Do not be abashed,
Oh helpful Daisy*chain,
For never is the PoPoPo
Fining posts in vain.
Your efforts are quite useful
For keeping MuseBlog sane,
And though your poem did not flow well,
It was yet right as rain.
Here’s two of mine from the end of the last thread.
—
I stand and stare into the abyss
flowers crumble from between my fingers
and dust clouds swirl behind my eyes
there is no such thing as time
when it’s so dark you cannot even see your thoughts
swirling like multifaceted fish inside your irises
I hear whispers calling to me from some faraway place
but whether they are real or imagined even I no longer know
and the voice of that cold chasm sings louder than they
I cannot make out the words
somewhere inside me longs to one two three step
into the darkness and waft down
like the fleeting dandelion’s seeds
into the deep dark cool and chaos
like the bottom of a still murky lake
behind me lie the patters no one else can see
crystals are you all
so rigid frigid shattering
so sharp
and cut into my sin like glass
one two three four deaths ago
I lay inside the closed coffin that was my body and
the flowers clutched in my hand looked something like
the words you painted before me:
not the meanings
but the sounds
the taste
but now I know better than to accept gifts from stranger
even the ones that blossom on the tongue like rain
and it is far far better to not share
the wondrous discoveries
(like the birds whose songs are coded messages
and the sweet screams of flowers as they are plucked
to rest in a maiden’s hair)
or they will take them away
(like the pictures in the fog and rain
begging you to listen to their stories)
with the round and white and small
so clever you think you are
building towers of glass
and cages of steel
and laugh to see my leaf and grass houses torn apart by the winds
and walk away as I laugh with you
so silly you are to think I did not know
I stand before you now: A choice is made
and the abyss smiles
and calmly softly slowly sings its lullaby
as I give you one last chance
to let me go.
—
(get out)
trying to escape
to break out of this battered chrysalis
in which we find ourselves
paper-thing wings pressing against our body
humming with energy
and sharp as razors digging in
beneath our skin as we fall
fall
fall
from the earth
(escape)
words wrap like chains
to bind us–
promises, pretensions,
those trying to protect
us from ourselves
and what we must become
we long to fly;
to break out of our skin
and leave it behind, an empty shell,
a marker
emotions surge, restart,
are repressed
by logic and limits
rules and regulations
“for our own good
for our safety
for our benefitâ€
for our salvation
we struggle
trying to break open our husks of bodies
to float free as moths
into the night
(free)
To leave behind the tattered shreds of myself:
it is not a death
unless you never make it out of the chrysalis.
Oh the sea air blows freely
And the ocean below
Waves in circular motions
Like the design on my toe.
How I love the feel
Of warm golden sand
And also being
On dry land.
The beach and me
Are perfectly
Together forever
Just you and me.
Hi! I’m guessing you’re new here, because I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen you here before. Anyway, please try your best to use proper punctuation and capitals. Words such as “ur” for example should be written out as “your.” Not only does it take a lot longer to read improper punctuation, grammar, and capitalization, it also becomes pretty annoying after a while. Please reserve this type of “chat speak” for IM, e-mail, and other sites. Most neophytes (including myself) start off writing this way, so don’t feel bad. I just wanted to let you know because otherwise other MBers are likely to bombard you about it, so better to know as early as possible.
Oh blog of Muses,
You are so great!
It amuses
On any date!
Kokopelli
Of tunes and tricks
Devil (your dog)
Always licks
The awsome Bo,
The bovine
Has facts
That are divine.
Feather of plants
Wants a doughnut
Vegetarian
No meat in his gut!
Aeiou and Craww’s
Bad poetry
And software
Makes me happy!
Fantastic Chad
And Urania
So intelligent –
Well, duh!
Mimi is
Always kind
While Pwt is at
Craww’s behind.
All the Muses,
Big and small
Stick together
And have a ball!
BB: In an excess of newcomer’s enthusiasm, you posted in quick succession a series of about 15 poorly thought-out comments that, had we allowed them on MuseBlog, would have alienated your fellow MBers and made life more difficult for you later on. Rather than let you make this mistake, we Administrators decided to zap them all and give you a fresh start. Unfortunately, in situations like that we don’t have time to exercise much editorial judgment; we just have to round them up and delete them wholesale. It’s possible that a couple of poems or other non-offending comments got caught in the sweep. If so, we’re sorry, but our intentions were benign and our judgment, we believe, sound.
Because everybody makes mistakes, because irrevocable consequences foster a suboptimal environment for learning from one’s mistakes, and because we’ve found justice tempered with mercy to be a more flexible and sophisticated policy instrument than justice straight-up.
Is the environment here so unforgiving that it would cause irrevocable consequences? Suffering for one’s mistakes is a necessary part of “learning from them”, and preemptive censorship won’t help that. The mercy you mention should come from the community once the mistake has been made, not from the administrator before it’s allowed to be made.
They were being kind. This way, nobody has to read 15 PoPo-ish Double Posts in a row, and BB learns about both, not from a lecture from a grumpy oldby, but from a GAPA respectfully telling BB what en did wrong, in a way that will make it more likely for en to be more thoughtful in the future.
In saving BB from en’s mistakes, Robert was also saving everybody else the inconvenience of having to read all the posts and posting lectures on the rules, even though it was tedious for him. I think he should be applauded, not questioned. And why should BB’s reputation be tainted for being excited? You probably made some posts you now regret when you were a neophyte. I know I did.
So why protect people from their own mistakes? Because it’s the right thing all around. We learn from our mistakes, but they aren’t the only way to learn.
Yeah, I made some stupid posts. And I took responsibility for my mistakes, and paid my own price, and learned from them. Being a moderator myself on various other sites, I just find it difficult to fathom how a staff can maintain a coherent reinforcement of rules and guidelines when people’s comments get censored for them. Once you create a precedent, the coherent thing would be to maintain that precedent and continue censoring all potentially discordant comments, which would of course leave freedom of expression and the responsibility of individual posters down the drain.
Fridgey, if the GAPAs had created a precedent to censor all potentially discordant comments, this conversation would not have been moderated. Besides, you know the GAPAs are never coherent. You can’t set an overall rule about these things, be it to censor or not to censor. They have to be judged on a case-by-case basis, and I, for one, trust their judgment. Have I been censored before? Yes, on multiple occasions. Do I find my personal freedom and expression to be thrown down the drain? No, because, looking back, I realize the GAPAs were more level-headed than I had been, and had made the better decision. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but sometimes other people’s decisions can actually be better than yours.
The first time you censor someone preemptively, you create a precedent. Whether the GAPAs judgement is in fact better than yours is completely irrelevant. Administrators everywhere, and people in any position of power, should follow their own guidelines, and coherency is essential for fair and honest rule reinforcement.
Of course the GAPAs have the final say, it is after all their website. However, the rules posted don’t mention this. I think it would be something you might want to put into official writing, you know: “The administrators reserve the right to edit, censor and delete any comments they find necessary to do so at their discretion.” Just a disclaimer like that would make the whole thing a lot more legitimate.
That seems reasonable. I suppose it’s always been an unspoken rule, so making a spoken one wouldn’t change MuseBlog. I agree, such a disclaimer should be spelled out in the official rules.
Look. Zapping somebody’s posts because they were unnecessary and most likely very annoying is not destructive to freedom of expression. Say I start randomly singing the llama song over and over in multiple posts. This is related to the thread, but the GAPA’s could easily justify zapping it. This isn’t keeping me from expressing myself. In fact, it will probably make it much easier to express myself, seeing as everyone will like me a considerable amount more.
And censoring comments is at the root of maintaining rules and guidelines. In the rules, #5 is; If a discussion is in progress, please don’t interrupt it with an unrelated random post. Before posting, read the last 10 or 15 comments to make sure that you understand what is going on.
From Robert’s post, it sounds as if BB’s posts were pretty close to breaking this rule. I don’t think the GAPAs created an unreasonable precedent when they decided to zap the posts.
As for the responsibility of individual posters, I think Beach Blondie knows by now that she shouldn’t PoPo, and that she shouldn’t rely on the GAPAs to zap everything unreasonable she posts, and if she didn’t, she knows know, and it didn’t take this entire thread getting clogged up with PoDoPo’s (Pointless Double Posts) For her to learn it.
We firmly believe in tempering justice with mercy, consistency with inconsistency, coherence with incoherence, and explicitness with opacity. Now, let’s leave this thread to the poems and songs, please.
Perfect. Not exclusively blog-related, which would be nice (so it doesn’t get lost with other issues- stuff about the site itself should be consider more important, it seems to me), but good enough. I’ve copied SudoRandom’s post there and replied to it.
My feet hit pavement,
jarring,
crashing,
I hit the ground
running
And off I go,
fleeing from,
and yet running toward
destiny
I find that
destiny is choices
made up of
what we do
And when we find
the answer
we must
look toward
our memories
And see truth in
our actions
See rightness
in speaking our findings
And when I run from,
I find nothing
and when I run to,
I find myself.
It’s mostly nonsense, but I like it. The irony is that I wrote it in winter or fall though, I think, and you’ll see why that’s ironic when you read it.
Jumbled:
radio blares: some kind of new crisis has come about and people are distressed
stickiness in the summer heat
not even a bird will sing on this hot day
newspapers lie outside the door: unrecieved, maybe never to be received
in laziness
there is a CRASH
and I should go see what it is but there are shoes lying all over the floor
and I might trip over them so I won’t budge from my perch here on the windowseat
sitting and doing
nothing.
I’ve died a thousand times over
My bar stool is my tombstone
Trying to find meaning in Dover
Beach, but I get interrupted by my phone
Meanwhile the bottles pile high
And I play games with the faces
The vapour makes the glass seem to cry
He’s in Texas without any aces
I’m not building a gun in my closet
It takes up too much space, I need
to find a way without forcing it
If cut the right way, even stones bleed
5.1.1.2 – I agree. We all make mistakes, and that one could’ve been bad for BB if the GAPAs let them on. Of course, life doesn’t work that way – sometimes I wish it COULD, censoring everything I say – but it’s good online.
I’ve posted so much here that the comment boxes are actually the easiest place for me to compose now. In theory if I’m going to use some of my writing for other stuff (scholarships, classes, ect) I should probably stop, but…
Yes, but I noticed it kind of makes the shape of a 2, in the pencil issue.
Get it, #2?
*laughs hyserically at joke no one else thinks is funny*
*shuts up*
A repost of “Shuttle Chic” from the previous thread:
But what do I mean by “shuttle chic�
It’s just a word, to describe a style, an era, a feeling.
To describe the plain little houses
And the blocky old libraries (With the section names written upon black plaques in tarnished white)
To understand, you must go inside.
When the sunlight slides through the thin windows
And crosses the floor to the dusty shelves
Far from where everyone else is.
Not many people come to these shelves at all.
But you pull the books out, and look at the covers.
The sun has faded the covers
It’s all pale, even the void of space looks more kindly grayish.
The font, white-on-black
And the images inside. Oh, the images.
There are moonwalks and moonsuits.
The buggies and the mountains of late-Apollo.
The station, the funny little cylinder station
Skylab-with-the-windmill-solar-array
The guys inside, having a ball.
The shower, the bike, the spiders.
On the horizon, a craft, a geometric bird.
Enterprise gliding in over the California desert.
Only a test, but there will be REAL space shuttles soon, you are assured.
You stare at those 35 faces of the new class. They will fly it.
You know their fates as they could not.
The poor early-CGI
And the green lasers across the cube
Of still more faded black
It seems so homey.
And now, she flies, Hail Columbia!
The white tank looks so odd now, almost sickly pale.
First, Crippen and Young in the brown suits.
Then, the others.
The others fly now, they spacewalk, they use the arm.
Men with mustaches and women with dark, curly hair, so puffy.
All in those flightsuits, colored like the sky
And the white altitude helmets in their hands.
They take up an IMAX,
They fly in a chair
They photograph the Earth.
They drop off satellites.
But they are alone.
They don’t fly to a station.
(They will build one soon, though, you are told.)
(Freedom in the sky by ‘90.)
Hmmm. I think I’ll use the neverending inspiration provided by the comment box.
The sky is deep as the ocean today,
a half moon is swinging
swinging like a half of an orange in the sky.
Fair blue in the east.
Dark blue in the west.
The world turns
toward midnight.
Stars may peek through
later
with every pattern they make just as familiar
as the forgotten constellations of your heart.
You want to see more?
Fly higher.
I dare you.
Breathe in clarity,
breathe out hope,
don’t look down.
Clouds,
strung out and long,
are bridal veils for the blushing trees
and the telephone poles are priests
working forever to marry the world to itself
again and again,
forever repeating its place
in the family of home.
Musty smell rises to my nose
Smooth, strong cover
Crisp edges fly past my fingers
Some dog-eared, some frayed
Little black shapes, hundreds per page
Form a work of art
A painting in the mind
Complex love song (In many parts)
Part 1: (Slow, major key. Like one of the amazing songs on Broadway.)
When I saw you
I didn’t know what to do.
When I heard you play your flute
I couldn’t play my horn
Now, I want to shoot
The arrow of time
The other way.
I should have talked to you.
Walked with you.
Spoke to you.
I never knew you.
I thought you were…
(long pause)
Well, I really can’t describe it now.
It felt… right.
But it was more than that.
It was the first time
I didn’t know what to do
It was all because of you.
You couldn’t have known I existed.
You can know now.
Look, behind you.
Right beside you.
Now…..
[Chorus]
‘Course now it’s gone from me.
Someone else has caught me.
You see..
I’m never brave… enough.
I try and fail at being… tough.
It doesn’t live forever
And neither will the world.
Part 2: (Major key, fast, but with a feeling of holding back energy)
We’ve been friends for a while
Since… second grade.
But only now have I
Realized!
That you’re beautiful!
Weird and quriky
And a nerd.
They think.
And I know.
But it gives me all the more reason
To like you.
Every fault
Is a greater reason for your perfection
My attention
Is on you!
But yours is never on me.
First: A really old piece I found sifting through my blog.
EnojadÃsimo
Rend, tear burn destroy,
my body hums-
Energy, pushing to the limits,
escaping in short bursts, painfully
Imploding outward
All that’s left
Excruciat-
Incorrig-
Why why why why….
I can’t cry, no, but I can breathe, though once
Long draws from the wine glass of life, sucking in and blowing out, my only escape because
I’m trapped inside a burning building trapped in an endless line trapped underneath the falling weight
It’s pressing me down, to the ground, moving me closer and closer to an end, an escape, pop-
Just need to get out, to move, to breathe again
Oxygen in my veins, moving throughout me, giving life, taking it away, trickling out, droplets in the snow
an endless cycle while I stare madly
Insane madly insane Trapped by my own faults.
I see beauty-
Trying to succeed and make that quota,
I just want to live, but I’m always thwarted-
Every end, every nerve-tip on fire
Once again, it’s happening, save me, should I ask-
Moving with me, twitching hopelessly standing on end to keep me warm
My body works but my mind doesn’t my body works but my mind doesn’t my body works and my mind sees a path out, a way to finally
Please, not when-
Always here, we’re there for you
When suddenly-
Why not, surrounded
I need to-
Falling down every inch a fight rocking back and forth but in my mind screeching down all the way down fingernails catching on a solution
Hopeless solution, tearing down gaining
I’ve always…
Somewhere, but from all sides
How can we describe a century?
The highest highs, the lowest lows?
Hope and fear, our best, our worst?
And how, from perhaps the greatest darkness
There came the brightest light?
Perhaps in two rockets, and two nights.
That night, it was very cold.
Cold without and cold within.
A world, war-torn, gone nearly mad.
He was younger then, but stooping
Bent down by stress and grief.
Mourning for a dream corrupted, twisted.
Below, it stood, checkered, spotlighted.
It was beautiful, sleek, accurate.
But it was terrible, hateful, deadly.
At last, they’d made a craft to escape the blue.
To carry them to other worlds, but now-
Now, it was forced to scar and destroy their own.
Not for this had he begun.
Not to be a captive, beneath a captive sky.
And yet, beyond that Baltic cold, a hope-
For still the moon shone on.
This night is warm.
Warm in the cricket-chirping Florida dark
But also, in the heat of tension.
A fragile, wounded world stands united in one breathless Wait.
An older man standing, beside the giant building.
Gazing upward at it, white and shining.
Towering taller than one can believe,
Pointed head raised proudly skyward.
Awaiting three explorers.
Now preparing for an adventure greater than any before.
First emissary from one world to another,
For science, for knowledge, in peace for all mankind.
And beneath, her smiling creator.
Whose gaze rises still upward.
A mind soars free, beyond the moon.
Free in the Universe, as his species soon shall be.
It feels like I’m hyped-up and
tired
simultaneously and
I feel like throwing things and
breaking stuff and
screaming…
There is mercury flowing through my veins,
the weight of a thousand oceans on my shoulders…
The pressure…
It’s breaking me…
It’s making me…
I think I’ve
gone mad.
I need to punch something.
.
.
.
.
.
It’s called anticipation.
Love is poison
The sweetest one
It is also a rose
With Love’s poison tipped thorns.
If we find life
In the torture called Love
We must prepare
For its consequences
For even the best
Can be ripped apart
By Love
It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not depressed. She asked nicely (and she can’t write poetry to save her life).
petals gently waft
trembling like tears on your lips
ghost-fingers reach to brush them away
but movement is jagged and quick
and they only collide with empty space.
Look and see the happy child Can you see me crying?
Listen to my dancing feet Can you hear me screaming?
Look how pleasant I appear Can you see me burning?
Listen to my empty words Can you hear me dying?
You sit down at the chair
flamesflamessomanyflames
I sit down opposite you
theyburntheyburnohhhsaveme
You smile, I smile
savemetakemeawayfromtheseflames
We start talking
i’mscreaminghelpmefire
It’s so pleasant, so normal
aauuughitburnsplease
How is school? you ask
stopjuststandingtherehelpme
It’s fine, I reply
you’renotcominghowcouldyou
You stand up, I stand up
nowaitdon’tleaveyetplease
We exit different ways
takemewithyouidon’tlikethefire
It appears so normal
aaahhhhitburnspleasestop
But there was so much left unspoken
ican’tbelieveyouleftme
From me, it’s for the best
comebackcomeback
That you don’t hear.
I keep forgetting to post here. But here goes. This was written for the LCCMF music festival during their Sunday concert, and very much on a whim.
Somehow I missed that smooth transition from a minor to a major
Problem; you see, I still miss the smell of rosin,
And I just can’t stand to break you down, because
Recycling just isn’t my thing. I don’t even have a
Hindsight, and baby I wish that there was a secret message
For you, hidden in and out of passion for the longing,
And it’s funny how sometimes we get a free ride that
Costs us something in the end, like maybe a
Breakdown, or an aroma, or a major problem,
Or a smooth transition that somehow, I missed.
This is from the same festival. I wanted to explain the last two instances in the last stanza: ‘He’ was playing a clarinet, and told us that no matter how hard he tried, he always squeaked the very last note (It’s no measure of his skill, though; the note is theoretically impossible to play on the clarinet.), and the last ‘She’ was not as used to speaking English as we are, and so occasionally seemed unsure when speaking.
If any of you are interesting, this is about the Kurtág Hommage.
i. She is
A muse of the viola
A forest spirit,
Exhibiting feral dances;
Flurries of notes,
In a cadenza of fury.
ii. He is
A Hephaestus of sorts
An imposing presence
A bulk of creativity
Experience incarnate:
A gentle behemoth
In leaders’ shoes.
iii. She is
A sprite
Yet a poltergeist.
Bipolar in practice
Averaging “intimidating” at best
A raptor of the keys
Falling to her prey.
iv. She answers her phone;
He squeaks out of register;
She titters and is unsure;
And suddenly they are all
Human again.
“A sestina about silence, with the key words dark, ragged, never, screaming, fire, kissâ€
We walk under a sky so dark
Our hearts so torn and ragged
We do the things we say we’d never
An effort to keep from screaming
to drown or quench the fire
all for a single fleeting kiss
615243
We long to taste the lips, the kiss
of deaths so dim and dark
No sound but the crackling fire
Our breathing sharp and ragged
Inside we are always screaming
From the silence, ending never
364125
The stillness that goes on, never
pausing for a breath, a kiss
to keep us from our screaming
She spoke though
no one listened
Standing
alone
in the middle of a room
of empty souls
No one knows
who she is, or
perhaps they daren’t
ask.
But, perhaps,
she is the only one
worth knowing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HANDFUL OF MOMENTS
The boy
sits quietly
on the edge of the
world
The breeze tousles his hair
ever-so-gently
as he runs his slender fingers
through the hot sand.
