no hows or whys.
silence is the only thing that seems to sound right.

when something breaks, you don't forget the sound of it,
milk spills in heart shaped lakes, there's no way around it,
try to bury the noise, and turn it down a bit,
and hope to god it's never heard aloud again.

 

[Luigitoilet]

L.U.I.

Lying awake in the light
of some lava lamp,
and nothing else.

Rachel sleeps next to me,
burned, worn out,
but with a coy grin.
I look at her, and fall asleep.

An hour later, seven past four,
and she's in the bathroom,
bleeding through her dress,
puking her life into the toilet,
sobbing hard enough to rattle my teeth.

I take her up in my arms
(arms with puncture wounds)
and ask what's her problem.

She calms and looks at me
with falsely lucid eyes.
she thinks she knows the world,
and she talks at me in riddles and rhymes
and cloudy nonsense.

She speaks of phantoms.
Of specters.
Of all her pasts and futures come back to haunt her.

She thinks it's real,
But it's just a hysterical mirage,
fed by pills and tabs and needles.

She wraps me up in my arms
and kisses my face
(face sunken in, slightly gaunt but still attractive)

We sleep together as one,
But magnetic opposites.
Together but a thousand miles apart.

She holds me close under the covers,
mashes my teeth with hers,
tries to swallow me whole
and I let her.

It makes us happy for now,
on our own lilttle cloud
grasping each other stupidly

it's an easy joy
a ghost ecstasy.
it's another hang-on,
a temporary belonging.
empathy we'll never know.
it's a rollercoaster of love,
and it tastes like aspirin in our throats.
it tastes like cotton swabs and tourniquets.
it tastes like stumbling down the stairs.
it tastes like fog.
it tastes like a never ending dream
and for tonight we've found something
Some thing to be forgotten in an hour or two.

it's another opiate
but to me it's everything.

(PS. I loved your poem, Hilary. I'm a terrible critic but I just want you to know I think it's great)

 

[Giygas]

Oh, the talent is just oozing out of both of you. I think we should form a poetry clique... or something.

Hilary - Great work. Your poem jumps and jitters from literal and simple wording to the deep symbolic stuff, back and forth. Sometimes it's a bit jarring. But oh. Your poem just oozes great wording and fantastic imagery. Some stanzas I just read again and again because they're just beautifully written. I don't know what else to say about this one. Just goodness.

Luigitoilet - Nice job here. I assume "L.U.I." is her initials? I really enjoyed the shorter-but-sweeter stanzas of your poem more than the longer ones.

"We sleep together as one,
But magnetic opposites.
Together but a thousand miles apart."

I think that stanza really covers the main message. Your poem seems to have a paradoxical message of you being close yet so far away, which is "cool". It also features a lot of surreal experiences, almost like you're [both] on drugs throughout it. It's a nice effect.

You're frank in this poem but sometimes too much. "grasping each other stupidly" isn't particularly hot, and neither is "puking her life into the toilet." But who am I to dictate what you should write? Anyway, you got a lotta talent kid.

 

[Hilary]

already have a poetry clique.

http://shinraonline.com

check out Ill Literacy

 

[Luigitoilet]

Eh, sorta blanked out as I wrote this. Sorry.

Also, the last line is from Radiohead's "Scatterbrain". As I got to the end it seemed fitting.

"Transatlantic Requiem"
---

somewhere in an oil-slick
pulled out by the tide
somewhere in a typhoon
head smashed on rocks
somwhere in the tornadoes eye
somewhere with good vibes
feeling healthy and energetic,
no sharp pains,
lapses of memory
no lumps no lumps
no poison in the blood

eyes open and see
him confused
her teary-eyed
avoiding his gaze where the voices STOP

and somewhere with sunshine
he says
that's where I'd like to be
somewhere with a rainbow and no rain
somewhere with just the right amount of pain
somewhere in the sky
a house in the clouds
somewhere where his world won't fall down

lightning bolt
power's out
rushing out into the rain
getting in the car and GO GO GO
anywhere anywhere but here
somewhere!

slipping on black ice
hiding under floorboards
somewhere in the ocean
just keeping afloat
somewhere I'm not
a sinking boat
an aircrash
a machine in the lake

somewhere in a tornado
in the ground holding strong
sucked into oblivion
to somewhere new

a place with trees
plants and wildlife
somewhere lively

laying in the roots
watching the growths
fingers tied by branches
feet held by fungus
somewhere else somewhere where I STOP

looking at you
thinking the wrong thoughts
thinking maybe
maybe maybe maybe baby
I should grow up
laughing but crying
don't kno what to say
don't kno much
don't kno how old i am

somewhere on a hill
tumbling down
somewhere i don't recognize us
in silence
fingers dead in the ice
heart beating sloooowly
watching someone elses lights in your eyes
watching the rain on the gangplank
watching the light from the tower
watching the bacteria under my eyelids

lost my train of thought
happens a lot
but that's ok
more often than not

more rain
too much rain
sticking rain.
not dancing badly
somewhere i'm not doing
anything for you

pulling up rocks
pulling up asphalt
somewhere where
everything's not my fault

in an earthquake
falling through the holes
seven puzzle pieces
all in a row
there used to be a lake
now there's a valley
there used to be a girl
now there's a valley
there used to be me and you
now there's a crack in the ground
roots gnarling up the sides
christmas lights on the concrete
now there's an elephant
dying
now there's a rabbit dying
without you

somewhere I'm
happy
somewhere I'm not
holding you down.
sandbagging
anchoring.
somewhere I'm not scatterbrained

 

[Resting_Fox]

Jesus, Luigi toilet, thank's for making the uncritiquable poem. I might as well dissect the Oddysey. Anyway, I loved some of that imagery, the feet in fungus and the fingers in trees, but---well honestly to me it seemed as if a lot of it was done on impulse, like a surrealist poem. Maybe I'm wrong, but the reference to losing you train of thought made it seem as if you were making it up as you went... Still I couldn't help but hear Dorothy singing that god**** "Somewhere over the rainbow" with all the references to rainbows. Are you trying to say something with all that "somewhere with jsut the right amount of pain"?

Anyway, I ran right through and had no idea what you were talking about. You can take that as a compliment or an insult. But I liked your other SHORTER poems a lot.

I write a lot of poetry and i'll admit, only about 20% of it is good (and this is from my egotistical perspective so probably more like 5.5%), so I guess I'll start with a little thing, and see what you all think...

--[Ice]--
A single snowflake,
a frigid brittle star,
lands on the lines of my fingertip,
dissolves,
drips off,
and falls,
with an almost imperceptible
splash,
like the last water cricket,
who hops with hope
from the ribbons of the rivulet,
that runs into the river, that opens to the ocean.

But i still had
the lines of my fingertip
and a lingering reminder
in the moisture.

 

[Venom Dream]

Hold Your Breath

Hold your breath, waiting for something.
What do you think will happen?
Close your eyes, waiting for something,
Nothings going to happen!

These streets, they are lined,
With dreams, left behind,
With dirt, and with grim,
Ahead of it’s time.

I went down the street,
Don’t you know?
I got about ten feet,
Don’t you know?
Then feel, and broke my arm,
Don’t you know?
Slow pain, I am drained,
Now nothings going to happen!

Hold your breath, waiting for something.
What do you think will happen?
Close your eyes, waiting for something,
Nothings going to happen!

Streetlights on the road,
As usual they glowed,
I think, time it slowed,
Who cares where we drove?

Drove past all the restaurants,
We were hungry,
Don’t you know?
Drove past homeless men,
That were starving,
Don’t you know?
We drove through this town,
This is what we found,
Don’t you know?


Nothings going to happen!

 

[red_samus3956]

Cold of fall

This was one of my first poems, "Cold of fall"


As all the cold winds, and cold rains of fall, as I watch her pass,
is the coldest feeling of all.

As i see her pass, as cold as brass;
leaving me feelingless, as if this is such a task.

I'm hiding from her,
it feels as so, as i watched her come and, I seen her go.

Hiding from her, behind this mask,
the cold of fall, it's so much to ask.

 

[fiercedeitylives88]

he lay restlessupon the fiery pits

of a burning hell

while the demons

forever scratch

at his

once

loving

heart

 

[fiercedeitylives88]

A Living Hell


and again he falls victim
to the torchering demons
below, thats where he'll succumb
never thinking of what he once loved

unholy demons are feasting
off of his hatful mind
there making it a living hell
by taking over his will to survive

they've taken a hold of his feeling
his thoughts his words and his mind
now he'll be forced to join them
and thats when he'll surely die

 

[pokemonmaster01]

I write poems about such trivial things.

5:24 AM

Synthetic scream
You pull me from my slumber
Disrupted dream
Of which I'll never know

How many sheep
I counted by the number
To find some sleep
But you deny me so!

How I detest
Your bleating buzz
Of Lucifer's design

For losing rest
Is why you're here
And not for keeping time

 

[Purebred Gamer]

World of Tomorrow

The World of Tomorrow,
Greets us With Open Arms
And Flashes a gruesome Smile.

Upon sunrise, soon all will see.
Full and Total Destruction
We have fulfilled Satan's
Destiny.