A gull perches lightly
by his side
this time not hungry
for beach-side
sandwiches
But for something
more wholesome
The boy leans back
on his elbows
and watches the waves
roll in and out
in and out
in time with the
rising
and falling
of his stomach
and the beating of his
Heart
And the sound of the
wind
cutting through the universe
And the boy
alone at
the edge of the world
is unable to cross
that threshold
so he lies
in the sand
while the gull hovers above
both wishing for
something
that is lost
Both wishing for another
handful of
moments
to be free
Haikus are quite nice
but sometimes, they make no sense!
Refrigerator.
Okay, okay, more serious.
Icarus, Icarus, in the sky,
Make your wings and learn to fly.
The sky’s full of sunlight and the sea’s full of foam,
The earth’s full of summer and the world’s full of home.
Icarus, Icarus, in the air,
Flap your wings and learn to dare.
You’ve made it to freedom and you’ve made it to flight,
You’ve made it to summer and the stars tonight.
Icarus, Icarus, flying high,
Soar with wonder in the deep bright sky.
You’re as free as the wind and the clouds and the moon,
You’re as free as the sun you can touch so soon.
Icarus, Icarus, full of glory,
Make sure the world will remember your story.
The wax and the feathers are the way to be free,
Your wings you’ve been given raise you above the sea.
Icarus, Icarus, you’re the one,
Fly higher, much higher, closer to the sun.
The triumph in your heart bears you high aloft,
The wax in your wings is beginning to go soft.
Icarus, Icarus, lord of all,
Break your wings and learn to fall.
The sea far below you is your enemy.
No matter how you flap, you can’t again be free.
Icarus, Icarus, in the sky,
Make your wings and learn to die.
The sky’s full of sunlight and the sea’s full of foam,
The earth’s full of summer and the world’s full of home.
I wrote this earlier today. Eight years ago, there were three people who could look down and see the towers as they fell, but who could do nothing to help. Their names were Frank Cullbertson, Mikhail Tyurin and Vladimir Dezhurov, and they were on the International Space Station.
Smoke on the Hudson (Expedition 3)
Flight day 32.
It still feels strange to be up here,
To look down on those below.
And here with Vlad and Mikhail.
On a station we built together.
Who’d have believed it?
A break from experiments, free time now.
Time to call home.
“Alpha*, Houston calling, it’s a bad day down here.â€
“Alpha, it’s a very bad day.â€
“Commander, there’s been an attack.â€
“Alpha, Houston calling, the news still coming in.â€
“Alpha, Houston calling, they say New York’s aflame.â€
“Two planes, another in Washington.â€
Head spinning, what to say?
Attack from where? All the world looks the same from here.
“Thank you, Houston, keep us informed.â€
Vlad can tell that something’s wrong.
We gather together, three sons of the wounded world below.
They’re just as stunned. So horrible, so horrible.
Sharing Runglish** prayers and sympathies.
Mikhail checks the computer.
“We’ll be over New York soon, my cabin will have the clearest view.â€
All I can give is a video camera.
So many run to help, so many dying
All we can do is take pictures and film.
The smoke plume above the city grid.
Towards the river, it must be horrible in the streets.
Smoke on the Hudson.
Wounds and flame.
Nothing I can say.
An argument, a violent point someone’s made.
Who? Why? No idea.
But we three, we here.
We trained to shoot each other down a few decades ago.
But now, we work together.
For a greater good, a better future.
As we live, as we orbit, and we work.
With our every action, in a quieter, kinder voice-
I’ll tell you I love you, but
We both know that a frozen heart can’t feel.
I’ll tell you you’re gorgeous, but
We both know that eyes sewed shut are blind.
I’ll tell you I need you, but
We both know that the bridges are burning.
I’ll tell you the truth, but
We both know it’s a lie.
the edge of the circle
looking trough the back of the mirror
i may be invisible
but it doesn’t mean that I’m not here
they may see a wisp
they may hear a sneeze
but im still at the edge of the circle
watching the world happen around me
i still don’t know what’s going on
and my questions lie unawnsered
but here i sit
alone but with people
i see them
they may or may not see me
despite the times that i’ve asked
there were no awnsers i could see
but the edge of the circe
has its advantages
i don’t get caught in the drama
and i know where my fortune is
i know the edge of so many circles
the middle seems unclear
the place i once longed for
i’m just as happy here.
Can’t
Can’t you see that I’m crying?
A hollow, smiling shell
Crumbling from the inside.
Society has woven,
Like a choking spiderweb:
A mask of carefully constructed lies
To keep us all in line.
Silence filled with good intentions
Don’t you know you’re on your way?
I’m breaking, shattering, with a
Placid smile upon my face.
*Ms. Smith is not the name of my English teacher, who I wrote this for; however, her name is one syllable long. Sonnet
The room smells of imagination’s death.
Forbidding letters stare at me, the keys.
All is quite silent; only my slow breath
Shows that there’s someone here, someone that sees.
I never claimed that I was like Shakespeare.
Iambs will kill my brain before I’m done.
Pentameter, a rhyme scheme, these I fear,
A maddening rhythm, structure, these I shun.
Oh god, I’ve got to write another verse?
Five whole more lines must struggle from my brain?
Each word I type, they just sound worse and worse.
This sonnet’s slowly driving me insane.
Oh please, Ms. Smith, give me a generous grade
On this pathetic sonnet I have made.
Here, there, everywhere
We walk for miles without a care
When will we know when we are there?
Here and there and everywhere
Him, her, you, me
Let voices ring and let us flee
How long before we are free?
Him and her and you and me
Yes, no, maybe so
There are some thing’s we’ll never know
Who are we and where will we go?
Yes and no and maybe so
Dancing, singing, loving, learning
Fuel is what keeps fire burning
Is love what makes the world keep turning?
Dancing and singing and loving and learning
Here, there, everywhere
We walk for miles without a care
When will we know when we are there?
Here and there and everywhere.
War is not an act of glory.
War doesn’t always lead to peace.
Soldiers bravely marching onward,
Shooting, slaying enemies.
Heartless machines
Made for killing, not for loving;
Those are the men we raise.
Those are the men we praise.
What’s so glorious about
Broken families,
Back at home?
Mothers weeping for their children
Siblings crying in the night.
Broken hopes and dreams-
College, marriage, children-
Futures shattered
In a moment
With the clear, sharp crack of gunshot
Bullets zooming angrily.
Army funerals and medals,
Praises and awards;
Wasted on a lifeless body-
They could never bring him back,
Heal the hurt in
Mourning families’ hearts.
War is not an act of glory
And it never will be.
Here’s a song I made up for consolation when I was feeling lonely one day…
Marcy is sitting on a bench in the park
She’s waiting for someone to free her from the dark
Marcy is waiting, waiting for you
Marcy has a beautiful face, and a beautiful worldview
It’s raining softly, and Marcy is in school
She goes there frequently, its just another rule
Marcy yearns to escape, and join the clouds above
Marcy knows everything, exept for maybe love.
And another one that just sort of came to me.
Hello all, my name is Sirach R.
I was born upon a shooting star
Christiened on the arid plains of Mars
Hello all, my name is Sirach R.
we pray to the flickering light
that keeps us alive
dim glow spreading in a circle
to which we turn out faces:
we do not dare turn to see what lies beyond it,
but stand blinded
hoping for safety
dark-dreamed whispers slide through our ears
thick and spiraling, snaking,
we hum them away with broken off-key melodies
and shiver as they stroke our bodies
somewhere in the back of our minds
we know
that this light won’t last forever
and that tomorrow
will plunge us into darkness
but we silently plead and pray
that that time won’t come for a
a day a week a month a year
a life
that when it finally goes out,
and we have to face the dark
and let our eyes adjust
we will already have drifted off like moths–
burned up and blinded.
Purposes spent

We long to linger
Purposes spent

We long to linger
Forever, for never,
We long to linger
Two variations on the same theme, inspired by MuseBlog and Terry Pratchet:
Magic is white, the color of sea foam.
Magic is blue, the sea far away.
Magic is brown, the sand on the shore.
Magic is water, magic is sea.
Magic is the sea foam, breaking on the shore.
Magic is the sand, crumbling between toes.
Magic are the waves, washing up forever.
Magic are the rocks, smooth in your hands.
Magic is the sun, shining on the water.
Magic is the ocean, shimmering forever.
My sister thinks I should do one for every element… I might, when NaNo’s over.
Ugh, no. Two of the lines in the last one end in the same word. I just typed up an ending without thinking about it, so I could post it. Didn’t work. Gr. I’ll have to fix that.
Wrote a song a couple of days ago. Critique is mucho appreciado.
I’ve found a place of truth and evil
A playground where feelings revolve and reveal
themselves to be in my medicine cabinet
where bottles of drugs pile up even yet
I’ve found a place where dreams are confined
to the lip-strung (flame) that burns away time
Where smoke cradles my face in miniature crime
And breathes me a veil for the frail pantomime
I’ve found a place for my vices and me
to indulge in the joy of those who are free
Free in the life of taking my own leave
And free from the guilt of having to grieve
But to leave that place is an eloquent hell
And no one understands the stories I tell, of
the deliberate death where I find my own world
And the terror around me, it makes me so cold
(repeat)
I’m missing you
Though we’ve never met
Missing you
Though I don’t know your face.
You’re somewhere, I suppose,
Waiting for the moment when we meet—
But till then,
I’ll remain,
Missing You.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, on the ISS
Not a creature was stirring, the crew was at rest
The experiments all had been closed up with care
In hopes that good results soon would be there
The spiders were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of one-g danced in their heads
And the crew in their bags, putting on their nightcaps
Had just settled down for an Earth-approved nap
When up from the Zvezda, there came such a clatter
They unzipped and hurried to see what was the matter
Away to the window, they floated in a flash
Barely avoiding a zero-g crash
Reflected Earthlight from the planet below
Gave the lustre of day to each steel truss and row
When, what should they find as the cause of this shock
But a bright red rocket, attempting to dock!
Now trying for stealth, not one dared talk
As they floated quietly to the air lock
Each of them unsure of what they would see
No visit was due, so what could it be?
Through Destiny, Unity, Harmony, Pirs
They crept slowly forwards, in spite of their fears
They’d sneak just a peek from behind a wall
And if it was danger, they’d dash away all.
And then in the Soyuz they’d homeward fly
As they had trained for mishaps in the sky
But this exactly was unknown to the crew
This anomaly was so totally new
And then, in a twinkling, they heard just a snatch
Of the opening of a spacecraft’s crew hatch
As they turned to see the source of the sound
Through the air lock St. Nicholas came with a bound
He was dressed all in red, that was quite plain to see
And he moved as if used to their zero-g
A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was smiling, yet mute
And the beard of his chin, white as a space suit.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And they laughed when they saw him, in spite of themselves!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave them to know there was nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And gave them all gifts, then turned with a jerk.
And with a salute, to these three so brave
And back to his rocket, he went with a wave!
He undocked so smooth, they heard nary a whistle
Then his craft flew away, like the down of a thistle
But the transmission came, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Cosmic Christmas to all, to the world a good-night!”
The Beatles’ music in my head,
I try to revive a long-dead thread.
Have You A Future?
I watch with pleading eyes,
my hands linked and resting on the
small of my back
and my fingers are crossed, too.
Her sharp, appraising glance
flits over the paper in her hands
like a fairy;
a mystery.
She passes the paper back to me
and looks into my eyes.
“It was lovely, Emi.
I can see you have a future in poetry.”
I thank her, quietly, but I don’t
truly mean it.
And stumbling home from school that day,
the paper in my hands,
I think about my future
and imagine it as a shimmering fish
caught in a net of poetic nonsense.
And I think about what the teacher said,
as she tried to compliment me,
but only made me feel worse.
Because what about the other children,
who were never told what subject their future was
going to be in?
And I can’t decide whether I am jealous
or sorry for them.
I once met a girl from MuseBlog
It seemed like our voices were clogged
Then we talked about RPs
And did as we pleased
And away went the girl from MuseBlog.
Limerick power, GO! Actually, I had to write this for school. But I was happy because it was fun. Oh, and a “Who Am I?” riddle.
I am me and you are not;
As long as I live I will not be forgot.
I will not be found upon a shelf;
I am found where I am being myself.
I am em and you are uoy;
Work it out-I am girl or boy.
I will be with you as long as you live;
And when you don’t I will forgive.
I am you and you are me;
That’s all I can say in total honesty.
I am one, and I am nine;
I am yours and you’re forever mine.
As you read this you will know;
The truth of this will ever show.
Our fates are forever the same;
We know the truth of this whole game.
There is no use lying to you;
If you see through it I will too.
And if you don’t know this riddle;
All I can say is ‘Hey diddle diddle’.
I would hope that you know it;
And know it is true.
For when you see something;
I do too.
I am two, and I am many;
But I am one worth many a penny.
For your worth is the same as mine;
So take my word and never pine.
the street lamp throws my shadow two minutes ahead of me,
pressing residual echoes of where I will stride into the snow.
I step carefully,
not for fear of slipping but so I may
look back at my tracks,
each boot print distinct in the sea of quartz.
a meandering trail, I walk apart from the beaten path,
though that not so beaten —in a southern town,
snow means days of venturing no further than the nearest hill
and muted, dark nights sheltered indoors.
a rare car drives by. its driver must wonder
why I walk on a night like tonight, in the cold.
I’m not sure myself. it might be to inhale the chilled air
and listen to the crunch of boots, solitary in the settled snow.
I quote robert frost to the dark deep woods (was there ever a more
perfect name for a poet?)
and tug my feet from resisting drifts, leaving behind rabbit holes
that tunnel only to the sidewalk below,
content to walk alone in this
icy moment.
I’m not sure about the end. It doesn’t feel quite right.
Winter comes, dragging
His icy fingers over
Almost everything
Hooray for haikus! And now, your feature presentation:
The sun shines
But there is no heat
It seems to laugh
“Here, here is some light!
But no heat!
Ahahahaha!”
But!
The snow is melting!
I feel warmer!
The grass is growing!
And spring has returned
Driving out winter
With her cheerfulness
And her heat
This is set to the refrain of “Money, Money, Money” from the Mama Mia! soundtrack.
Bunnies, bunnies, bunnies
So many bunnies
In their hot-pink world
Bunnies, bunnies, bunnies
hot-pink bunnies
that will rule our world
Oh ohhhhhhhhhhh, oh ohhhhhhhhhhhhh
I could conquer the Earth
if I had a horde of bunnies
Hello hot-pink Earth
Nothing fantastic, of course, but it’s very catchy if you know the melody.
You may praise your bright sunlight all that you like
And sunbathe and cloudwatch all day
But I myself, should prefer the night,
As the moon shines only for me.
You may think it gloomy and creepy and sad
To spend all my time in the dark
But you’ll never know how the stars do sing
As the moon shines only for me.
And you’ll never know silence so thrilling and deep
That the stars start to chorus and sing
Or the caressing folds of the velvet night sky
As the moon shines only for me.
{meh, it’s not how I thought it would turn out, but I suppose it’s alright… not fantastic, but alright.}
Two households, both alike in dignity
(In fair Verona, where we lay our scene)
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents strife.
-Romeo and Juliet
My friend was reciting that from memory that during gym (5th period) last year, practicing for English (6th period for her). I almost had it memorized myself by the end of the class.
This is a song I made up with my brothers a long time ago for singing on trips. It doesn’t really mean anything:
There’s dinosaurs on the ceiling!
Dinosaurs on the ceiling!
Oh no! What do we do?
Oh no! What do we do?
They’ll eat me and they’ll eat you!
Oh no! What do we do?
There’s dinosaurs on the ceiling!
Dinosaurs on the cei-ling!
Dinosaurs on the cei-ling!
Oh no! What do we do?
Oh no! What do we do?
Shoo, dinosaurs, shoo shoo sho!
Oh no! What do we do?
There’s dinosaurs on the ceiling!
Dinosaurs on the cei-ling!
Dinosaurs on the cei-ling!
It pains me to look at
Photographs
of them in their later years
The dull blankness in their
dark eyes
Their thin lips set in a straight line,
not opened in song or laughter.
What had America done
to these four beautifully messed-up creatures
whom I love with so little relent?
Photographs 2
I will never meet them
So I settle for photographs
surrounding my pallid body
And my pallid life
Photographs of when they were young
See how they smiled
Young, tough, naive boys who just play guitar
and drums
and like to sing
Photographs of when they were older
see how they’ve painfully changed and aged
over the past six years
I know their history like my own
But I have to settle for photographs
and maybe a worn cloth case of CDs
that skip.
A poem with a moral. Of course, me being myself, this moral had to involve zombies.
Zombies rising from the dead,
I think we need a new thread.
Begin these unholy days,
hear us, O GAPAs:
Zombies like to eat your brains,
new threads aren’t much of a pain,
up there it still says 09,
and the zombies start to whine.
Moans and groans are in the street,
we need a poetry meet.
One might wonder what the taste
of a brain is, and in haste
if thou dost not make a thread
zombies may rise from the dead.
Why? Alas, we cannot tell.
Maybe there’s no room in hell.
The point is, new threads are great.
Thanks in advance, sincerely, BRAINS BRAINS BRAINS BRAINS.
Standing in an empty hallway
papers drifting to the floor
somewhere empty eyes are watching
with the barest trace of scorn
a hand slowly pours the tea. It pours
it is a steady hand.
There is no need for milk and sugar
to-day
It is a hallway lined with doors
“We thought to help your pain, My Dear
We thought to have a chat.
We thought of cities and of steam
We thought that you might be in shock
or scorn
We thought to stop by
for a bit.”
There is no need.
The sugar ran out yesterday.
Frost delicately traces on the window-pane
and patterns the dusky trellises
swirling vines like ivy leaves
cold, fragmented
overzealous
Like splattered ink across a page
as it wafts gently
to the floor
Like sparkling gems
or sugar-crystals
along the rim of an abandoned cup
or a long-forgotten door
Somewhere
they are watching
slowly sipping porcelain cups
And somewhere behind hollow eyes
you remember a hallway
and a door
Standing in an empty hallway
papers drifting to the floor
somewhere empty eyes are watching
with the barest trace of scorn
a hand slowly pours the tea. It pours
it is a steady hand.
There is no need for milk and sugar
not today
today
It is a hallway lined with doors
“We thought to help your pain, My Dear
We thought to have a chat.
We thought of cities and of steam
We thought that you might be in shock
or scorn
We thought to stop by
for a bit.â€
There is no need.
The sugar ran out yesterday.
Frost delicately traces on the window-pane
and patterns on the dusky trellis wood
swirling vines like ivy leaves
cold, fragmented
misunderstood
Like splattered ink across a page
as it wafts gently
to the floor
Like sparkling gems
or sugar-crystals
along the rim of an abandoned cup
or a long-forgotten door
Somewhere
they are watching
slowly sipping porcelain drinks
And somewhere behind hollow eyes
you remember a hallway
and a door
My thirteenth orbit ’round the sun
Free, my mind would fly, would run–
Wandering as I laid in bed–
Exploring the world inside my head–
Taking me to vivid dreams
Where everything’s not how it seems–
Where never I found malaise or dread–
Where wonder, in my thoughts, had spread–
The wish to leave, t’was always none–
A world of such uniquely fun–
As I wander into sleep,
As I wander into sleep.
‘Imaginary’ friends, they say–
However!–real in every way–
Friends have never been so true!
Friends who really care for you!
They’re there, watching from above
In a world I know and love:
In rest, a door which I step through–
Over whose clouds I’ve often flew–
Away whose gates I cannot stay–
A world I dream in every day–
A portal into soul so deep:
Wandering in a world of sleep.
Silence is Golden
Or so They say
But Silence with Golden cannot stay
Olympian Golden greets the day
An aureate dawning is display
Saturnine Silence is Death’s stairway
Aberration is a world so gay
Silence is Golden
So They assume
But Golden, its resplendent room
An aureole of Love in bloom
Silence is Plutonian gloom
Acrimonious and adroit in doom
Abjection is a chronic tomb
Silence is Golden
They say such lies
Golden own halcyon skies
Acoustic Silence is when sound dies
Bidding adieu with lethal sighs
Dry your tears, wipe your eyes Silence forbids all such cries
Silence is Golden
To Them is seems
But Golden gleams
With jovial beams
Golden Silences are empty dreams
Fading away with muted screams
I left my pencil on a school desk one day,
Some kid picked it up and carried it away.