 

[Purebred Gamer]

Football

Poetry in motion is the understatement of the year.
Running, like a Jaguar, in fifteen punds of gear.
My cleats, thumping, as the hooves of a Horse.
Accelerating, quickly, to the backfield, a chore
One of skill, determination, and Pain
American Football is my kind of game.
Friendships and bonds, are formed every play
Brothers in arms, Bare pain, every day.
Yet We persist, on making the tackle.
Breaking the Line, Sack, Let out a Cackle
We live for the grind, the Grime, and the torture
that this game brings us, Each player a soldier.
Because it's more than a game It's a war under control
We play not for fun, but to maim, hurt, and broil
Working Together As One unit, We'll Succeed
My team will rise up, no matter the need.
So before the QB snaps the ball, and the O-line get's moving
Remember that not everything happens like in a sports movie.
Football is a battle, a battle of the wills among men.
These soldiers play hard, and see it throught to the end.
The fighting, the pushing, and the Gnashing of teeth.
Bone Cracking, Jaw Smacking, Skull breaking to victory.
This is the world of Football, this is what it means.
From a player to you, I wish the pain you to see.

(Post-Script)I find that I play football for the Pain caused by me or to me.

 

[Rwing_Wurm_Champ]

Wrote this myself 2 years ago. Enjoy!

Black Fable!


I can't see
I can't breathe
I can't flee

Over the mountain and into the woods, grandmothers capped in the temple
while the wolfs in the bathroom on his throne ****ting out her curries and whey!

I can't breathe
I can't flee
I can see, yet blinded by the sharp britsols of the trees fingers that reaches out to grab me.
It grabs to slow me down, it to is against me..wants the wolf to digest me.

I can't see
I can't breathe
I can't flee

Little boy blue was gobbledegoob when I ran up to his hut seeing his lifeless limb poking out the oven. Horn bent out of shape, yet still made a tune, of course it would only be my deep, dark blues


I can't see
I can't breathe
I can't flee

O no here he comes! From over the mountain and into the woods rushing like a mad man with cold steel vengence in his eyes; Iris is in the form of a flaming black skull...
oh hear the tree's wale and howl as he breaks their prickly fingers with ease, like cheap fake 24 karrot gold charmed braclets

Out of the woods and near the river, that slushes on by minding its own buisiness, yet plant your feet in it o how it animates and snatches your life up!

I can't see
I can't breathe
I can't flee

Lungs clogging and choking on water that knows no cares for letting in air...
Out I pop up, what's this a helpful hand,
O no, I smell it, hear it, and feel it..."don't open my eyes"
Too late curiosity overcomes fear

I can't see
I can't breathe
I can't flee

The wolfs mouth is the end of me!


(~Devil Tears~
my pen name)
~ RWC!
_________________

 

[GanondorftheXXVI]

Here's a poem I wrote a few weeks ago; it caused some mixed feelings at my school club.


Marshy Mind

This fuzzy, messy cloud;
That which is my consciousness;
A package awkwardly carried
By all hands:

It ambles clumsily through time,
And shows the strange and color-shifting face,
Of that tree exposed to wind and shine,
Whose beaten bark is to efface

Motivation, never undeterred,
Keeps a steady, murmur pace;
Sinking, rising, motionlessly calm,
Sometimes moving on as if pushed on from behind.

Light and shadow alternate
In the turnings of this fate;
Beyond control, irrevocable wheels
Manage sad and happy deals.

Sometimes, a sudden ray is thrust,
That sublimely renders peeled the rust
Which other times and tides hath wrought
On this pole, that ere hath quested naught.

A short boost, these will grant;
But soon to be pulled back and reined
By fears and insecurities
Which hold perpetual reign.

Perhaps there is escape
From this awesome, terrible ellipse
That ostentatiously wills to drape
This iron pole of man’s glimpse.

 

[Soh Buhr]

Untitled

Garden, I guess

Forever I dwell in this garden of sorrows.
To it, my past and all my tomorrows.
Tendrils of Agony have binded my soul.
Over these seeds I have no control.

I know it's short and that binded isn't a word but it's all I've got so far: jotted it down on the way home from school.

 

[Marcel]

Here is somethin i wrote. Sounds kinda deppressed and all but whatever. Kinda would like to know what you guys have too say.



There was a feeling of absolute hell,
I felt tortured as I stared.
The feeling was too intense,
As I sat starring into nothingness.

I sat and stared with eyes closed tight.
I sat and stared with a great fright.
I thought I was dieing and
I knew it would all end.

There I was starring, starring down the abyss.
There I was just sitting and starring.
No one knew what was wrong.
They had no idea I was all dieing.

A great suffering and anguish.
A great and terrible pain.
I felt my heart to explode.
I felt such sorrows no man should feel.