They threw the pencil at their friend today,
The teacher yelled at him and took it away.
The pencil lay on the teacher’s desk tomorrow,
A student raised his hand and asked for it to borrow.
The teacher sighed and said “Just bring it back, all right?”
He nodded but instead he took it home that night.
Next week it fell out on the floor of his room,
His mom stepped on it when she went in to vacuum.
She put on his dresser to keep,
The cat knocked it down when he went to sleep.
Next month it fell down the heating grate,
Went straight to the furnace and tested fate.
But it wasn’t to be that the house burned down,
Or that the pencil would then be found.
It got kicked by the plumber to the stairs next year,
The kid was there and he saw it appear.
He brought it to school and dropped it at my feet by chance,
So then I picked it up and I’ve kept it ever since.
Thanks. I always wonder how much stuff drifts away from people during the course of the school day when I see those piles of dirt, dust, papers, and pencils that the janitor sweeps up.
Random poem I wrote during class. I need help with a title…
A tunneling feeling
spiralling downward thrugh my being
and fall -thud!- against the floor of the universe
sprawled out among the stars
as I struggle to remember their words
If a memory has so much meaning
why don’t we all just live in the
mottled yellow glow of our dreams?
We can all curl up
in the corners of the sky
drain ourselves of fear
and sigh as the silvery-lined stormclouds
drift past.
Listening to starlight music
Waiting for the dawn
Dancing to a silent rhythm
Hear the music in my head
Can’t you feel the sunlit starshine
Can’t you hear the silent dawn
Won’t you come see what I hear
Won’t you dance the beat with me
And then some silent sunny night
The stars will come to play
We’ll dance all night and sing all day
The silent dawn will sing again-
I can hear the music
I can see it all
The beauty of the simple things
Are always here and always there to stay.
—
It’s rather random, but it’s a spontaneous poem and one of the only nondepressing poems I’ve wrote in ages. I just followed where the words led me, and I was surprised to find it not depressed.
I honestly love the things you write about. And I love the way you word your stanzas. (even though it doesn’t rhyme. But poetry doesn’t have to rhyme :D) I think your poems are deep in a way… and I love deep things.
Songbird sings his little song
Listen closely
In this song is truth revealed
Songbird craving freedom
Little bird imprisoned
In a cage
Made to sing for other’s pleasure
Day after day
How he’d like to spread his wings
And fly away, away
Sing the song of freedom
All the time, every day
Listen to the songbird sing
The song reveals all truth
But prettier is the free bird’s song
Soaring through the trees
When the sky is blue
And the sun shines brightly
Can you not hear the pretty song
Of the free birds
Many melodies
Intertwining
Song of the free bird
Ringing true.
It depends on how you look at it.
In this poem, I’m trying to express how I feel trapped, and feel that if only I am set free can I really be myself, and sing the song of the free bird, so to say.
F+H: Your poems are great. Although they are sad at times, sad is happy for deep people.
Hmm…. I’ll try writing one…
Four owls perched upon my door.
“The time has come”, the first one said
The seconds, the seconds
Living faster than ever before.
No wait, no mess
No time to live
No roses are there anymore.
“The time has come”, the second one said
The hours, the hours
Living with rules
Nothing can change
No care, no fuss
No thoughts outside the bounds.
“The time has come”, the third one said.
The years, the years
Living takes time
You might as well wait
Patience makes gain
No wishing it hadn’t taken so long.
“The time has come”, the fourth one said.
The eons, the eons
Living is short
Everything crumbles into dust.
What remains will be your story
Let people know what you have done
“The time has come”, I said.
From seconds to eons
It’s all the same
Live your life
And live it well
That is all I need to tell.
And all the owls flew away.
More inspirational than I usually write, and also a change in style.
Thanks! I was actually thinking of one stanza of “The Walrus and The Carpenter” when I wrote some of the stanzas. It goes:
“The time has come” The Walrus said
“To talk of many things
Of shoes, and ships and sealing wax
Of cabbages and kings
And why the sea is boiling hot
And whether pigs have wings”.
Your poetry is the type I try to write all the time, free verse, without structure, and I always fail.
The sun was shining on the sea,
He shone with all his might.
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright
And this was odd because it was
The middle of the night.
—
I know part of the next verse and the one you posted but that’s all from that poem. I keep meaning to go back and memorize it : /
Honestly, all I wanted was honesty.
How can I believe that you can’t see
the hurt in my eyes when you lie to me?
And how can you think that I wouldn’t know
exactly what you can’t fail to show?
Understanding, that is what I have to offer.
And so here I wait with hopeful heart.
Hoping your confidence you will impart.
Don’t leave me waiting.
Enc, that’s beautiful. I love it. Fireh, all of your songs/poems are lovely as well. And kiwimuncher, the first line of your poem is immensely wonderful, though sad.
Tell Me
Tell me what the world is like
for my eyes have been sealed shut,
encrusted by flecks of sleep
for too long
and I’ve forgotten.
I miss the warmth
of a fellow human’s breath
upon my ashen skin
and I miss the image
of slender, screeching gulls flitting gracefully
over a stillborn lake.
Tell me what love is like.
I miss the look that lovers give each other
like there’s nothing else in the universe
except each other and a couple
of stray stars.
And I even miss the emptiness
the shuddering sobs within a locked room
when it has ended
knowing that, in a week,
it will no longer matter.
Tell me, my dearest, what life is like.
Does yours have a purpse now
or are you still wandering
through roadmaps and photographs
lies and sweet-nothings?
Are you a part of the universe,
as just as I once was?
The ending needs to be rewritten, but I can’t figure out a way to make it work.
I often find that being angry at something clears my head. It makes me more…logical…somehow, in my thinking. Maybe if I’ve just been in a debate or an argument, my brain is trying to come up with lots of things to say against the other person? I don’t really know…
This is a song that I made up in science class when our teacher was talking about spongy bone. I asked, “Is that the real scientific name??”
She said, “Maybe not, but that’s what we’re going to call it.” So when I was supposed to be doing my work, I wrote this little song, sung to the tune of… oh, I think you can guess.
Who live in a bone that is in your body?
SPONGY BONE!
Absorbant and whitish and porous is he!
SPONGY BONE!
He needs lots of calcium to stay healthy,
SPONGY BONE!
And he’s in the skeletons of you and me,
SPONGY BONE! etc.
My teacher wants me to make a music video of it now…
The sky is smoked, the ground is scorched
Mother Earth, we, Man, had torched
Creatures gone, plants no more
All remains is eternal war
Ragged banners, abandoned fields
Bloodshed’s what mankind revealed
Death will reign over the land
No one living left to stand
And this world, for all it’s worth:
Burning (heck) on Dying Earth
Might possess a miniscule chance
And might not die much in advance
If humans, all of us can be
Loving towards what we feel and see
The Earth, from land to skies above
And preach of living, Life, and Love.
Sashimi once, bluebells twice,
Snips and snails and everything nice.
The motorcycle
Refuses to recycle
Beans and butterflies.
Once I wrote a limerick,
A word that rhymes is “pumpernick,”
Which doesn’t really rhyme
But a spice that does is “thyme”
And one more line that rhymes is “slim and slick.”
Silver Lining went to town, a-Flying on a truffle,
Wearing her best Old Brown Shoe and causing a kerfuffle.
That is all I have to say.
Come and play another day.
I want to smile
I want to frown
Wanna see your face
I want to run
I won’t fall down
Wanna win this race
I don’t want you to go
Don’t go with the wind
I want to smirk
I want to sigh
Wanna scream your name
I want the truth
Give me no lie
Wanna see you ashamed
Cause you’re leaving me behind
You’re flying away with the wind
I want to laugh
I want to cry
Wanna show you my pain
I want to live
I want to die
Wanna be happy again
Cause I know that you’re gone
You’ve gone with the wind
Yeah
Gone with the wind.
—
My new song I’m writing, working title of With the Wind. I’m working on the piano accompaniment, I’ve got the vocals down though. Me and Holly may sing this together, or I may do this as a solo.
Like….Kesha. *refuses to spell name with dollar sign* WHY DO PEOPLE PERSIST ON BEING FAMOUS
You know, she paraded around on American Idol wearing a silver leotard, combat boots, and an INDIAN HEADRESS! With backup dancers wearing TV SCREENS with her FACE ON THEM dancing behind her! ARRASREARASEOIJHODFIGHOIADHTGOKASDNFLK BNO
ASOERJHOI
1`890723
I’ll stop. I hope you become famous someday, anyway, Fireh.
Snippets of talking
Pieces of lives
Parts of a jumbled tapestry.
I see it all, from my seat on the side
Alone, in introvert heaven
But though I like silence
I also like friends
Mingling, feeling a part.
I can’t break the habit
Of talking to none
Not even when I feel alone
Trying to find
My place in this world
Trying to fit in with living
Finding new friends
Without talking first
How well could that ever work?
Then why do I do it?
Why can’t I talk?
Why do I keep from the circle?
Am I scared of the world? Is it worse than the pain
Of being alone while they’re talking?
Maybe someday
I’ll break loose from these chains
The self-imposed chains of loneliness.
Or maybe someday
Chains will all fall away
Maybe I’ll wake
And find myself brave
I wait for that day, but I cannot hope
Longing, but not yet believing.
I am alone,
Except for my friends.
But none of the new ones are counted.
~~~
That sounds a lot more depressing than my life actually is.
Head tilted back to face the star-filled sky,
you ask me why
I am so enthralled with the dark of night
instead of light
Why I prefer to be somewhere alone
instead of home
Why I stay quiet when I could speak out
take other routes.
The stars glint, like a forgotten city
like mystery.
I shrug, and smile, and still stare up again
hoping for rain
Hoping for love and hate and bliss and fights
Hoping for life.
_____
Doing couplets in creative writing, this was today’s assignment.
A more selfless house-elf might never be known
First years of his life: spent serving a family
The Malfoys; most merciless pure-bloods that ever will be;
Until a smelly old sock was by chance at him thrown
Lucius Malfoy once owned, now had, an elf, set free
In need of some Galleons, he went door-to-door
‘A house-elf want paying?’ they’d say with a smirk
‘Not likely,’ they’d shout; slam the door; go berserk
For two years he travelled, every failure he bore
An emancipated elf wanted money for work
After twenty months, Dobby had had some thoughts
As to where an elf might find work for a Knut
Albus Dumbledore gladly provided a job, but
He must work with the others in the kitchens of Hogwarts
For ten Galleons a month, never drop the teapots
Alas, poor Dobby met untimely ends
Pierced in the chest by Bellatrix’s sharp knife
At Malfoy Manor; it stopped his short life
He was never meant to die – he was loved by his friends
Who unwittingly involved him in wizarding strife
His masters he served; while through struggles and strains
To be a liberated elf was his life’s only aim
The sui juris spirit lies buried, leaving the fame
Of the free, noble house-elf; all that remains-
A white weathered gravestone, bearing his name: Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf
Eh, I know it’s not perfect, and I only really like the second and fifth stanzas, but still.
Little pothole in the road
How felt thee when tyres flowed
Into thee, and never around
Dropping deep, down to the ground
How bore thee it if trucks would run
Rumbling and grumbling, weighing a ton
Squashing the poor tarmac around thee flat
And widening the hole where its wheel sat
How lived thee when wheels would roll
Over thee, and cars would bowl
Straight across thee, without a care
For the dip in height; perhaps it’s rare
For potholes to stand, unnoticed, alone
Without man have the gap be sewn
Until the street is smooth, looks new
Save for the middling patch of a darker hue
Perhaps it shall return, some day
To find a new place, still in the way
Of busy transport and everyday car
Travelling over this scar in the tar
Me? If it is me, then thank you! I was inspired to write this poem after walking home from the bus stop and coming across an almost perfectly round pothole in the road. I wrote almost all of it before I even got home, where I quickly typed it up, lest I forget. That’s how inspirations come for me. Suddenly and randomly – when I’m about to fall asleep (e.g. In Memoriam) or walking home. Anyway, I also think you’re a very good poet! Yay!
Selenium, I envy your ability to create poems without having to use pen and paper. And I love your inspirations! Not many people would write about potholes. (Maybe except for P_M. PM, you’re a wonderful poet too! Pencils ))
“Mother Carey’s Chickens”
The petrels scream and wheel beneath a vast uncaring sky
Like empty-hearted mourners ever calling for the lost.
The sun has broken through the clouds; its beams divert the eye,
But the sea is full of drifting ice, the pebbles rimed with frost.
A ship is moored at harbor, its salt-caked rigging torn,
A dozen scars for every mile of ocean it has crossed.
Its single weary passenger stands at the bow, forlorn,
And stares across the strand to see what passing years have cost.
The exile’s eye is dimmed with age, his face is lined and worn,
A shrunken wreckage of the man who once had left this shore,
But stubborn memory persists. He sees where he was born,
His childhood haunts, a girl he kissed- but the water’s sullen roar
Is all he hears. The empty houses slump, as if to cry.
The lighthouse has been dark for years, with rotten board and floor.
He turns and gives the order to depart. The white sails fly,
The waves roll back. The petrels follow in their wake- no more.
This is supposed to be sort of a song, or chant. It expresses some feelings I’ve been having in Science class.
~~~~~~~~~~~
(pianissimo)
An infinite black
Standing still
Never moving
Nothing comes
Nothing goes
(piano)
A silent universe
Tiptoeing through the elegant dance
Suns and stars
Galactic turns
Slowly spinning
(mezzo piano)
Suns with their planets
Andante dances, burning, dying
Yet brightly spirited
Never stopping
Always orbiting
(mezzo forte)
One small planet
Galloping in the lively dance
Whirling around the sun
Incredible distance
And always alive
(forte)
On the planet
Whirling through the spirited dance
Always living, never stopping
Tiny mortals, we are
Living life
Completely unexpected
(fortissimo)
Oh, miracle of life!
From dust, we come
The heavens in their giant dance
And our small lives, focused on us
Always moving, never stopping
And yet, one does never know the other
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comments?
During Science class, I’ve really been getting a sense of proportion. Tiny little beings, on a tiny planet, orbiting a star that usually would go unnoticed, in just one of billions of galaxies.
And yet somehow science class managed to be boring.
I really like your poem, Enc! And also, I disagree about science class always managing to be boring. I love my science class! And we’re about to start the astronomy unit next week. We are finally done with Transfer of Energy! I am so sick of physics. What I really love about astronomy is all the deep questions it raises, such as the proportion thing. We can’t even begin to imagine how small we really are, or how big the universe really is. It’s mind-boggling. This reminds me of a debate my friends and I had recently about which is better, astronomy or physics. Astronomy won, needless to say. I am so pro. It also kind of helps that 3 vs 2 turned into 4 v 1 after we successfully converted one of them to astronomy.
Argh. Why do my posts always turn out so long? Mental note to self: stop going off on tangents all the time!
Amazing! *loves*
I like the way you have the dynamics marked out. It really gives it a neat vibe. I’m imagining what it would sound like with music.
Again, utterly amazing. I wish I could write things like you do.
Credit goes to Tessera Rose for this one. Apologies to any Twilight fans.
It’s to the tune of the Comet song.
Twilight!
It makes your brain turn smooth.
Twilight!
It makes you lose your frood(-iness, perhaps)
Twilight!
Please don’t highlight!
A line in Twilight!
So throw your Twilight, out your skylight, today!
F+H: You really think I’m good? My poems always seem a bit cheesy to me. This poem was partly inspired by Selenium’s ode. And riding home from Junior Districts
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ode to a highway at night
Darkened sky, green and blue
Lights winking, between the black trees
Slipping past so fast
Shadow houses, behind floating guardrails
Always the same
And never the same
Rivers of lights, cars and trucks
We pass each other
Illuminating the road
Just a glimpse of another life
And never to be seen again
Road like a river
We flow along it
Merging and swimming and bumping
Turning and twisting
Mysteriously whispering
And never totally seen
Enc, you are much, much, MUCH better than me. In an entirely different level. Your poems capture the very essence of life. At least, in my humble opinion.
I’ll post some of my latest pathetic attempts at poetry anyway.
—
Balance Point
Tilting this way and that
Moving forwards
Moving back
Seeking balance
Seeking equilibrium
But sometimes
There is no balance point
You fall that way or this way
You can’t stay up
There is no winning
Sometimes
The only way is down
There is no way not to fall
Falling, falling
Landing with a thud
Then you’re stuck
In a hole
Get me out
Of this hole
And there’s no way to get out
But sometimes
There’s a ladder
And you climb
And climb
And you’re at the top again.
—
You and Me
Your smile is bright like the sun
Full of life-
Rejoicing all you’ve won.
My smile is like the crescent moon
Barely there
Small and sad.
Your voice rings out
Loud and clear
Your song shows your joy in life
My voice is soft
Projected, but soft
My song holds hidden sadness
Your dance is fast
Eye-catching and lively
You celebrate your youth
My dance is slow
Wearily plodding
I look towards the future
You are bright as the day
Golden locks flying in the wind
Blue eyes sparkling with merriment
I am dark like the night
Dark brown strands stray from a braid
Dark eyes full of hidden sorrow
You stand tall
Skipping jubilantly through life
Your stance shows to all your pride
I stand straight
Walking silently through life
My stance showing that I wish to be unseen
You are a belle
With your golden hair and blue eyes
Like a fountain of happiness
I am a plain jane
Dark and ordinary
A well of silence
You are everything I wish I could be
Fair, tall, beautiful, happy
Everything I’m not
I am what I am
Dark, small, plain, solemn
Opposite of you
You are the sun,
Shining on all you meet
Brightly rejoicing life.
I am the moon,
Dimly shining on those close to me
Seeing life as it is.
Sometimes I wonder
if I will ever be like you
Shining bright with joy
But I am locked too tightly
Within my shell of silence
To change myself
I am happy
To stand in the shadow of your light
And be your friend.
My poems…. I have to have some type of structure, yet at the same time it’s freeverse. Like, I’ll have each verse in lines of three, and that’ll be my rule, then I can do anything I like within that rule. Does that make sense?
I think we’ve got entirely different styles, and thus cannot be compared fairly.
My locker is lucky.
It is a top locker,
And,
The person under me rarely goes to her locker.
It is a small cocoon of red metal.
It is warm and safe.
On bad days, I open the door of my locker,
Stick my head inside,
And half of the hallway is cut off from my vision.
On rainy days,
Rainy Tuesdays,
Rainy Tuesdays where I know I have a test in English and notes to take in science and math homework to finish and there’s no band tomorrow and I have to go into homeroom and my friends are mad at me and I have to go to music,
I wish I could stay in my locker all day.
I wish I could shrink.
Climb behind my books
Lying on a sheet of crumpled-up notebook paper
Tapping my fingers on the red metal
And staying in my warm, safe, sheltered red locker,
Until the day is over and I can go home.
I am sitting here
In Science class
How dull it is
(The same with math.)
I am watching the clock
And its hands, round they go
And thinking of things
That I’d much rather know.
How does a clock work?
Why do birds sing?
And why did Ringo Starr
like to wear so many rings?
What began the universe?
And how shall it end?
If you write the town but not the zip-code
Will the letter still send?
Will it rain today?
Do I have gym next, or art?
Whoever got the idea that babies
should ride in shopping carts?
Will I still remember him in twenty years?
And was the bucket yellow or green?
Am I really a raving insomniac?
And what is the purpose of a spleen?
Is this class almost over?
I should really hope so.
The bell has just rung
So away I shall go.
—
Can You? Will You?
Can you read me the story of life?
And tell me how old is time?
Can you tell me what splits a great four-way force
And tell me, is love blind?
Can you hold my hand when we cross the street
And just enjoy the view?
Can you disperse into history?
Or can I stay here, forever, with you?
Can you cradle me in the crook of the universe
And guarantee the world will never end?
Can you spend all your wishes on a single fallen star
And pinky-promise that we’ll always be friends?
Silver Lining I love your poem!!! I feel the exact same way. In fact I recently found some old poems I wrote in science last year. I’ll try to post them And so I don’t post three separate times on this thread:
122 Jadestone – Beautiful. Short and sweet. And wonderful imagery. ( I love imagery! )
124 fireh – As usual you don’t fail to amaze. Personally I think you are the strong girl.
And pop each incoming balloon with a sharp, pointy pin
Poor balloons
———————————————
Note: I wrote this poem on a whim, because my friend was playing Bloons Tower Defense in class today and introduced me to it. We were supposed to be writing our poems for Language Arts, but I’ve already written mine (Ode to a Pothole), so I spent the time playing BTD and writing this. It’s not very good. I don’t like it very much. But hey, who cares?