My mind was encircling itself within a woven web.
There was no peace, no rest.
Forever I was stuck down in that hellish pit.
Not a soul knew my suffering, I was alone to die.

 

[Destiny Smasher]

Here's something I whipped up thsi week due to...some inspiration. I don't write poetry, so...Yea. Any feedback is good.

Butterfly in the Wind

Rushed is she, a humble bee,
And I, a wayward butterfly.
Maybe it’s Wind which blows me there
But why would I decide to care?
I follow the bee.

Perhaps by Winds, perhaps by song,
Yet either way, I drift along
And flap my wings to reach that hive.
Are they to say I’m not alive?
I make no honey.

Is she to say I’ve gone astray
And shake her head; send me away?
Is here where Wind wants me to go,
Or there to flowers down below?
I doubt I’ll ever know.

The Gusts may push and forge a path
But I need not obey their wrath
For I could go against their spell
And keep on flying, just as well.
Where would I go?

Though, still, the question does remain:
Am I a slave, or just insane?
And does the Zephyr really mind
If behind I leave what is behind?
I see a bee in front of me.

What is it in her I see?
Yellow and black with buzzing wings,
But I like many other things
As she is not like every bee.
Will she sting?

This single bee is gentle, kind,
She works by nature’s law
In blissful tandem with time
Like many others of her race.
I can’t retain that brisk pace.


How does she lead a buzzing life
With miles of flight pollen rife,
And doesn’t stop to love the flower
Whose very nectar she does devour
To process within walls of wax?

She and I are unalike bugs.
Still, this will inside me tugs
My anxious wings to push through air
To find this bee, and follow her where
She goes, and goes, and goes, and goes,
Whether she cares, whether she knows.

Sorry if it seems archaic, but there's definitely more to it than simply sing-songy-ness, and although not everything is poetically paid attention to, a lot of things I did intentionally.

 

[Nephyst]

This was a while back in a depressive state, for future refference.


"Hello"


Hello? Are you there?
Or have you vanished into air?
Who's this person that I see
Staring blankly back at me?

I don't recognize him, is he dead?
This man from whom crimson tears are shed?
But I feel his presence... Is he alive?
Hiding, quivering in his struggle to survive?

Every attempt to reach out to him fails,
Emotions blocked by the barrier from which he hails.
He seems not to care, not to feel,
Although in every sense he's real.

I want to talk to him, I want to help,
But I'm just standing here like a whelp.
Am I the only one that sees him? Is he a ghost?
I feel that I'm the one he needs the most.

Someone, help him, hold him please.
He looks helpless, on his knees,
And I can do nothing but stand here,
Staring blankly in my mirror.

 

[Rwing_Wurm_Champ]

****, really nice one.

 

[Nephyst]

Thank you... and I also agree with your signature, to the max. (The Talim part. ^^)
I have a few others, but I would need to redo a couple to take out some graphic things...

 

[Rwing_Wurm_Champ]

No prob. (Yes, talim is an underage butt kicking hawty) Cool will wait to read some more poetry unless your talking about sigs?

To stay on topic: Random poem.
Wild, Crazy, Nonsense...life!

Welcome to the end of the abyss where the original Ronald McDonald is still unemployed,
prostituting on the streets to make ends meat, and, has a restraining order out on Barney
for Domestic Dispuite.
Welcome to the end of the abyss where "authentic" & "originality"
Is a bad word for the mellenium.
Canned by the market, stepped over by the media.
Nano iPod is the new candy toy, bad presidency is the true symbol of democracy
Internet is the new target in being split-into-bite sized private networks, not tax free.
Hackers now suck compared to the 80's
Consumers now, are even more gullable...
Weather is out of control..
But hey, its The abyss, the Crazy enjoyment of de-evolution, and Life!
(Devil Tears)

 

[Nephyst]

I am going to make a thread and add everything I write there.

As for now;

(This is really old...)

"Nine Days"


Nine days, you have lied to me, nine days and it is gone.

Nine days, I am sorry, nine days have just begun.

Nine days, you have lied there, nine days ago today.

Nine days, not yet over, nine days that have no owner.

Nine days, she came to me, nine days and where were you?

Nine days, almost over, nine days the storm will brew.

Nine days, you've not left me, nine days for you to see.

Nine days for you to swallow, nine days and more to follow.

Nine days, and you are empty, nine days for us to see.

Nine days, and are you dying? nine days and you will flee.

Nine days is now nine hours, nine hours for us to cry.

Nine hours is now nine minutes, nine minutes till we die.

Nine days is slowly falling, nine days into the hole.

Nine days and it is over, nine days now has your soul.