The spy one? I’ve read that!!!!!!!!! After I read it I snuck upstairs, hid, and then jumped out at my dad as he was climbing the stairs. He was mad at me
here’s a poem I wrote for my LA poetry final. Not my favorite, but I still like it. the 3rd paragraph is my favorite.
Slate-Grey Skies
The harsh and frigid winters nights and days
When all is cold, when all seems to sleep
For the world works in mysterious ways
When all that’s seen’s the mountain steep
For where does all the color run to
That brightens summer days true?
Or the fall glory dazzling you
To hide from winter’s keep?
Now all you have are slate-grey skies
Deaf to your lonely, tearful cries
When you learn ev’rything dies
For life is never cheap
As you sit beneath snowy, grey, tree
And chance to think what was meant to be
Remember the seasons and think of me
Of how I would not leap
The world is frozen, brittle, and cold
One blow can shatter all held dear
Yet your heart throbs with songs of old
Of light and hope, each runs deep
So part the clouds with hopes strong wind
Let us all see what is behind
So take a deep breath and unwind
I’ll watch your peaceful sleep
Now take my hand and close your eyes
Pretend you cannot leap.
thank you. It had to rhyme (most of mine don’t) the assignment was to identify the poetic devices used in a poem and emulate that poem, right down to the number of sylables per line. I emulated “The Blossom Never Knows” by I don’t-quite-remember-who.
SFTDP My best friend wrote this poem and she gave me permission to share it with you.
You can cry that he’s gone,
and you can say nothing’s wrong.
You can wish he’ll finally realize,
but boys are not nearly as wise.
You can say, “I’m happy for him”
but you know you will never be the same.
You can try to leave the pain behind,
and yet, he’s still on your mind.
I don’t know how you feel,
I’ve never had to deal.
but know i’ll always be there,
whenever life’s not fair.
In my pain,
In my confusion
I say to my enemy
Get thee away
get thee away from me.
get thee to heaven,
get thee to hell
but get thee
far, far, away
from me.
SFTDP-I meant to share this with you in the same post, but my mother came demanding access to her email.
It’s called All we dream of:
All that is
all that was
all that could be
all that’s not
All we dream of
all we need
All we think of
all we plead
And the words flow on the paper
like a stream down from my head
And though I feel all alone
I know that it will end.
As I see you in the distance
The you inside my dreams
though I know that in this instance
the dream is killing me.
As you sit down across from me
and look me in the eye
I know that you will free me
I know the dream will die.
And I begin to cry.
All that is
all that was
All that could be
all that will be
All that’s not
and all that we dream of.
I wrote this just after I was over-ish crushing on my one of my best friends. I hate crushing on my friends.
You hate cruching on your friends? I had a crush on one of my friends a while ago and totally loved it. It was the getting over it and seeing what a lovesick nutcase I had become that was REALLY painfull.
Confusion is here.
Chaos breaks loose.
Yet through all of this,
all I can see is you.
I run to you, but find myself lost
Hopelessly lost.
Why is this?
I try and call your name,
but my voice is never heard.
“HELP, HELP!” I cry,
but you just pass on by.
Like I mean nothing.
Why is this?
Do you not care.
whether I live or die?
Do you not care,
that I always think about you
and always will?
I run to you,
but you act if I am not there.
Why is this?
You take no notice of me in public,
but alone,
I mean the world to you.
At least, this is what you say
Do you really mean it?
Do you really care?
Although you say you do,
I know you do not mean it.
Why is this?
You guys know the feeling, right?
When it’s way too late and the stars are calling
But you just can’t bring yourself to shut your eyes and sleep?
When an overwhelming loneliness creeps in
And someone is trying to pry open your ribcage
And your heart is yearning, aching, moaning for some unknown cure.
When your hands ache to create but your nerves are crying out
And all you want to so is lapse into the sweet, empty bliss of sleep
But your heart is calling to the sky
Wishing, needing something more.
You guys know the feeling, right?
It’s not just me?
I know the feeling
When the night is black as ink
And thousands of stars are splashed across the sky
Twinkling, blinking goodnight
Yet the windows are shut
The curtains are drawn
And in suffocating darkness, I lie, eyes open
The house is asleep
The world is asleep
It seems as if just one person tonight
Is awake
Hidden in the shadows
The blankets are too hot
The pillow is too cold
I toss and turn, and yearn for sleep
For relaxed escape
For honeyed dreams
But my mind is racing, racing
With too many thoughts to contain
A million inspirations arrive at once
And with them comes the urge to write them down
In my sleepless state, wide-awake
I struggle to remember all these things
Torn between wanting to sleep
And wanting to think
Night-time is for sleeping
But for me, it’s the only time I have
Free, interrupted time
For thinking, just thinking
As outside, hundreds of stars fade away
As dark turns to dawn
The sky lightens to a deep purple
Faintly-coloured, bruised blue
Birds, awaken, stretch their wings
With a flurry of feathers
And rise into the morning air with a warble or two
As finally, finally
I drop off to sleep
Oh yes, I know the feeling.
The yearning for one final look
When it’s already far too late
And I’ve been up reading far too long
But who can resist the moon?
Not my heart, I cannot.
Don’t take off the glasses, just stand and stare
At the window in the dark, sleepy-eyed.
So high above the city’s glow
Looking down, kindly.
A destination for my dream-ships if no others.
On warmer, summer nights
I’ve lain on coastal lawns
And stared eternities at Vega and the Rift
Or climbed high in slick trees,
Moss-covered branches
Half-blinded in the dark
But not blind to what lies above me
Pulling myself up to a sitting-place
And watching the great cascading band of stars
Between the wind-blown leaves
It’s hard to remember
On stuffy, cloudy winter nights
Alight with city-glow
After long chatroom debates
On policy, budgets and messiness
On rage and criticism, of hopes won and lost
That wonder in the rural trees or fields.
But I wrap myself up tight
And call it back,
Let it overcome my worries
As it must
And feel again the wonder and serenity
It’s good to remember on those stuffy nights
Those summer eve feelings
For these are the feelings
That set our minds to voyaging
It’s good to remember-
My favorite of those so far. *applauds* The others are great too though.
“Chain Mail ( Happy Poem )”
I
am
an
Apple!
(If you are taken.)
I
am
a
Cherry!
(If you like someone but not sure how they feel about you.)
I
am
a L-E-M-O-N– (If you have given up.)
That is
not very
happy.
I
am
a
Pineapple!
(If you’re just taking life as it comes.)
I
am
a
Strawberry!
(If you like someone and they like you but you’re not going out.)
Fruits!
Fruits!
They
are
so
juicy
and
fruity
and
happy
things.
Pseudo
is
Grananamonapple!
( The Pine-apple
apple. )
I know the feeling
of sitting out in the summer,
all alone.
And knowing I should sleep tonight
but, look, there’s the moon
and wondering if I’ll ever know
what it’s like to be warm
as I sit beneath the pines
or on the waters edge
And almost crying
for the love and stress and joy
flowing through me,
yes I’m happy
but I can always remember
what it’s like to be sad
I see the stars in millions
forget the clouds in the city
this is summer
smell the breeze
through the trees
the evergreen, the pine
sweet, cool, salt off of the sea
this is summer
and, for once this year,
I am nearly home.
Marvel at the universe streached above me
marvel that I am alive.
see the lights on other islands
hear the waves,
it’s never quiet here.
smell that breeze again
hug my knees up to my chest
and think over this moment
it’s enough to make me wonder
where my life is going
cause, no matter how I plan
and plot, till I get there
I won’t know.
but that’s alright, i guess.
because right now,
I am home.
Did you know
It feels like joy and melancholy
All mixed together ’til you can’t tell one from the other
Like dancing alone in a crowd
Heartbeat mixing with the bass drum
It feels like you’re about to overflow
But then it ebbs away and
You feel strangely deprived
Empty
I know the feeling
of sitting on a roof
letting velvety warm air surround me
watching the stars above me turn in the sky
and reflect in the river below.
A place apart from noise and rush
that still can see
still watches
what lies below
I’d like to say that I sold a poem of mine to a magazine recently! It is my first sale.
Yes I know THAT feeling
that my life is incomplete
that I am still waiting for
something.
or maybe, just perhaps
someone.
And often I feel homesick
even when I’m sitting in my room
And the world just spins around me
and I can’t quite grasp it
can’t quite join it
though I’m in it.
And I love the feeling
of danceing in the rain
whirling and twirling
my hands warm in hers
the rest cold and wet
a smile on my face
I will never forget
that feeling
I also love the feeling
of sitting on the shore
my knees up to my chest
and listening to the wind blow
feeling it soft on my skin
and breathing in the scent
of the trees and the water
the scent of the island.
it makes me feel so small
but so safe
a part of something
SO BIG
i can’t begin to understand it.
I write poetry
’cause in a poem
i don’t have to explain.
I can show you how I feel
show you my memories
my fears
and not have to explain them
I write poetry
to deal with the emotions
the lonelienes the grief
I’ve seen too many die
and too many shrink
inside themselves.
I need to get it out
or part of me will die as well.
I write poetry
to show the unknown that
I don’t fear it
that I’m ready,
waiting even.
to see what comes
I write poetry
to calm down
to feel alive
to know myself,
my thoughts
and not fear those either.
What do you do,
when you’ve given up hope?
What do you do,
when everything goes wrong?
Do you just face the facts and move on?
Or do you always keep those horrid memories,
close to your heart.
When life isn’t fair,
who’s shoulder do you cry on?
When the road never seems to end,
who do you turn to?
Do you have someone to whom
you can tell everything?
Or do you keep your feelings to yourself.
Are you like me?
When everything goes wrong
and there is no hope to be found,
do you take things as they come,
and not do anything about it?
When life isn’t fair,
and the road seems to never end,
do you keep your feelings bottled up
inside yourself?
On the outside, are you a bubbly person,
yet on the inside, your heart hurts,
you’re angry, happy, scared,
jealous, and alone at the same time?
I know the feeling
of when the stars swirl around you
and there’s nowhere to look but up.
The feeling of the wind in the trees
and the frozen icicles hanging in the air
wanting to open your mouth
and sing?shout?whisper?
glorygloryglory
but for what, you do not know.
There’s a quiet, private feeling
of when it’s so late the sun is rising
but it can’t be time to sleep, not yet
I think, yes, I think I know the feeling
of when there’s too much skyworld to sleep
and you slip out your window and stand
on the grass rainflicking your feet with the night’s dew,
looking at the death-dimming stars
and itching to fight and obey
at every moment, at the same time, the feeling to run.
Do you know how I feel about you?
Do you know that when you call,
I drop everything I’m doing, no matter
how important, just to listen to you.
Do you know that when I see you,
I automatically smile?
Do you know that I treasure
every moment spent with you?
Do you know how much you mean to me?
Do you know that I would be depressed for weeks
if you ignored me?
Do you know that if you asked me to,
I would walk to the ends of the earth
in a heartbeat?
Do you know that I would do anything
to be with you, for even just a minute?
OK, so, apparently the poem I wrote in one day (the day before the deadline) to submit to a city-wide poetry competition was a finalist. I have mixed feelings. I’m happy that I got through, of course. I’m also surprised that it made it, as, like I said, I practically wrote it in two seconds and it’s not very good. On the other hand, I don’t like the poem as much as some of my later creations, and I don’t really want people thinking this is my best (though of course they’ll think it’s ‘really good – I mean, you won!’), because I can write and have written so much better. Here’s the poem in case any of you were curious. It’s long.
HONG KONG YOUTH MUSIC INTERFLOWS, 2009
the orchestra walks out onto the stage
single file, they solemnly proceed
streaming through the hastily arranged rows of stands
until every last musician is seated
all but one
one empty chair at the very front
is left, conspicuously vacant
the lights are dimmed, yellow
the audience shuffles edgily
the orchestra sits nervously
backstage, I hear their anxiety in my own heartbeat
loud, fast; it threatens to halt my breathing
the hand clutching my violin is sweaty
the audience is quiet, and I know
it is time
taking one last breath, I step
out of the shadows
and into the glaring light
as I walk across the stage
the same steps we’ve practiced
over and over and over again
on one side: the orchestra, my orchestra
below me is the audience
large and critical
hungry eyes watching this new
addition to the stage
under the pretext of polite applause
this solitary figure, who draws so well the interest of her orchestra
as she walks across the stage, every student seems to
sit up a little straighter
adjust their instrument a little more
and now, I’ve reached my seat
directly to the left
of the conductor’s podium
I stand, and turn my back to the stolid audience
among them the judges
that first note ‘A’ breaks the restless silence
facing the cellos, I play the one note
drawing my bow across the string
on and on, until everyone is tuned
of course, everyone is already tuned
but this is for show
for the judges
the concertmaster entering separately
the orchestra fake tuning
all for the competition
finally, I sit down
the conductor enters, and starts without delay
the piece itself is a blur in my mind
I only remember
the excitement
and passion I feel
I want to win; I want us to win
finished, we stand up
take a bow
breathing heavily
from the thrill and energy
of finishing a piece successfully
flushed with the heat of accomplishment
in the end, we win
our school earns gold
when really
all anyone could have hoped to imagine for
was silver, at most
onstage when they announce it
I am shocked into silence
it seems as if
my happiness is too much
too much to be contained inside me
I cannot restrain the grin
from spreading across my face
until I am positively beaming
to myself, and to the audience
I receive the award
gingerly holding the very envelope labelled with the words:
“gold prizeâ€
and suddenly, it finally sinks in
the section where our school is sitting
has exploded
students and teachers alike
jumping up and down
hugging each other
screaming
“gold – gold! tied with DGS*!â€
no one, nobody expected such a triumph
we have won gold
gold!
and I, as concertmaster
have led our school to victory
*A local school. They’re really strong academically and musically. I still have no idea how we managed to tie for gold with them. The judges must have been Confunded.
To the chamber farthest east,
I plod to wrestle with the beast.
All the less defensive portals,
Are taken by the happy mortals,
The beast will never die.
I enter the arena,
Trudging ever nearer.
Nearer to the only
Magic realm left lonely,
I seat myself and sigh.
“Now, beast, awaken!
The other portals taken,
I have no choice but to select
You, who in normal I’d reject,
You that will never die.”
I give the beast a prod,
In its side most broad,
It wakens with a groan
Begins to whiz and whir and moan.
Appendages all awry.
I sit and wait
Before the gate
To that magic land
Free knowledge at hand
The beast watches with a lazy eye.
Finally it asks my name.
I quickly tap it out.
Three zero zero three nine four,
I submit it with a clout.
So I have entered in one gate,
But barriers are still yet to come,
My nerves are beginning to grate.
Sitting, staring, glum.
I will watch my beast’s face,
Waiting for the obstacles to leave,
Hunkering down with little grace,
Not appreciating this siege.
Finally, all the fences are down!
The land of free knowledge is in sight!
This event lessens my frown,
I still have one more fright.
This beast is corpse-like, very slow,
A reluctant chauffeur,
Blocks me from many I want to go
Those that have forbidden allure.
However, I am grateful at least
For not even needing to abet,
This square, gray, horrible beast
To let me onto the Internet.
To go farther
Of what I might do
Who I may become
What might change
Who might leave
To go to the deep end
That I’ll go off the deep end
Of what might happen, and it’ll all be my fault
But, I’m afraid
I’ll stay behind
That I won’t do anything
I won’t become anything
I’ll stagnate
My friends will become a clique
Not to explore
Not to be crazy
I’ll make good things will happen, and I won’t benefit
I am so sorry
I must admit you had me fooled there for a while
And if I’d known how it’s been hurting you
Tearing you apart
I don’t know how I could have helped
I only know I would.
Oh, dear, I know just how it is
How he makes your heart jump
Makes a smile slide onto your face no matter what the time or place
How your very fingertips are shaking
And you’re going weak at the knees
Trust me, I know
I guess I was too blind to see
What was before my nose
Oh, dear, I know you deserve him
Way more than I ever could
You’ve always been the kind one
The giving one, the lovely one
And dear, I’m sure I know I’m greedy
And I’m so sorry
Because I don’t think I know how to let go.
1. A comet streaks across the sky, flung through space by some unseen force. This is I. You are a planet, unavoidable, vast. As I find myself crashing into your surface I am changed: charred by ozone, skin peeled back layer by layer until my heart lies in smoldering pieces fragments of star scarring your surface. Smashed pieces slowly absorbed, alien imprints.
The planet turns on, barely noticing the impact.
2. Humans are fascinated with blood. The color, the smell, the taste.
What matters is what it carries.
3. Space is vast.
4. All comes from the center, the point of origin. All matter in one dot.
At that point, that time,the atoms that form our bodies were closer than we could ever force them now.
5. In the vastness of space, planets and comets are the same size.
6. We form intimate bonds with everyone, even strangers, especially strangers.
(when you give your heart away, you know who to)
I breathe. Air flows into my lungs, into blood. It is transported to the far reachers of my body, lodges into some obscure cell of which I am unaware. Eventually it is released, carried out again by blood to eventually be expelled in a laugh, a whisper, a yearning. These same atoms that were so intricately woven into my being are now absorbed into others, released again, taken in.
Inside me I carry a thousand strangers, and I am unknowingly bound to thousands myself.
7. Long ago, everyone thought that the heavens were fixed, unchanging. The only things that did move about and flux were the ones in our own atmosphere.
You could not change the sky
You could not change the stars.
8. Everyone thinks I am brave.
9. Distance does not matter, there is nothing more sacred than the exchange of air.
10. Some part of me will always be lodged deep within you, unknown to us both.
11. Everything moves. Particles shake and flee, planets spin, the ink shadow of the sky is slowly growing, drawing us farther away from the other pinpricks of light.
Life repels:
People shift, move away.
12. The distance between us is negligible. Look at the universe:
to it, we are the same.
13. Nothing we do matters.
Everything we do has impact.
14. A star was born, and the world whirled in disbelief.
15. A single motion: a dismissal, a smile, a laugh, a kiss.
None is noticed by that infinite dark, yet somewhere inside sparks swirl and die.
16. The distance between us is infinite.
17. We are made of dinosaur bones and oceans and the shattered fragments of comets.
Atoms never change, only exchange.
The skin I wear now will some day be the dust of a far away moon, the chemicals roaring through my blood the flash of a future sun.
18. Emotion leaves no physical mark.
Feelings are unsharable.
19. We are each our own galaxy.
20. Long after the universe finishes its outward rush and crumples back in on itself, invisible traces will linger in the spaces that no longer exist:
longing
fear
hope
21. Someday
matter will retract
(who knows how many times we have begun this dance)
and we will be closer than imaginable once more
22. Laugh with me now: Life is nothing more than a
flash
a distant sun suddenly going out
And the realization that a star we thought we knew
has been dead for eons.
Thank you. A while ago I became fascinated with the poem “Spaces” by Arkaye Kierulf, which Sweet Melpomene posted here ages ago. It is a remarkable remarkable piece and you all should read it because I did and fell in love a little. I tried writing in this style a few times and let’s just say it was failures that I never posted (for good reason).
But this poem just came out that way on it’s own. Things are better that way.
The full title is Perspective (There is no such thing as death).
I am unable to counteract all the dying, crying, ignoring, and unrequited loving that goes on on this thread. Somebody help me out.
“Ode to Trees”
Paper,
paper,
Everywhere paper!
Overflowing, piles growing,
paper paper paper.
Colored, white, dull and bright
Paper, paper, paper,
Typed on, drawn on, painted on, written on.
Photographs and notes and old scripts.
Flowing all around the floor,
Getting kicked outside the door.
Scraps of paper, sheets of paper,
paper paper paper.
Strewn on boards,
Behind the stage
In the trash and recycling
Paper paper paper paper paper all over the desks and barely a place to step where there is no paper paper all over the red and white and black tiles of the floor
on top of the computers and on the floor
all over the counters and on the floor
Cutting paper for the boards,
colored paper.
Scribbling on scripts to make it short,
computer paper.
Tissue paper, sheets of paper
Ms. Sears’s room
is full of paper
History Day
so much paper!
For how long can you watch someone?
The way their head tilts, the way
They grasp their pencil, curled between their
Fingers
For how long can you study
The twitch of their muscles
The sound of their voice
The colour of their laugh
For how long can you remember
The warmth of their flesh
The glint in their eyes
The sheen of their hair
For how long can you watch someone from a distance
Before you begin to see them up close?
It’s six in the morning, and outside’s still dark
The stars are fading, and the sky is stark
Dark, but lightening to pale blue mists
A streak of white cloud across the sky twists
The trees shuffle softly, the leaves tossing strong
The branches wave wildly, stretching them long
The streetlights dim, quickly, one by one
And slowly, slowly starts to rise the sun
A rosy tinge at the horizon grows
Where mountain meets sea, the brightness glows
The mellow pink blooming until the sky is drowned
A sliver of sun, the hillside crowned
The birds hold their breath as the sun starts to climb
The night has lain dormant, now it is time
For the sun to come out and brighten our day
A dazzling yellow circle to hang, a display
Of the power of morning and the loss of the night
Calm stillness is gone, replaced by the light
Who shines, boldly, in its warming way
Until the sun sets, and then sinks the last ray
Of bright happy sunshine, deep into the hills
Buried deeply in the night, not a single strand spills
Into the quiet navy blue which has settled over the night
An undisturbed peace; deep, dark, just right.
Selenium, you’ve just made my list of favorite poets.
All those thoughts crowding the walls of my brain will never be written down,
only staying in my brain,
pushed down and welled deep up in my body.
Hold me tighter,
you won’t get at them.
I will never tell you my secrets.
Pull the air out of me,
They will stay corked up.
Everything I feel like screaming and singing and playing out
late at night in my bed,
thoughts jumping up and pushing and shoving,
opinions, and theories, and fantasies
they all stay where they belong.
Lift me higher,
tell me what I want to hear,
and I still won’t divulge their secrets.
If you hurt me,
I’ll just evaporate
and they’ll scatter on the breeze.
Sometimes it makes me sad that I won’t remember them
those thoughts screaming and shouting in my mind,
but then I think, if I put them out to the world,
will anyone listen, will one person care?
Bring me closer, I know what you want to hear
and you don’t care about the rest,
but I will never tell you. Ha!
It’s my secret. It’s their secrets, but now they’re mine
and I’ll never share!
All those thoughts overflowing in my chest.
I stop them up again.
I’ll go to sleep now and tomorrow, I’ll feel better.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell you some things.
Look at me closely, you don’t know all of me
everyone who knows me only has a piece of me,
but no one I know has all the pieces together,
and I will never share all the pieces with anyone,
I will never share even all the important pieces with anyone,
because then they’d have me in their hands,
and I can’t have that.
Look at me closely,
which pieces do you have?
Ha!
I’ll never give you all!
I…well, thanks, Princess_Magnolia! It’s a true honour, as I’m sure you are very widely-read and will have encountered many fine poets and examples of poetry in your lifetime. I also think you are a wonderful poet, keep writing about all those happy things in life! I’ll try to do that as well…on the other hand, I can’t recall any poems I’ve written on here that are morbid (are there? I’m too lazy to scroll and check). Anyway, thanks again!
It’s six in the morning, and outside’s still dark
The stars are fading, and the sky is stark
Dusky, but lightening to pale blue mists
A streak of white cloud across the sky twists
The trees shuffle softly, the leaves tossing strong
The branches wave wildly, stretching them long
The streetlights dim, quickly, one by one
And slowly, slowly starts to rise the sun
A rosy tinge at the horizon grows
Where mountain meets sea, the brightness glows
The mellow pink blooming until the sky is drowned
A sliver of orange, the hillside crowned
The birds hold their breath as the sun starts to climb
The night has lain dormant, now it is time
For the sun to come out and brighten our day
A dazzling yellow circle to hang, a display
Of the power of morning and the loss of the night
Calm stillness is gone, replaced by the light
Who shines, boldly, in its warming way
Until the sun sets, and then sinks the last ray
Of bright happy sunshine, deep into the hills
Buried deeply in nightfall, not a single strand spills
Into the quiet navy blue which has settled over the night
An undisturbed peace; deep, dark, just right.
-A slightly (very slightly, mind) revised version of my previous poem. The original one I wrote in literally between five and ten minutes this morning when I woke up early to finish my homework go on MB.
I am very proud of my poem. I read it aloud in class today (we’re doing a poetry unit) and later on my teacher was discussing equality and unique-ness (because of Animal Farm, which we’re studying also) and she said:
“I don’t really believe that everyone should be equal, because everyone’s unique and if the world was all the same, we’d all be like little robots.
For example, I can’t play the trumpet as well as [girl in my class] can, or dance as well as [another girl in my class] can, or* write poetry as well as Isabelle (me) can. But I’m good at my own things, etc. etc.”
*Here she turned to me, and I thought she would say something about my violin because she had previously said something (something being ‘you were amazing!) about me and my violin-playing on Thursday after our assembly performance, because I was the concertmaster and very much visible.
This is a poem about poetry.
How odd.
I don’t understand it,
how to write good poetry.
Must it rhyme, must it describe, must it entertain,
must it make you feel something?
I don’t understand,
why I like some poems but not others,
and
I don’t understand why people write poetry.
In the textbook
they are all illustrated with different pictures
and photographs
in between comprehension questions and vocabulary words
sandwiched in between the heavy covers.
I like those textbook poems,
because the pages are white and cheery looking
and they are exactly the right poems for learning
I wonder who put them together?
I wonder who decided?
Did they have a preference?
Myself, I like
eerie poems
and scary poems
“The Raven”
“Little Exercise”
“Southbound on the Freeway”
They are all textbook poems.
I used to read
a book of poetry
with white covers and watercolor illustrations
but I don’t remember what happened to it
and I forgot that one that I memorized
I memorized “Jabberwocky”
and I’m trying to memorize that one
that goes
“Up the airy mountain/Down the rushing glen…”
There are so many poems
stuck in random places
like the novel about Agate Hill
and those inspirational books
on the wall of my room
and other places.
Once you publish a poem,
where does it go?
I wonder.
I wonder how many poems there are on scraps of paper all over the world, in school notebooks,
science notebooks,
alongside diagrams of inclined planes and Newton’s three laws,
between definitions of “biome” and “atom”.
In journals and on the backs of hands.
I wonder why people choose to write poetry
instead of a story?
My theory: it is more random
and less structured, sometimes.
Free verse
But it feels like cheating, a little?
It’s more like
your thoughts spilling down, down
like water trickling out from rocks
on the side of the highway.
Poetry
I know who writes good poetry.
And I like textbook poetry.
I admire your poems.
I don’t know
about this one
a poem about poetry
How odd.
Got here on the random thread clicker. I might as well post the poem I wrote last night. I had to write a lyric poem for an assignment last night, and I was getting frustrated. The sheet the teacher gave us said to just write down the first thing that came into our heads – “Piles of random words often lead to poetry” – so I did. And it came out pretty good.
Ohcake I left it in school. Let me try to remember:
Random word
flying bird
pelting rain
speeding train.
Gloomy thoughts
tarnished pots
burnt toast
quiet ghost.
Locked inside
something’s died
empty nest
put to rest.
Something I just wrote now: I originally imagined it as a song, but I don’t have the tune, really, so just read it as a poem:
Do they have dreams like we do?
Do they wish on falling stars?
Do they fall in love like we do?
Do they ever wonder how to pass the hours?
Do they have hopes like we do?
Do they smile and laugh and cry?
Do they have that special someone
We all see when we close our eyes?
Sometimes I wonder
if we’re alone in this crowd.
Just a lonely few of us
who like our music too loud.
Are we the only ones on this planet earth
who believe in staying young?
While all the rest
want all the best
and we just want some fun
along the way?
Do they have thoughts like we do?
Do they dwell on things gone past?
Do they find it enough to play the game
or are they to afraid of being last?
Do they have friends like we do?
Are we just that lucky few?
Do they have those people who make them smile
just like I have you?
Sometimes I wonder
if we’re alone in this crowd.
Just a lonely few of us
who like our music too loud.
Are we the only ones on this planet earth
who believe in staying young?
While all the rest
want all the best
and we just want some fun
along the way?
I don’t know, it’s probably no good, but it’s late and I’m not thinking straight and I’m really posting so I can say that I am rather saddened by the fact that there is no random thread open.
OK, I’ve resorted to sappy love poetry… No, I’m not completely pathetic. I get extra credit for reading an original poem at my school’s poetry slam tomorrow. Which means that I need an original poem to read. So here goes.
The Things Not Said
I could have told you so many things
I could have told you some irrelevant fact that you’d find interesting
Or made a witty comment
Or said some wise philosophical statement
Or failing that, just remarked on the weather
I could have told you I remembered you
That I had been thinking of you
That even though I didn’t want it to happen
My thoughts kept slipping back to you
I could have told you about how I felt the night I met you
How I came home nearly dancing
How I thought I’d forget about you soon enough but never did
I could have told you I loved you
I could have just said hi
I could have
It’s quiet
And cold
But that’s alright
A nervous tremor shakes my spine
I didn’t study again
I can’t really bring myself to care
I know I should
The clock says twelve oh six
My heart says wrong
I should be sleeping
Tick tick tick tick tock tick tick
The fan goes round and round
The shadow in the corner is expanding
I’m going to hate this in the morning
I’m tired
Good night.
I think I never shall be happy, aye
My times of joy are past and gone, to sleep
My silent tears drifting down my face
Alone, with none but I to watch me weep
I used to be so content with the world
Those days have ended, forgot to but you
And how! You know I clung to life itself
But once you left, no cause to live was true
Though many tried, there never was such mirth
As known before in previous times gone by
My mind is growing weary of this heart
Which, heavy with my sadness, aches to cry
Lament those memories which have been missed
By none save I, who yearns not to exist
I think I never shall be happy, aye
My hours of joy are past and gone, to sleep
My silent tears pour from watered eye
Alone, with none but I to watch me weep
I used to be content, I felt such pride
Those days have ended, forgot to but you
And how! You know I clung to life, I tried
But once you left, no cause to live was true
From new attempts, there never was such mirth
As known before in previous times gone by
My mind is growing weary of this earth
My heart, heavy with sadness, aches to cry
Lament those memories which have been missed
By none but I, who yearns not to exist
How sweet the sound that rings so true from you!
A deep rich sound which vibrates to the core
Of those who hear; it sends shivers right through
The luscious dark sounds from the small frame pour
A stream of high notes trickles high and sweet
They trill and warble, playful to the ear
Ascending scales laugh, the tune complete
Melodious and joyous, the notes clear
From soft to loud, and loud to soft, they change
They fluctuate, from lilting to succinct
Expressive and emotional, they range
To sharp notes, each one carefully distinct
The violin will never cease to bring
Great joy, from each note pulled across the string
A purplish mist above the valley night
A foggy blue until the morning stays
The light of dawn is pale, not quite yet bright
A swath of cloud does float upon the haze
Refreshing wafts swirl gently through the trees
A silent breeze is hidden in the sky
The mountains sleep, they’re edged with frosty seas
Two swallows swiftly through the dark woods fly
Their early call wakes all those close to it
The creatures stir, their slumber broken fast
The winds caress the woods: leaves, rustled, flit
Through trees, they mourn the peaceful night gone past
The sun has risen, starts a fresh new day
The daybreak here, the gold replaces grey
Dreams
take me out of my dreams
because you’re not the same there
and if you’re worse, I’m disappointed asleep
and if you’re better, I’m disappointed awake.
Take me out of my dreams
because you’re not the same there
and if I like you less, I’m disappointed asleep
and if I like you more, I’m disappointed awake.
Why did you have to shatter the illusion?
I thought that every thing would be ok.
I thought we’d be friends.
You just ruined it for me.
My wonderful dream, my perfect illusion.
Broken and twisted by your unthinking action.
And you can’t even see it.
You think I’m being irrational.
Oh, I am.
But you don’t know the half of it.
But you don’t know any of it.
Now I have to hope that someone gets hurt.
Now I have to dream that someone is gone.
I thought it would be perfectly fine.
I thought she’d never show up.
But, you had to go and meet her.
You had to go and kill me.
You killed me.
Yes, I’m alive.
But any love I had for you or her is dead.
For now.
I have to hope she goes away.
I have to hope you leave her.
Or she leaves you.
But you can’t go away.
I have to want pain for someone else.
I’ve never wanted that this much before.
And it’s your fault.
On the bright side,
Your relationships never last.
That’s a curse too
Because what if you leave me?
I can’t like you.
But I must.
That’s a very, very good poem. I like the idea of wanting someone to be hurt, if that makes sense. I mean the concept as you expressed it. Anyway, it’s a really great poem.
Sometimes, when I’m reading
Lines just stick in my head
“inexplicable thing”
like lines of music
“you press down like salvation”
forever reverberating
“cut the ending, reverse the script”
against the limits of my mind.
They never go away
just quiet
then,the ache when I see her
and my stomach pluments
while my heart soars
And I know I love her
just not sure how
and I can’t quite think myself anymore
they return
the whispers in my ear
describing things unsaid
but things I wish I could say.
Here is a random poem:
The thing I want the most
Is to get a first post.
Congrats!
The first post you’ve been bestowed
Now the quid pro quo
I sure hope it was worth it
Worth 90 lbs choklit
‘Cause you’ve been fined by the PoPoPo.
((Sorry, I know it wasn’t really a PoPo, but the idea popped into my head… I couldn’t even make it flow well!!! *is abashed* ))
Do not be abashed,
Oh helpful Daisy*chain,
For never is the PoPoPo
Fining posts in vain.
Your efforts are quite useful
For keeping MuseBlog sane,
And though your poem did not flow well,
It was yet right as rain.
Just to be different.
Here’s two of mine from the end of the last thread.
—
I stand and stare into the abyss
flowers crumble from between my fingers
and dust clouds swirl behind my eyes
there is no such thing as time
when it’s so dark you cannot even see your thoughts
swirling like multifaceted fish inside your irises
I hear whispers calling to me from some faraway place
but whether they are real or imagined even I no longer know
and the voice of that cold chasm sings louder than they
I cannot make out the words
somewhere inside me longs to one two three step
into the darkness and waft down
like the fleeting dandelion’s seeds
into the deep dark cool and chaos
like the bottom of a still murky lake
behind me lie the patters no one else can see
crystals are you all
so rigid frigid shattering
so sharp
and cut into my sin like glass
one two three four deaths ago
I lay inside the closed coffin that was my body and
the flowers clutched in my hand looked something like
the words you painted before me:
not the meanings
but the sounds
the taste
but now I know better than to accept gifts from stranger
even the ones that blossom on the tongue like rain
and it is far far better to not share
the wondrous discoveries
(like the birds whose songs are coded messages
and the sweet screams of flowers as they are plucked
to rest in a maiden’s hair)
or they will take them away
(like the pictures in the fog and rain
begging you to listen to their stories)
with the round and white and small
so clever you think you are
building towers of glass
and cages of steel
and laugh to see my leaf and grass houses torn apart by the winds
and walk away as I laugh with you
so silly you are to think I did not know
I stand before you now: A choice is made
and the abyss smiles
and calmly softly slowly sings its lullaby
as I give you one last chance
to let me go.
—
(get out)
trying to escape
to break out of this battered chrysalis
in which we find ourselves
paper-thing wings pressing against our body
humming with energy
and sharp as razors digging in
beneath our skin as we fall
fall
fall
from the earth
(escape)
words wrap like chains
to bind us–
promises, pretensions,
those trying to protect
us from ourselves
and what we must become
we long to fly;
to break out of our skin
and leave it behind, an empty shell,
a marker
emotions surge, restart,
are repressed
by logic and limits
rules and regulations
“for our own good
for our safety
for our benefitâ€
for our salvation
we struggle
trying to break open our husks of bodies
to float free as moths
into the night
(free)
To leave behind the tattered shreds of myself:
it is not a death
unless you never make it out of the chrysalis.
Oh the sea air blows freely
And the ocean below
Waves in circular motions
Like the design on my toe.
How I love the feel
Of warm golden sand
And also being
On dry land.
The beach and me
Are perfectly
Together forever
Just you and me.
Cool poem blondie! It goes with your name!
hey thank you… i worked so hard on it (not really just eggagerating)… i like ur poem too its real nice… :0)
Hi! I’m guessing you’re new here, because I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen you here before. Anyway, please try your best to use proper punctuation and capitals. Words such as “ur” for example should be written out as “your.” Not only does it take a lot longer to read improper punctuation, grammar, and capitalization, it also becomes pretty annoying after a while. Please reserve this type of “chat speak” for IM, e-mail, and other sites. Most neophytes (including myself) start off writing this way, so don’t feel bad. I just wanted to let you know because otherwise other MBers are likely to bombard you about it, so better to know as early as possible.
Oh blog of Muses,
You are so great!
It amuses
On any date!
Kokopelli
Of tunes and tricks
Devil (your dog)
Always licks
The awsome Bo,
The bovine
Has facts
That are divine.
Feather of plants
Wants a doughnut
Vegetarian
No meat in his gut!
Aeiou and Craww’s
Bad poetry
And software
Makes me happy!
Fantastic Chad
And Urania
So intelligent –
Well, duh!
Mimi is
Always kind
While Pwt is at
Craww’s behind.
All the Muses,
Big and small
Stick together
And have a ball!
Oops!
I spelled Crraw wrong!
What happened to my other poems?!?!?
BB: In an excess of newcomer’s enthusiasm, you posted in quick succession a series of about 15 poorly thought-out comments that, had we allowed them on MuseBlog, would have alienated your fellow MBers and made life more difficult for you later on. Rather than let you make this mistake, we Administrators decided to zap them all and give you a fresh start. Unfortunately, in situations like that we don’t have time to exercise much editorial judgment; we just have to round them up and delete them wholesale. It’s possible that a couple of poems or other non-offending comments got caught in the sweep. If so, we’re sorry, but our intentions were benign and our judgment, we believe, sound.
Why protect people from their own mistakes?
Because everybody makes mistakes, because irrevocable consequences foster a suboptimal environment for learning from one’s mistakes, and because we’ve found justice tempered with mercy to be a more flexible and sophisticated policy instrument than justice straight-up.
Is the environment here so unforgiving that it would cause irrevocable consequences? Suffering for one’s mistakes is a necessary part of “learning from them”, and preemptive censorship won’t help that. The mercy you mention should come from the community once the mistake has been made, not from the administrator before it’s allowed to be made.
Just my 0.02$
We disagree.
Mercy? What’s mercy?
Ain’t never hear o’ that here.
They were being kind. This way, nobody has to read 15 PoPo-ish Double Posts in a row, and BB learns about both, not from a lecture from a grumpy oldby, but from a GAPA respectfully telling BB what en did wrong, in a way that will make it more likely for en to be more thoughtful in the future.
In saving BB from en’s mistakes, Robert was also saving everybody else the inconvenience of having to read all the posts and posting lectures on the rules, even though it was tedious for him. I think he should be applauded, not questioned. And why should BB’s reputation be tainted for being excited? You probably made some posts you now regret when you were a neophyte. I know I did.
So why protect people from their own mistakes? Because it’s the right thing all around. We learn from our mistakes, but they aren’t the only way to learn.
Yeah, I made some stupid posts. And I took responsibility for my mistakes, and paid my own price, and learned from them. Being a moderator myself on various other sites, I just find it difficult to fathom how a staff can maintain a coherent reinforcement of rules and guidelines when people’s comments get censored for them. Once you create a precedent, the coherent thing would be to maintain that precedent and continue censoring all potentially discordant comments, which would of course leave freedom of expression and the responsibility of individual posters down the drain.
See where I’m getting at?
Fridgey, if the GAPAs had created a precedent to censor all potentially discordant comments, this conversation would not have been moderated. Besides, you know the GAPAs are never coherent. You can’t set an overall rule about these things, be it to censor or not to censor. They have to be judged on a case-by-case basis, and I, for one, trust their judgment. Have I been censored before? Yes, on multiple occasions. Do I find my personal freedom and expression to be thrown down the drain? No, because, looking back, I realize the GAPAs were more level-headed than I had been, and had made the better decision. I know it’s hard for you to accept, but sometimes other people’s decisions can actually be better than yours.
The first time you censor someone preemptively, you create a precedent. Whether the GAPAs judgement is in fact better than yours is completely irrelevant. Administrators everywhere, and people in any position of power, should follow their own guidelines, and coherency is essential for fair and honest rule reinforcement.
Of course the GAPAs have the final say, it is after all their website. However, the rules posted don’t mention this. I think it would be something you might want to put into official writing, you know: “The administrators reserve the right to edit, censor and delete any comments they find necessary to do so at their discretion.” Just a disclaimer like that would make the whole thing a lot more legitimate.
That seems reasonable. I suppose it’s always been an unspoken rule, so making a spoken one wouldn’t change MuseBlog. I agree, such a disclaimer should be spelled out in the official rules.
Look. Zapping somebody’s posts because they were unnecessary and most likely very annoying is not destructive to freedom of expression. Say I start randomly singing the llama song over and over in multiple posts. This is related to the thread, but the GAPA’s could easily justify zapping it. This isn’t keeping me from expressing myself. In fact, it will probably make it much easier to express myself, seeing as everyone will like me a considerable amount more.
And censoring comments is at the root of maintaining rules and guidelines. In the rules, #5 is; If a discussion is in progress, please don’t interrupt it with an unrelated random post. Before posting, read the last 10 or 15 comments to make sure that you understand what is going on.
From Robert’s post, it sounds as if BB’s posts were pretty close to breaking this rule. I don’t think the GAPAs created an unreasonable precedent when they decided to zap the posts.
As for the responsibility of individual posters, I think Beach Blondie knows by now that she shouldn’t PoPo, and that she shouldn’t rely on the GAPAs to zap everything unreasonable she posts, and if she didn’t, she knows know, and it didn’t take this entire thread getting clogged up with PoDoPo’s (Pointless Double Posts) For her to learn it.
Happy llama, sad llama, mentally impaired llama, scuba llama…I’ll stop.
We firmly believe in tempering justice with mercy, consistency with inconsistency, coherence with incoherence, and explicitness with opacity. Now, let’s leave this thread to the poems and songs, please.
Maybe an “in depth blog related discussion” thread is in order. Or a tech support thread. Or anywhere to put complaints regarding the blog.
How about Complaints and Rants?
Perfect. Not exclusively blog-related, which would be nice (so it doesn’t get lost with other issues- stuff about the site itself should be consider more important, it seems to me), but good enough. I’ve copied SudoRandom’s post there and replied to it.
sorry …and thanks! :0)
Being Jewish
I’m having a writer’s block! 
)
Is great to be
Even if in the past
It wasn’t so easy . . .
I will always be
Now and forever . . .
(
My feet hit pavement,
jarring,
crashing,
I hit the ground
running
And off I go,
fleeing from,
and yet running toward
destiny
I find that
destiny is choices
made up of
what we do
And when we find
the answer
we must
look toward
our memories
And see truth in
our actions
See rightness
in speaking our findings
And when I run from,
I find nothing
and when I run to,
I find myself.
It’s mostly nonsense, but I like it. The irony is that I wrote it in winter or fall though, I think, and you’ll see why that’s ironic when you read it.
Jumbled:
radio blares: some kind of new crisis has come about and people are distressed
stickiness in the summer heat
not even a bird will sing on this hot day
newspapers lie outside the door: unrecieved, maybe never to be received
in laziness
there is a CRASH
and I should go see what it is but there are shoes lying all over the floor
and I might trip over them so I won’t budge from my perch here on the windowseat
sitting and doing
nothing.
I’ve died a thousand times over
My bar stool is my tombstone
Trying to find meaning in Dover
Beach, but I get interrupted by my phone
Meanwhile the bottles pile high
And I play games with the faces
The vapour makes the glass seem to cry
He’s in Texas without any aces
I’m not building a gun in my closet
It takes up too much space, I need
to find a way without forcing it
If cut the right way, even stones bleed
Yeah, I have some alcohol issues.
So… can I get some feedback?
Um…
I agree… Um….
It has a lot of things needed to be inferenced, but I think I get it. That is awesome! It makes you think.
I like the way it’s put. The rhythm is a little off to me, but poems don’t actually need rhythm, hence the poetic license… so… I like it.
5.1.1.2 – I agree. We all make mistakes, and that one could’ve been bad for BB if the GAPAs let them on. Of course, life doesn’t work that way – sometimes I wish it COULD, censoring everything I say – but it’s good online.
–_– This thread is more discussion than poems, but oh well.
9- I like the imagery, especially the 7th line.
Eh… i wrote a revised version of post 2, but I’ll probably tweak it more before posting it again, if I decide to. And sin=skin, that was a typo.
Hmm nested comments are bugging me so I’ll just reply the old way
2– when it’s so dark you cannot even see your thoughts
swirling like multifaceted fish inside your irises
ahh, I love this. I can see the eyes just by reading that…
For the second one I think you could extend the words and chains analogy even more…I love the image of “words wrap like chains”
Argh I’ve developed an aversion to posting anything online…not like I’ve written much recently Woe!
yeah. I’ve stopped posting stuff here too.
I’ve posted so much here that the comment boxes are actually the easiest place for me to compose now. In theory if I’m going to use some of my writing for other stuff (scholarships, classes, ect) I should probably stop, but…
Thanks for the feedback, I’ll be sure to post anything else I write here.
Here’s a fun little jingle I created for my polygon Project:
– Life as a Square – Song –
Life as a square
Is easy and fair
With 4 equal sides
And angles
4 lines
Of symmetry
The same when talking
Rotationally
360 degrees
Total, please
Regular shapes don’t
Get in tangles
2 sets parallel
Lines – yet
I’m convex, so
Don’t fret
Life as a square
Is easy and fair
With 4 equal sides
And angles
Rectangle or rhombus
It’s fun to be anonymous
Do you dare?
To live
Life as a square!
Here’s one everybody should be familiar with:
Red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red.
More red, red, red, red.
Write to us about red, red.
Not red.
Nice one, Koko!
Wasn’t there also a random string of red letters in there that didn’t fit, though?
Yes, but I noticed it kind of makes the shape of a 2, in the pencil issue.
Get it, #2?
*laughs hyserically at joke no one else thinks is funny*
*shuts up*
I saw that too!
A repost of “Shuttle Chic” from the previous thread:
But what do I mean by “shuttle chic�
It’s just a word, to describe a style, an era, a feeling.
To describe the plain little houses
And the blocky old libraries (With the section names written upon black plaques in tarnished white)
To understand, you must go inside.
When the sunlight slides through the thin windows
And crosses the floor to the dusty shelves
Far from where everyone else is.
Not many people come to these shelves at all.
But you pull the books out, and look at the covers.
The sun has faded the covers
It’s all pale, even the void of space looks more kindly grayish.
The font, white-on-black
And the images inside. Oh, the images.
There are moonwalks and moonsuits.
The buggies and the mountains of late-Apollo.
The station, the funny little cylinder station
Skylab-with-the-windmill-solar-array
The guys inside, having a ball.
The shower, the bike, the spiders.
On the horizon, a craft, a geometric bird.
Enterprise gliding in over the California desert.
Only a test, but there will be REAL space shuttles soon, you are assured.
You stare at those 35 faces of the new class. They will fly it.
You know their fates as they could not.
The poor early-CGI
And the green lasers across the cube
Of still more faded black
It seems so homey.
And now, she flies, Hail Columbia!
The white tank looks so odd now, almost sickly pale.
First, Crippen and Young in the brown suits.
Then, the others.
The others fly now, they spacewalk, they use the arm.
Men with mustaches and women with dark, curly hair, so puffy.
All in those flightsuits, colored like the sky
And the white altitude helmets in their hands.
They take up an IMAX,
They fly in a chair
They photograph the Earth.
They drop off satellites.
But they are alone.
They don’t fly to a station.
(They will build one soon, though, you are told.)
(Freedom in the sky by ‘90.)
And the world loves them.
This is shuttle chic.
I found this…
It was a poison that he had chosen to take
He had taken the poison willingly
Now he was ensnared in his own trap,
But not without his prey
Torn between love and justice
Love is truly a thorny path
If we wish to drink this poison called Love
We must prepare for the consequences
He no longer held his head high
He became lowly and miserable
The consequences of the poison always take affect
They always strike when you least expect
In the end your spirit will disappear into the dark void we call Love
There is no happily ever after
Poison is poison
No matter how it is taken.
SFTDP, but I have an idea and I don’t want it to get away…
My head is spinning
But I’m doing the best I can
You’re twirling my chair
Pulling my hair
Making my life a living hell
I’m trying to net you
I’m trying to get away
I’m thinking that maybe
If you were tamed
You wouldn’t be so cruel
Losing my grip
Sliding down
It’s not that hard
When you’re there
Go away
Leave me alone
Stop trying to
“Save me”
From myself
You’re only making it worse.
I like this one.
Roses are red
violets are blue
you are to sweet
no sugar for you.
(( Its just a little poem my little sister made up, and i thought it was cute.))
Hmmm. I think I’ll use the neverending inspiration provided by the comment box.
The sky is deep as the ocean today,
a half moon is swinging
swinging like a half of an orange in the sky.
Fair blue in the east.
Dark blue in the west.
The world turns
toward midnight.
Stars may peek through
later
with every pattern they make just as familiar
as the forgotten constellations of your heart.
You want to see more?
Fly higher.
I dare you.
Breathe in clarity,
breathe out hope,
don’t look down.
Clouds,
strung out and long,
are bridal veils for the blushing trees
and the telephone poles are priests
working forever to marry the world to itself
again and again,
forever repeating its place
in the family of home.
((A rather hopeless poem, but I like it.))
They’re pushing me-
Shoving, prodding,
Forcing me onward;
I am so tired.
My thoughts have long gone numb,
And yet the pain prevails;
Knees buckle, bend.
I stumble.
You offer me help,
Assistance;
“Take a break” you say.
There’s no time.
There will never be time.
And they’re pushing me
On, on.
I cannot stop
I cannot rest
I cannot die
I am obsessed
They’re pushing me
Onward
I’ve many miles to go…
Ramming against the glass
Trying to get out
It’s clear!
Ramming
But not getting through.
I hate the internet. I just wrote a poem. And I pressed delete to go back a character at the last word
And it decided to go back 3 pages in the browser history, click something randomly, and now it’s gone forever.
Musty smell rises to my nose
Smooth, strong cover
Crisp edges fly past my fingers
Some dog-eared, some frayed
Little black shapes, hundreds per page
Form a work of art
A painting in the mind
Oh, how I love a good book!
“Lack of Restrictions”
What is true freedom?
Is it taking control of yourself?
Or is it taking control of your world?
Is freedom chaos or flexibility?
Safe or harmful?
Will everyone ever be liberated?
Is it possible?
Is freedom necessary to wholly generate happiness?
What is it like, knowing you can do anything?
How can anyone never restrained truly ever be free?
Can anyone genuinely escape the enslavers of the world?
Should the nefarious have freedom?
How can freedom fighters take prisoners of war?
Why do the enslaved take slaves of their own?
Should anyone have full freedom?
Set to Frere Jacques, but much slower.
Frere Jacques, Frere Jacques,
Et tu mort? Et tu mort?
Oui, monsieur, je suis mort.
Oui, monsieur je suis mort.
Adieu
Adieu
It’s a very sad and melodramatic song.
Even better when sung in the minor key.
-A
SFTDP
In case any MBers have studied French, speak French, or are French, I apologize for my gross grammatical error. It should be “Est tu mort.”
SFTTP
I really don’t know what’s wrong with me. OK, it’s “Es tu mort.” I swear!!
Well, technically, I’m pretty sure it should be ‘es-tu mort’. But you know.
-A
Should I post some of my poetry?
-A
Yes, please do.
Can do. Poetry coming right up.
-A
I’m closing myself
Away from the world
For no one understands
the way
I am
There’s beauty out there
Beyond my doorstep
but I can’t bring myself
to step beyond
the safety of my
soul
If I close myself
Close up, hard
and cold
Then I’ll never find the
purpose
But there’s nothing left
nothing good
all destroyed
so I close my door
Shut and
lock it
Not to really live
again
When someone comes
I let them in
In hope
that they might let me
out
Out of this prison
I shall flee these walls
Of misery and
hatred
Locked away, all
those cold nights
and yet
The warm, sunny days
were the hardest to
endure
And so I run
Break away from that
door I once closed
never to make
that mistake
in the rest of my
living
Never again
in the rest of
time
Darn it! On the last line of each verse, that word/two words are supposed to be three spaces in each. Oh well.
Complex love song (In many parts)
Part 1: (Slow, major key. Like one of the amazing songs on Broadway.)
When I saw you
I didn’t know what to do.
When I heard you play your flute
I couldn’t play my horn
Now, I want to shoot
The arrow of time
The other way.
I should have talked to you.
Walked with you.
Spoke to you.
I never knew you.
I thought you were…
(long pause)
Well, I really can’t describe it now.
It felt… right.
But it was more than that.
It was the first time
I didn’t know what to do
It was all because of you.
You couldn’t have known I existed.
You can know now.
Look, behind you.
Right beside you.
Now…..
[Chorus]
‘Course now it’s gone from me.
Someone else has caught me.
You see..
I’m never brave… enough.
I try and fail at being… tough.
It doesn’t live forever
And neither will the world.
Part 2: (Major key, fast, but with a feeling of holding back energy)
We’ve been friends for a while
Since… second grade.
But only now have I
Realized!
That you’re beautiful!
Weird and quriky
And a nerd.
They think.
And I know.
But it gives me all the more reason
To like you.
Every fault
Is a greater reason for your perfection
My attention
Is on you!
But yours is never on me.
To be continued…
First: A really old piece I found sifting through my blog.
-A
Your frozen
wordsburn like liquid iceA burning match
Extinguished in oil
So
Let the flames begin.
‘Cause all we know
Is burning in thoughts
And still I cannot
thaw your empty lips.
We are broken
Speak your mind again
I’d rather hear you scream at me
I cannot fight this
Silence.
I’ve fallen out of Poetry mood…
I wrote this at Space Camp, for the anniversary:
TWO NIGHTS
How can we describe a century?
The highest highs, the lowest lows?
Hope and fear, our best, our worst?
And how, from perhaps the greatest darkness
There came the brightest light?
Perhaps in two rockets, and two nights.
That night, it was very cold.
Cold without and cold within.
A world, war-torn, gone nearly mad.
He was younger then, but stooping
Bent down by stress and grief.
Mourning for a dream corrupted, twisted.
Below, it stood, checkered, spotlighted.
It was beautiful, sleek, accurate.
But it was terrible, hateful, deadly.
At last, they’d made a craft to escape the blue.
To carry them to other worlds, but now-
Now, it was forced to scar and destroy their own.
Not for this had he begun.
Not to be a captive, beneath a captive sky.
And yet, beyond that Baltic cold, a hope-
For still the moon shone on.
This night is warm.
Warm in the cricket-chirping Florida dark
But also, in the heat of tension.
A fragile, wounded world stands united in one breathless Wait.
An older man standing, beside the giant building.
Gazing upward at it, white and shining.
Towering taller than one can believe,
Pointed head raised proudly skyward.
Awaiting three explorers.
Now preparing for an adventure greater than any before.
First emissary from one world to another,
For science, for knowledge, in peace for all mankind.
And beneath, her smiling creator.
Whose gaze rises still upward.
A mind soars free, beyond the moon.
Free in the Universe, as his species soon shall be.
Words tumbling from your mouth like breadcrumbs
I hurry hurry hurry to follow their trail
before the birds
and the beasts
snatch it away
it leads me through forest
over the stream
twists and turns
but ends not in a house of
sweets and sugars and witches
but you appearance
is just as deceiving
and when the trial ends at your feet
I am as hollow
as if I had been devoured.
It feels like I’m hyped-up and
tired
simultaneously and
I feel like throwing things and
breaking stuff and
screaming…
There is mercury flowing through my veins,
the weight of a thousand oceans on my shoulders…
The pressure…
It’s breaking me…
It’s making me…
I think I’ve
gone mad.
I need to punch something.
.
.
.
.
.
It’s called anticipation.
A poem I wrote up for one of Danielle’s fanfics.
Love is poison
The sweetest one
It is also a rose
With Love’s poison tipped thorns.
If we find life
In the torture called Love
We must prepare
For its consequences
For even the best
Can be ripped apart
By Love
It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not depressed. She asked nicely (and she can’t write poetry to save her life).
Inside you lies a world
(a word)
to which you escape
between when the second hand moves
and you hear its quiet tick
(tock)
when you speak
beneath your voice there is
a soft murmur, gentle winds
(caressing,)
rippling through a field
your laughter is the sea
“Aren’t you listening to me?”
more than you know
and when you are angry
your eyes flash with distant places
to which I will never go
Inside you lies a world
stretched beneath your skin
and you tell me
(shivering)
you never remember your dreams
but when I am with you you are gone
and when you’re alone
you never exist.
petals gently waft
trembling like tears on your lips
ghost-fingers reach to brush them away
but movement is jagged and quick
and they only collide with empty space.
Please destroy these paper flowers
Staring, watching, killing me
Please burn these paper flowers
Only you can save me
Look and see the happy child
Can you see me crying?
Listen to my dancing feet
Can you hear me screaming?
Look how pleasant I appear
Can you see me burning?
Listen to my empty words
Can you hear me dying?
You sit down at the chair
flamesflamessomanyflames
I sit down opposite you
theyburntheyburnohhhsaveme
You smile, I smile
savemetakemeawayfromtheseflames
We start talking
i’mscreaminghelpmefire
It’s so pleasant, so normal
aauuughitburnsplease
How is school? you ask
stopjuststandingtherehelpme
It’s fine, I reply
you’renotcominghowcouldyou
You stand up, I stand up
nowaitdon’tleaveyetplease
We exit different ways
takemewithyouidon’tlikethefire
It appears so normal
aaahhhhitburnspleasestop
But there was so much left unspoken
ican’tbelieveyouleftme
From me, it’s for the best
comebackcomeback
That you don’t hear.
I haven’t been in poetry mode either…
I keep forgetting to post here. But here goes. This was written for the LCCMF music festival during their Sunday concert, and very much on a whim.
Somehow I missed that smooth transition from a minor to a major
Problem; you see, I still miss the smell of rosin,
And I just can’t stand to break you down, because
Recycling just isn’t my thing. I don’t even have a
Hindsight, and baby I wish that there was a secret message
For you, hidden in and out of passion for the longing,
And it’s funny how sometimes we get a free ride that
Costs us something in the end, like maybe a
Breakdown, or an aroma, or a major problem,
Or a smooth transition that somehow, I missed.
-A
This is from the same festival. I wanted to explain the last two instances in the last stanza: ‘He’ was playing a clarinet, and told us that no matter how hard he tried, he always squeaked the very last note (It’s no measure of his skill, though; the note is theoretically impossible to play on the clarinet.), and the last ‘She’ was not as used to speaking English as we are, and so occasionally seemed unsure when speaking.
If any of you are interesting, this is about the Kurtág Hommage.
i. She is
A muse of the viola
A forest spirit,
Exhibiting feral dances;
Flurries of notes,
In a cadenza of fury.
ii. He is
A Hephaestus of sorts
An imposing presence
A bulk of creativity
Experience incarnate:
A gentle behemoth
In leaders’ shoes.
iii. She is
A sprite
Yet a poltergeist.
Bipolar in practice
Averaging “intimidating” at best
A raptor of the keys
Falling to her prey.
iv. She answers her phone;
He squeaks out of register;
She titters and is unsure;
And suddenly they are all
Human again.
-A
and we all will drift away
like smoke upon the waves
and we all will drift away
Like smoke upon the waves
We are unfinished
Like smoke upon the waves
-A
We are unfinished
unraveling, revolving
we are unfinished
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“A sestina about silence, with the key words dark, ragged, never, screaming, fire, kissâ€
We walk under a sky so dark
Our hearts so torn and ragged
We do the things we say we’d never
An effort to keep from screaming
to drown or quench the fire
all for a single fleeting kiss
615243
We long to taste the lips, the kiss
of deaths so dim and dark
No sound but the crackling fire
Our breathing sharp and ragged
Inside we are always screaming
From the silence, ending never
364125
The stillness that goes on, never
pausing for a breath, a kiss
to keep us from our screaming
–getting kicked off, again. Unfinished–
Unraveling, revolving
Purposes spent,
Unraveling, revolving
-A
Purposes spent
We long to linger
Purposes spent
She spoke though
no one listened
Standing
alone
in the middle of a room
of empty souls
No one knows
who she is, or
perhaps they daren’t
ask.
But, perhaps,
she is the only one
worth knowing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HANDFUL OF MOMENTS
The boy
sits quietly
on the edge of the
world
The breeze tousles his hair
ever-so-gently
as he runs his slender fingers
through the hot sand.
A gull perches lightly
by his side
this time not hungry
for beach-side
sandwiches
But for something
more wholesome
The boy leans back
on his elbows
and watches the waves
roll in and out
in and out
in time with the
rising
and falling
of his stomach
and the beating of his
Heart
And the sound of the
wind
cutting through the universe
And the boy
alone at
the edge of the world
is unable to cross
that threshold
so he lies
in the sand
while the gull hovers above
both wishing for
something
that is lost
Both wishing for another
handful of
moments
to be free
A tall tall tower made of stone
twisting carvings upon a silent dome
the broken places we know as home
A chance to fall away
Sitting, alone, so close to the sky
As the sun goes down and the moon rises high
Reflections of colors and snatches of sigh
A place to escape from day
Sometimes I just want to fall
Sometimes you want to catch it all
And though sometimes you want to stay
You were made to break away
[chorus:]Red, purple, green and blue
what I feel and what I do
it all somehow leads back to you
it all leads back to you
The rooftops as empty as unspoken words
Then silent laughter, songs unheard
You, a stone, yet a hummingbird
A [vivid/blinding] beacon of light
So familiar and yet so strange
To dance into a life one day
A reminder that nothing stays the same
A star so vast and bright
One for colors, one for night
You for dark and I for light
So opposing yet so alike
A panoramic sight
[chorus:]Red, purple, green and blue
what I feel and what I do
it all somehow leads back to you
it comes from you
–bah why must I always be kicked off while WRITING–
Ahem.
Haikus are quite nice
but sometimes, they make no sense!
Refrigerator.
Okay, okay, more serious.
Icarus, Icarus, in the sky,
Make your wings and learn to fly.
The sky’s full of sunlight and the sea’s full of foam,
The earth’s full of summer and the world’s full of home.
Icarus, Icarus, in the air,
Flap your wings and learn to dare.
You’ve made it to freedom and you’ve made it to flight,
You’ve made it to summer and the stars tonight.
Icarus, Icarus, flying high,
Soar with wonder in the deep bright sky.
You’re as free as the wind and the clouds and the moon,
You’re as free as the sun you can touch so soon.
Icarus, Icarus, full of glory,
Make sure the world will remember your story.
The wax and the feathers are the way to be free,
Your wings you’ve been given raise you above the sea.
Icarus, Icarus, you’re the one,
Fly higher, much higher, closer to the sun.
The triumph in your heart bears you high aloft,
The wax in your wings is beginning to go soft.
Icarus, Icarus, lord of all,
Break your wings and learn to fall.
The sea far below you is your enemy.
No matter how you flap, you can’t again be free.
Icarus, Icarus, in the sky,
Make your wings and learn to die.
The sky’s full of sunlight and the sea’s full of foam,
The earth’s full of summer and the world’s full of home.
I love poetry units.
I wrote this earlier today. Eight years ago, there were three people who could look down and see the towers as they fell, but who could do nothing to help. Their names were Frank Cullbertson, Mikhail Tyurin and Vladimir Dezhurov, and they were on the International Space Station.
Smoke on the Hudson (Expedition 3)
Flight day 32.
It still feels strange to be up here,
To look down on those below.
And here with Vlad and Mikhail.
On a station we built together.
Who’d have believed it?
A break from experiments, free time now.
Time to call home.
“Alpha*, Houston calling, it’s a bad day down here.â€
“Alpha, it’s a very bad day.â€
“Commander, there’s been an attack.â€
“Alpha, Houston calling, the news still coming in.â€
“Alpha, Houston calling, they say New York’s aflame.â€
“Two planes, another in Washington.â€
Head spinning, what to say?
Attack from where? All the world looks the same from here.
“Thank you, Houston, keep us informed.â€
Vlad can tell that something’s wrong.
We gather together, three sons of the wounded world below.
They’re just as stunned. So horrible, so horrible.
Sharing Runglish** prayers and sympathies.
Mikhail checks the computer.
“We’ll be over New York soon, my cabin will have the clearest view.â€
All I can give is a video camera.
So many run to help, so many dying
All we can do is take pictures and film.
The smoke plume above the city grid.
Towards the river, it must be horrible in the streets.
Smoke on the Hudson.
Wounds and flame.
Nothing I can say.
An argument, a violent point someone’s made.
Who? Why? No idea.
But we three, we here.
We trained to shoot each other down a few decades ago.
But now, we work together.
For a greater good, a better future.
As we live, as we orbit, and we work.
With our every action, in a quieter, kinder voice-
We say otherwise.
* Alpha is the International Space Station’s callsign.
** Runglish is a mixture of Russian and English.
I’ll tell you I love you, but
We both know that a frozen heart can’t feel.
I’ll tell you you’re gorgeous, but
We both know that eyes sewed shut are blind.
I’ll tell you I need you, but
We both know that the bridges are burning.
I’ll tell you the truth, but
We both know it’s a lie.
Just a beautiful lie.
the edge of the circle
looking trough the back of the mirror
i may be invisible
but it doesn’t mean that I’m not here
they may see a wisp
they may hear a sneeze
but im still at the edge of the circle
watching the world happen around me
i still don’t know what’s going on
and my questions lie unawnsered
but here i sit
alone but with people
i see them
they may or may not see me
despite the times that i’ve asked
there were no awnsers i could see
but the edge of the circe
has its advantages
i don’t get caught in the drama
and i know where my fortune is
i know the edge of so many circles
the middle seems unclear
the place i once longed for
i’m just as happy here.
Like a piece of silver
I shined
And infected people with joy
I fell into
A dull,
Dead state
I still look shiny
But I’m not
You see my smiles on the outside
I spend all my energy to make others happy
And give them my smiles
It’s so tiring
I do it
Because I don’t want others
To feel hollow
And lifeless
Like me
The shiny
Dull
Bowl of silver
Has ruby drops
Collected into it
I think they’re mine
I reach out to them
They see my smile
They can’t see underneath it
They smile back
Why can’t they see
Why are they so oblivious
Maybe
It’s the red drops
In the bowl
That’s staining it
One of the many things
But they only see
The shiny exterior
And never the red inside
The blood
Mixed with the tears
Can’t
Can’t you see that I’m crying?
A hollow, smiling shell
Crumbling from the inside.
Society has woven,
Like a choking spiderweb:
A mask of carefully constructed lies
To keep us all in line.
Silence filled with good intentions
Don’t you know you’re on your way?
I’m breaking, shattering, with a
Placid smile upon my face.
Just keep smiling.
*Ms. Smith is not the name of my English teacher, who I wrote this for; however, her name is one syllable long.
Sonnet
The room smells of imagination’s death.
Forbidding letters stare at me, the keys.
All is quite silent; only my slow breath
Shows that there’s someone here, someone that sees.
I never claimed that I was like Shakespeare.
Iambs will kill my brain before I’m done.
Pentameter, a rhyme scheme, these I fear,
A maddening rhythm, structure, these I shun.
Oh god, I’ve got to write another verse?
Five whole more lines must struggle from my brain?
Each word I type, they just sound worse and worse.
This sonnet’s slowly driving me insane.
Oh please, Ms. Smith, give me a generous grade
On this pathetic sonnet I have made.
I’m sure you did get a good grade. Nice work!
Here, There and Everywhere
Here, there, everywhere
We walk for miles without a care
When will we know when we are there?
Here and there and everywhere
Him, her, you, me
Let voices ring and let us flee
How long before we are free?
Him and her and you and me
Yes, no, maybe so
There are some thing’s we’ll never know
Who are we and where will we go?
Yes and no and maybe so
Dancing, singing, loving, learning
Fuel is what keeps fire burning
Is love what makes the world keep turning?
Dancing and singing and loving and learning
Here, there, everywhere
We walk for miles without a care
When will we know when we are there?
Here and there and everywhere.
((A poem I wrote for an English class project:))
War is not an act of glory.
War doesn’t always lead to peace.
Soldiers bravely marching onward,
Shooting, slaying enemies.
Heartless machines
Made for killing, not for loving;
Those are the men we raise.
Those are the men we praise.
What’s so glorious about
Broken families,
Back at home?
Mothers weeping for their children
Siblings crying in the night.
Broken hopes and dreams-
College, marriage, children-
Futures shattered
In a moment
With the clear, sharp crack of gunshot
Bullets zooming angrily.
Army funerals and medals,
Praises and awards;
Wasted on a lifeless body-
They could never bring him back,
Heal the hurt in
Mourning families’ hearts.
War is not an act of glory
And it never will be.
I saw a shirt today that said, “War does not decide what’s right, only who’s left.”
Ooh, I like that. Very powerful, and very true. (Both the poem and the T-shirt saying)
[m:]A tall tall tower made of stone
twisting carvings upon a silent dome
the broken places we know as home
A chance to fall away
Sitting, alone, so close to the sky
As the sun goes down and the moon rises high
Reflections of colors and snatches of sigh
A place to escape from day
[music]
[m:]Sometimes I just want to fall
Sometimes you want to catch it all
And though sometimes you want to stay
You were made to break away
[chorus(both):]Red, purple, green and blue
what I feel and what I do
it all somehow leads back to you
it all leads back to you
[m:]The rooftops as empty as unspoken words
Then silent laughter, songs unheard
You, a stone, yet a hummingbird
A blinding beacon’s light
So familiar and yet so strange
To dance into a life one day
A reminder that nothing stays the same
A star so vast and bright
One for colors, one for night
You for dark and I for light
So opposing yet so alike
A panoramic sight
[chorus(both):]Red, purple, green and blue
what I feel and what I do
it all somehow leads back to you
it comes from you…
[f:]A meeting of chance, of you and I
In a place between earth and sky
These middle grounds, the homes of mine
Escape from the wild and mundane
I fell from the stars and the everlasting sea
who knows what’s true or who is free
life’s a breath, a wisp, a mystery
a single drop of rain
[f:]Sometimes you start to fall
I’ll do my best to catch you all
And though I wish that I could stay
I was made to break away…
[chorus(both):]Red, purple, green and blue
what I feel and what I do
it all somehow leads back to you
it all leads back to you
—
so so so stuck but I actually need to finish this one x_x
62) I really like that one. I would buy that song.
((*sigh*))
First, you are simply a thought
acted on a whim
maybe, just maybe
you were meant to be spoken
Then, you are here
born to a planet
with no reckoning as to the
jumbled spark it has conceived
a drop on the face of a concrete mass
A child next
a wonder to the world
while every other face stares
vaguely to the earth,
you are discovering the sky
And then
you are old.
life is yours
and yet, the aubade of your life
has already begun to set.
infantile, juvenile, senile
all the while
you ask why it takes one life to
reach forever.
eternity does not take so long
does it?
In the end, mankind
is the most sickening irony of all.
Created
just to be
destroyed.
Here’s a song I made up for consolation when I was feeling lonely one day…
Marcy is sitting on a bench in the park
She’s waiting for someone to free her from the dark
Marcy is waiting, waiting for you
Marcy has a beautiful face, and a beautiful worldview
It’s raining softly, and Marcy is in school
She goes there frequently, its just another rule
Marcy yearns to escape, and join the clouds above
Marcy knows everything, exept for maybe love.
And another one that just sort of came to me.
Hello all, my name is Sirach R.
I was born upon a shooting star
Christiened on the arid plains of Mars
Hello all, my name is Sirach R.
we pray to the flickering light
that keeps us alive
dim glow spreading in a circle
to which we turn out faces:
we do not dare turn to see what lies beyond it,
but stand blinded
hoping for safety
dark-dreamed whispers slide through our ears
thick and spiraling, snaking,
we hum them away with broken off-key melodies
and shiver as they stroke our bodies
somewhere in the back of our minds
we know
that this light won’t last forever
and that tomorrow
will plunge us into darkness
but we silently plead and pray
that that time won’t come for a
a day a week a month a year
a life
that when it finally goes out,
and we have to face the dark
and let our eyes adjust
we will already have drifted off like moths–
burned up and blinded.
The impromptu RRR poetry gathered up and added to:
And we all will drift away

Like smoke upon the waves

And we all will drift away
Like smoke upon the waves

We are unfinished

Like smoke upon the waves
We are unfinished

Unraveling, revolving

We are unfinished

Unraveling, revolving

Purposes spent,

Unraveling, revolving
Purposes spent

We long to linger
Purposes spent

We long to linger
Forever, for never,
We long to linger
Two variations on the same theme, inspired by MuseBlog and Terry Pratchet:
Magic is white, the color of sea foam.
Magic is blue, the sea far away.
Magic is brown, the sand on the shore.
Magic is water, magic is sea.
Magic is the sea foam, breaking on the shore.
Magic is the sand, crumbling between toes.
Magic are the waves, washing up forever.
Magic are the rocks, smooth in your hands.
Magic is the sun, shining on the water.
Magic is the ocean, shimmering forever.
My sister thinks I should do one for every element… I might, when NaNo’s over.
Ugh, no. Two of the lines in the last one end in the same word. I just typed up an ending without thinking about it, so I could post it. Didn’t work. Gr. I’ll have to fix that.
Wrote a song a couple of days ago. Critique is mucho appreciado.
I’ve found a place of truth and evil
A playground where feelings revolve and reveal
themselves to be in my medicine cabinet
where bottles of drugs pile up even yet
I’ve found a place where dreams are confined
to the lip-strung (flame) that burns away time
Where smoke cradles my face in miniature crime
And breathes me a veil for the frail pantomime
I’ve found a place for my vices and me
to indulge in the joy of those who are free
Free in the life of taking my own leave
And free from the guilt of having to grieve
But to leave that place is an eloquent hell
And no one understands the stories I tell, of
the deliberate death where I find my own world
And the terror around me, it makes me so cold
(repeat)
I’m missing you
Though we’ve never met
Missing you
Though I don’t know your face.
You’re somewhere, I suppose,
Waiting for the moment when we meet—
But till then,
I’ll remain,
Missing You.
‘Tis the season…
‘Twas the night before Christmas, on the ISS
Not a creature was stirring, the crew was at rest
The experiments all had been closed up with care
In hopes that good results soon would be there
The spiders were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of one-g danced in their heads
And the crew in their bags, putting on their nightcaps
Had just settled down for an Earth-approved nap
When up from the Zvezda, there came such a clatter
They unzipped and hurried to see what was the matter
Away to the window, they floated in a flash
Barely avoiding a zero-g crash
Reflected Earthlight from the planet below
Gave the lustre of day to each steel truss and row
When, what should they find as the cause of this shock
But a bright red rocket, attempting to dock!
Now trying for stealth, not one dared talk
As they floated quietly to the air lock
Each of them unsure of what they would see
No visit was due, so what could it be?
Through Destiny, Unity, Harmony, Pirs
They crept slowly forwards, in spite of their fears
They’d sneak just a peek from behind a wall
And if it was danger, they’d dash away all.
And then in the Soyuz they’d homeward fly
As they had trained for mishaps in the sky
But this exactly was unknown to the crew
This anomaly was so totally new
And then, in a twinkling, they heard just a snatch
Of the opening of a spacecraft’s crew hatch
As they turned to see the source of the sound
Through the air lock St. Nicholas came with a bound
He was dressed all in red, that was quite plain to see
And he moved as if used to their zero-g
A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was smiling, yet mute
And the beard of his chin, white as a space suit.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And they laughed when they saw him, in spite of themselves!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave them to know there was nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And gave them all gifts, then turned with a jerk.
And with a salute, to these three so brave
And back to his rocket, he went with a wave!
He undocked so smooth, they heard nary a whistle
Then his craft flew away, like the down of a thistle
But the transmission came, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Cosmic Christmas to all, to the world a good-night!”
The Beatles’ music in my head,
I try to revive a long-dead thread.
Have You A Future?
I watch with pleading eyes,
my hands linked and resting on the
small of my back
and my fingers are crossed, too.
Her sharp, appraising glance
flits over the paper in her hands
like a fairy;
a mystery.
She passes the paper back to me
and looks into my eyes.
“It was lovely, Emi.
I can see you have a future in poetry.”
I thank her, quietly, but I don’t
truly mean it.
And stumbling home from school that day,
the paper in my hands,
I think about my future
and imagine it as a shimmering fish
caught in a net of poetic nonsense.
And I think about what the teacher said,
as she tried to compliment me,
but only made me feel worse.
Because what about the other children,
who were never told what subject their future was
going to be in?
And I can’t decide whether I am jealous
or sorry for them.
Meh. It needs a couple rewrites.
I love this.
Thank you.
SFTDP, I guess? This thread needs to come back to life. Soon. Please?
I once met a girl from MuseBlog
It seemed like our voices were clogged
Then we talked about RPs
And did as we pleased
And away went the girl from MuseBlog.
Limerick power, GO! Actually, I had to write this for school. But I was happy because it was fun. Oh, and a “Who Am I?” riddle.
I am me and you are not;
As long as I live I will not be forgot.
I will not be found upon a shelf;
I am found where I am being myself.
I am em and you are uoy;
Work it out-I am girl or boy.
I will be with you as long as you live;
And when you don’t I will forgive.
I am you and you are me;
That’s all I can say in total honesty.
I am one, and I am nine;
I am yours and you’re forever mine.
As you read this you will know;
The truth of this will ever show.
Our fates are forever the same;
We know the truth of this whole game.
There is no use lying to you;
If you see through it I will too.
And if you don’t know this riddle;
All I can say is ‘Hey diddle diddle’.
I would hope that you know it;
And know it is true.
For when you see something;
I do too.
I am two, and I am many;
But I am one worth many a penny.
For your worth is the same as mine;
So take my word and never pine.
Solve it? I have the answer.
the street lamp throws my shadow two minutes ahead of me,
pressing residual echoes of where I will stride into the snow.
I step carefully,
not for fear of slipping but so I may
look back at my tracks,
each boot print distinct in the sea of quartz.
a meandering trail, I walk apart from the beaten path,
though that not so beaten —in a southern town,
snow means days of venturing no further than the nearest hill
and muted, dark nights sheltered indoors.
a rare car drives by. its driver must wonder
why I walk on a night like tonight, in the cold.
I’m not sure myself. it might be to inhale the chilled air
and listen to the crunch of boots, solitary in the settled snow.
I quote robert frost to the dark deep woods (was there ever a more
perfect name for a poet?)
and tug my feet from resisting drifts, leaving behind rabbit holes
that tunnel only to the sidewalk below,
content to walk alone in this
icy moment.
I’m not sure about the end. It doesn’t feel quite right.
Winter comes, dragging
His icy fingers over
Almost everything
Hooray for haikus! And now, your feature presentation:
The sun shines
But there is no heat
It seems to laugh
“Here, here is some light!
But no heat!
Ahahahaha!”
But!
The snow is melting!
I feel warmer!
The grass is growing!
And spring has returned
Driving out winter
With her cheerfulness
And her heat
This is set to the refrain of “Money, Money, Money” from the Mama Mia! soundtrack.
Bunnies, bunnies, bunnies
So many bunnies
In their hot-pink world
Bunnies, bunnies, bunnies
hot-pink bunnies
that will rule our world
Oh ohhhhhhhhhhh, oh ohhhhhhhhhhhhh
I could conquer the Earth
if I had a horde of bunnies
Hello hot-pink Earth
Nothing fantastic, of course, but it’s very catchy if you know the melody.
You may praise your bright sunlight all that you like
And sunbathe and cloudwatch all day
But I myself, should prefer the night,
As the moon shines only for me.
You may think it gloomy and creepy and sad
To spend all my time in the dark
But you’ll never know how the stars do sing
As the moon shines only for me.
And you’ll never know silence so thrilling and deep
That the stars start to chorus and sing
Or the caressing folds of the velvet night sky
As the moon shines only for me.
{meh, it’s not how I thought it would turn out, but I suppose it’s alright… not fantastic, but alright.}
It’s fantastic! What do you mean, only alright?!
Love it!
Aw, thank you!
Two households, both alike in dignity
(In fair Verona, where we lay our scene)
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents strife.
-Romeo and Juliet
Yay, memorizing.
My friend was reciting that from memory that during gym (5th period) last year, practicing for English (6th period for her). I almost had it memorized myself by the end of the class.
This is a song I made up with my brothers a long time ago for singing on trips. It doesn’t really mean anything:
There’s dinosaurs on the ceiling!
Dinosaurs on the ceiling!
Oh no! What do we do?
Oh no! What do we do?
They’ll eat me and they’ll eat you!
Oh no! What do we do?
There’s dinosaurs on the ceiling!
Dinosaurs on the cei-ling!
Dinosaurs on the cei-ling!
Oh no! What do we do?
Oh no! What do we do?
Shoo, dinosaurs, shoo shoo sho!
Oh no! What do we do?
There’s dinosaurs on the ceiling!
Dinosaurs on the cei-ling!
Dinosaurs on the cei-ling!
Awww. I find it very cute.
Photographs
It pains me to look at
Photographs
of them in their later years
The dull blankness in their
dark eyes
Their thin lips set in a straight line,
not opened in song or laughter.
What had America done
to these four beautifully messed-up creatures
whom I love with so little relent?
Photographs 2
I will never meet them
So I settle for photographs
surrounding my pallid body
And my pallid life
Photographs of when they were young
See how they smiled
Young, tough, naive boys who just play guitar
and drums
and like to sing
Photographs of when they were older
see how they’ve painfully changed and aged
over the past six years
I know their history like my own
But I have to settle for photographs
and maybe a worn cloth case of CDs
that skip.
Up high,
I fly,
I crash,
I die.
But look, Shaun White!
Will take a bite,
He’s not a phyte,
But boards all right.
And then there’s Paul,
Who takes it all,
At least not small,
In brains or tall.
Out there,
I care,
But well,
I fare.
But look for snow!
To sled, to go
Hi-de-ho
Snow, snow, snow.
Quel PoPo!
A poem with a moral. Of course, me being myself, this moral had to involve zombies.
Zombies rising from the dead,
I think we need a new thread.
Begin these unholy days,
hear us, O GAPAs:
Zombies like to eat your brains,
new threads aren’t much of a pain,
up there it still says 09,
and the zombies start to whine.
Moans and groans are in the street,
we need a poetry meet.
One might wonder what the taste
of a brain is, and in haste
if thou dost not make a thread
zombies may rise from the dead.
Why? Alas, we cannot tell.
Maybe there’s no room in hell.
The point is, new threads are great.
Thanks in advance, sincerely, BRAINS BRAINS BRAINS BRAINS.
Amusing.
Standing in an empty hallway
papers drifting to the floor
somewhere empty eyes are watching
with the barest trace of scorn
a hand slowly pours the tea. It pours
it is a steady hand.
There is no need for milk and sugar
to-day
It is a hallway lined with doors
“We thought to help your pain, My Dear
We thought to have a chat.
We thought of cities and of steam
We thought that you might be in shock
or scorn
We thought to stop by
for a bit.”
There is no need.
The sugar ran out yesterday.
Frost delicately traces on the window-pane
and patterns the dusky trellises
swirling vines like ivy leaves
cold, fragmented
overzealous
Like splattered ink across a page
as it wafts gently
to the floor
Like sparkling gems
or sugar-crystals
along the rim of an abandoned cup
or a long-forgotten door
Somewhere
they are watching
slowly sipping porcelain cups
And somewhere behind hollow eyes
you remember a hallway
and a door
and forget the scattered pages
lying, left there
on the floor.
—touched-up a bit—
Standing in an empty hallway
papers drifting to the floor
somewhere empty eyes are watching
with the barest trace of scorn
a hand slowly pours the tea. It pours
it is a steady hand.
There is no need for milk and sugar
not today
today
It is a hallway lined with doors
“We thought to help your pain, My Dear
We thought to have a chat.
We thought of cities and of steam
We thought that you might be in shock
or scorn
We thought to stop by
for a bit.â€
There is no need.
The sugar ran out yesterday.
Frost delicately traces on the window-pane
and patterns on the dusky trellis wood
swirling vines like ivy leaves
cold, fragmented
misunderstood
Like splattered ink across a page
as it wafts gently
to the floor
Like sparkling gems
or sugar-crystals
along the rim of an abandoned cup
or a long-forgotten door
Somewhere
they are watching
slowly sipping porcelain drinks
And somewhere behind hollow eyes
you remember a hallway
and a door
and forget the scattered pages
lying, left there
on the floor.
DREAMS:
My thirteenth orbit ’round the sun
Free, my mind would fly, would run–
Wandering as I laid in bed–
Exploring the world inside my head–
Taking me to vivid dreams
Where everything’s not how it seems–
Where never I found malaise or dread–
Where wonder, in my thoughts, had spread–
The wish to leave, t’was always none–
A world of such uniquely fun–
As I wander into sleep,
As I wander into sleep.
‘Imaginary’ friends, they say–
However!–real in every way–
Friends have never been so true!
Friends who really care for you!
They’re there, watching from above
In a world I know and love:
In rest, a door which I step through–
Over whose clouds I’ve often flew–
Away whose gates I cannot stay–
A world I dream in every day–
A portal into soul so deep:
Wandering in a world of sleep.
CTN, that’s beautiful!
I’ve been venturing into the world of songwriting. My best attempt so far is a song I have titled Why. You’ll see.
My life is a open book
sometimes people write things in it
why can’t they
why can’t they
write something happy for once
No.
I thought that I could trust you
I thought that we were friends
why did you
why did you
tell me all of those lies
Oh.
Oh~
No~
Oh no.
Beautiful! I’d love to hear it sung. except I can’t hear it sung, because we’re in cyberspace. Hmmmm……..
Thanks! But I know it isn’t very good…
But I like writing poems anyhow!
Poems are wonderful.
It’s rather nice, in my opinion. I like it.
Most of my poems are rather gloomy, to say the least. Some of them (most, actually) make my friend E cry. XD
I like gloomy ones, too. They seem easier to write…
Yeah.
Silence is Golden
Or so They say
But Silence with Golden cannot stay
Olympian Golden greets the day
An aureate dawning is display
Saturnine Silence is Death’s stairway
Aberration is a world so gay
Silence is Golden
So They assume
But Golden, its resplendent room
An aureole of Love in bloom
Silence is Plutonian gloom
Acrimonious and adroit in doom
Abjection is a chronic tomb
Silence is Golden
They say such lies
Golden own halcyon skies
Acoustic Silence is when sound dies
Bidding adieu with lethal sighs
Dry your tears, wipe your eyes Silence forbids all such cries
Silence is Golden
To Them is seems
But Golden gleams
With jovial beams
Golden Silences are empty dreams
Fading away with muted screams
Woah. That’s really really good!
*sits and gazes*
Wonderful poems, everyone.
Running with the wind
Blowing in my hair
Streaming out behind me.Â
When my feet take flight
Running to the sunsetÂ
In the evening light.Â
I’m running with the wind
Blowing in my hairÂ
Streaming out behind me.
When I start to slow
I turn around and see
the morning light.
Running with the wind
Blowing through my hair
Streaming out behind me.Â
Running in my dreams
Running in the night
Running to the morning light. Â Â Â
_________________
I wrote it a year ago..
Not my best, but it’s one of my only nondepressing poems.
I love it!
The simple ones are the best.
PSYCHOLOGY:
We try to wander into Ming
Which doesn’t always work
After all, what can we find
In ours, who’ve gone berserk?
The mind to us, ‘s a complex maze
One we’d try go through
However, in those paths of craze
What can we people do?
Our odd brains are alien things
So hard to understand
Yet our thoughts, our alien wings
Are all there on demand?
Empathy’s the inner link
Between us, me an you
Understanding, though, ‘s what we think
In truth, do we’ve a clue?
Doubtless, it is worth it all
Time our thoughts had cost
What other world can be so small
When we wander, we are lost?
SFTDP I meant ‘Mind’ in the first line.
-*CTN*-, you’re an amazing poet.
“Nomad”
I left my pencil on a school desk one day,
Some kid picked it up and carried it away.
They threw the pencil at their friend today,
The teacher yelled at him and took it away.
The pencil lay on the teacher’s desk tomorrow,
A student raised his hand and asked for it to borrow.
The teacher sighed and said “Just bring it back, all right?”
He nodded but instead he took it home that night.
Next week it fell out on the floor of his room,
His mom stepped on it when she went in to vacuum.
She put on his dresser to keep,
The cat knocked it down when he went to sleep.
Next month it fell down the heating grate,
Went straight to the furnace and tested fate.
But it wasn’t to be that the house burned down,
Or that the pencil would then be found.
It got kicked by the plumber to the stairs next year,
The kid was there and he saw it appear.
He brought it to school and dropped it at my feet by chance,
So then I picked it up and I’ve kept it ever since.
I LOVE this, Magnolia!!!! What a great concept. And I like the title.
*LOVES*
Simple and rhyming. Exactly what a poem should be like.
(in my opinion, at least)
Thanks. I always wonder how much stuff drifts away from people during the course of the school day when I see those piles of dirt, dust, papers, and pencils that the janitor sweeps up.
I. LOVE. THIS.
Random poem I wrote during class. I need help with a title…
A tunneling feeling
spiralling downward thrugh my being
and fall -thud!- against the floor of the universe
sprawled out among the stars
as I struggle to remember their words
If a memory has so much meaning
why don’t we all just live in the
mottled yellow glow of our dreams?
We can all curl up
in the corners of the sky
drain ourselves of fear
and sigh as the silvery-lined stormclouds
drift past.
Listening to starlight music
Waiting for the dawn
Dancing to a silent rhythm
Hear the music in my head
Can’t you feel the sunlit starshine
Can’t you hear the silent dawn
Won’t you come see what I hear
Won’t you dance the beat with me
And then some silent sunny night
The stars will come to play
We’ll dance all night and sing all day
The silent dawn will sing again-
I can hear the music
I can see it all
The beauty of the simple things
Are always here and always there to stay.
—
It’s rather random, but it’s a spontaneous poem and one of the only nondepressing poems I’ve wrote in ages. I just followed where the words led me, and I was surprised to find it not depressed.
Hooray! *claps*
Thanks.
Am I good at writing poetry, really?
I mean, I love writing poems but I’m not so sure about their quality. I want your honest opinion.
I honestly love the things you write about. And I love the way you word your stanzas. (even though it doesn’t rhyme. But poetry doesn’t have to rhyme :D) I think your poems are deep in a way… and I love deep things.
*is flattered*
Thanks! You just made my day!!!
Awww.
They kind of make me want to cry.
They make my friend E actually cry sometimes.
I guess it’s a good thing?
I dug out one of my very old things I never editted…
—————————————————
Trapped in a cage, the songful bird
Can no longer utter a word
Looking out by night and day
The quiet seas, so calm and gray
He watches as the weedlings grow
Spreading quickly, like its woe
Yet in its loneliness, dismay
There’s just the seas, so calm and gray
Moonlit skies provide some light
The magic, soothing waves of night
Spread your wings and fly away
Over the seas, so calm and gray
The silent days fly by so fast
Yesterday’s tomorrow’s today’s past
And so the bird wilted away
All’s left the seas, so calm and gray
Songbird sings his little song
Listen closely
In this song is truth revealed
Songbird craving freedom
Little bird imprisoned
In a cage
Made to sing for other’s pleasure
Day after day
How he’d like to spread his wings
And fly away, away
Sing the song of freedom
All the time, every day
Listen to the songbird sing
The song reveals all truth
But prettier is the free bird’s song
Soaring through the trees
When the sky is blue
And the sun shines brightly
Can you not hear the pretty song
Of the free birds
Many melodies
Intertwining
Song of the free bird
Ringing true.
A happy one!
It depends on how you look at it.
In this poem, I’m trying to express how I feel trapped, and feel that if only I am set free can I really be myself, and sing the song of the free bird, so to say.
It’s happier than a lot of the other ones you write, so…
Yes it is.
I saw you in a dream
You were smiling and laughing
With your friends
I’m standing there
And you don’t see
I speak out
You see me now
You say you’ll talk later
When’s that
I don’t know
I’m standing here
Watching you
You’re moving on
While I am stuck
Living in the past
I can’t move forwards
Always looking back
I need you
Can’t you see
You’re still my best friend
So many years
Pass before I notice
Now our paths have parted
Yet I still can’t move on
Still stuck in the past
I tell you that I miss you
You say you miss me too
But what I say
Is only a fraction of my thoughts
But you don’t see
Because you’ve moved on
While I stay in the past
You’re my brother
My best friend
But you’re oblivious to my pain
Not my best, rawer than most of what I write- Its a little bit choppy, but it expresses one of my deepest pains.
Very emotional… deep…
Not choppy. Makes perfect sense…flows smoothly…
A bit repetitive…..
F+H: Your poems are great. Although they are sad at times, sad is happy for deep people.
Hmm…. I’ll try writing one…
Four owls perched upon my door.
“The time has come”, the first one said
The seconds, the seconds
Living faster than ever before.
No wait, no mess
No time to live
No roses are there anymore.
“The time has come”, the second one said
The hours, the hours
Living with rules
Nothing can change
No care, no fuss
No thoughts outside the bounds.
“The time has come”, the third one said.
The years, the years
Living takes time
You might as well wait
Patience makes gain
No wishing it hadn’t taken so long.
“The time has come”, the fourth one said.
The eons, the eons
Living is short
Everything crumbles into dust.
What remains will be your story
Let people know what you have done
“The time has come”, I said.
From seconds to eons
It’s all the same
Live your life
And live it well
That is all I need to tell.
And all the owls flew away.
More inspirational than I usually write, and also a change in style.
Oh, and if anybody needs help on interpretation, I’m offering it for free.
It reminds me of ‘The Raven’ by Edgar Allen Poe…
*loves*
Yes! I thought it was just me…
But I guess it isn’t.
*admires* I wish I could write poetry that good.
Thanks! I was actually thinking of one stanza of “The Walrus and The Carpenter” when I wrote some of the stanzas. It goes:
“The time has come” The Walrus said
“To talk of many things
Of shoes, and ships and sealing wax
Of cabbages and kings
And why the sea is boiling hot
And whether pigs have wings”.
Your poetry is the type I try to write all the time, free verse, without structure, and I always fail.
Ohh…. I see it now.
I write structured poetry a lot, actually.
The sun was shining on the sea,
He shone with all his might.
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright
And this was odd because it was
The middle of the night.
—
I know part of the next verse and the one you posted but that’s all from that poem. I keep meaning to go back and memorize it : /
Ah… so that was what it was…
Structure is nice.
Enc: Your poetry’s really good too!
Honestly, all I wanted was honesty.
How can I believe that you can’t see
the hurt in my eyes when you lie to me?
And how can you think that I wouldn’t know
exactly what you can’t fail to show?
Understanding, that is what I have to offer.
And so here I wait with hopeful heart.
Hoping your confidence you will impart.
Don’t leave me waiting.
Enc, that’s beautiful. I love it. Fireh, all of your songs/poems are lovely as well. And kiwimuncher, the first line of your poem is immensely wonderful, though sad.
Tell Me
Tell me what the world is like
for my eyes have been sealed shut,
encrusted by flecks of sleep
for too long
and I’ve forgotten.
I miss the warmth
of a fellow human’s breath
upon my ashen skin
and I miss the image
of slender, screeching gulls flitting gracefully
over a stillborn lake.
Tell me what love is like.
I miss the look that lovers give each other
like there’s nothing else in the universe
except each other and a couple
of stray stars.
And I even miss the emptiness
the shuddering sobs within a locked room
when it has ended
knowing that, in a week,
it will no longer matter.
Tell me, my dearest, what life is like.
Does yours have a purpse now
or are you still wandering
through roadmaps and photographs
lies and sweet-nothings?
Are you a part of the universe,
as just as I once was?
The ending needs to be rewritten, but I can’t figure out a way to make it work.
Er, that was supposed to say “Does yours have a purpose now?”
California’s gov is broke
And where’re the savings drawn?
From nightmares we’ve awoke
To see our teachers gone?!
Those gallant soldiers of coming time
Shall be commanded. But!
Forcing their leave’s a hateful crime
In wake of budget cut ?!
The deepened, gaping, growing hole
In Life we’d only face
If it isn’t tearing at our soul
To leave an empty space
Why’s it that we have to lose
The ones we need the most ?
Without them, our brighter views
Of future’s but a ghost?
To where did they disappear
But a tax that tries to save ?!
To us the teachers are more dear
Than the state gov’s taxful grave
I love that poem CTN! It’s kind of funny in a sad way. The rhyming scheme is excellent, and fits in with the poem all at the same time.
Thank you…
I wrote it when I felt kind of mad, so…
I often find that being angry at something clears my head. It makes me more…logical…somehow, in my thinking. Maybe if I’ve just been in a debate or an argument, my brain is trying to come up with lots of things to say against the other person? I don’t really know…
Ah. It makes my writing more moody. and depressing-like.
Haha! *loves*
Awesome poem! I love it!
“Forcing their leave’s a hateful crime/ In wake of Budget cut”
Was the part that I really adored.
Amazing! *applauds*
One word remains
One word will do
I say you’re my brother
What I say is true
One word alone
One word is true
Heart full of sorrow
Crying for you
This is a song that I made up in science class when our teacher was talking about spongy bone. I asked, “Is that the real scientific name??”
She said, “Maybe not, but that’s what we’re going to call it.” So when I was supposed to be doing my work, I wrote this little song, sung to the tune of… oh, I think you can guess.
Who live in a bone that is in your body?
SPONGY BONE!
Absorbant and whitish and porous is he!
SPONGY BONE!
He needs lots of calcium to stay healthy,
SPONGY BONE!
And he’s in the skeletons of you and me,
SPONGY BONE! etc.
My teacher wants me to make a music video of it now…
XD You have an awesome teacher…
I know… she also let me teach the class a lesson that I had already learned.
Cool!
The sky is smoked, the ground is scorched
Mother Earth, we, Man, had torched
Creatures gone, plants no more
All remains is eternal war
Ragged banners, abandoned fields
Bloodshed’s what mankind revealed
Death will reign over the land
No one living left to stand
And this world, for all it’s worth:
Burning (heck) on Dying Earth
Might possess a miniscule chance
And might not die much in advance
If humans, all of us can be
Loving towards what we feel and see
The Earth, from land to skies above
And preach of living, Life, and Love.
*gapes* Wow, I really like it
Remind me to never, ever attempt to write a poem/song or whatnot. *fails at poems/songs or whatnot*
“The Continuing Story of Devilish Fish”
Toothpaste, sugar on top.
Horse meant, I did not.
Sashimi once, bluebells twice,
Snips and snails and everything nice.
The motorcycle
Refuses to recycle
Beans and butterflies.
Once I wrote a limerick,
A word that rhymes is “pumpernick,”
Which doesn’t really rhyme
But a spice that does is “thyme”
And one more line that rhymes is “slim and slick.”
Silver Lining went to town, a-Flying on a truffle,
Wearing her best Old Brown Shoe and causing a kerfuffle.
That is all I have to say.
Come and play another day.
*laughs* That explains so much.
I initially wrote, “Silver Lining went to town a-riding on a walrus”, but couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with walrus.
Can you hear the music?
What music is there to hear?
The music of a silent wood, a softly clouded sky.
The music that does not wait for you to listen
If it does not wait for me, then how can I catch up?
You must run to hear the music
And the sparrow in song.
I don’t want to run to hear it.
Can’t it come to me?
The music will not obey your demands.
The music has the will of a tiger.
Then I will not listen to the music
Then the music will not listen to you.
Beatiful! I love that.
Yay! *claps*
Ooh! I like it!
It is hot.
Temperatures rising, they say,
better get your shorts on.
The thermometer does not make jokes.
130°F and counting.
—
Traffic on the highways,
bumper-to-bumper for miles.
People have just stopped.
For a moment, the world is silent.
—
An explosion of light.
And then a silent loss.
Utter darkness.
—
In the silence
In the blindness
A low, rising, wordless wail of pain
the kind that only billions of people together can make.
—
Our sun is gone.
if the earth were a poem
what would it say?
a simile, perhaps:
Like glue, it clings lazily
to the atmosphere
holding onto what memories
it can salvage
in the wreckage of humanity
Like a moth, drawn gently
to the flickering flame
of the constellations
wings beating in futility
reaching for hope
that slips away
in the dawn
a metaphor-
Earth is a great mass
of voices that cry
for one thing:
resolution
perhaps he would be lazy
/flick his fingers/
/find a beat/
and write me a haiku.
human wasteland
wanting more than it can have
floating desert
At the end of the day,
God would stop, rest
look at what he had written
and then
scratch it all out
and start over.
Oh! I love this, agrrrfishi! Except that a haiku is 5-7-5, not 4-7-4. But I think it’s beautiful anyway.
Thank you!
And I realized that about a minute after I posted, but then left it because I thought nobody would notice. Silly me, you guys are too smart for that.
ODE TO THE SCHOOL HALLWAY
You have been wearied,
By many a shoe,
And dirtied and smearied,
By chewing gum too.
You’ve been puked on and bled on,
I think kids also spit,
You’ve been spilled on and sat on
But now don’t show it.
You’re dusty and dirty!
You’re grotty and sticky!
You’ve got garbage cans thirty,
And are generally icky.
But your red and white tiles,
Are always just there
Willing to get stepped on
Things dropped everywhere.
You’ve offered some holding
So we don’t fall through the ceiling,
While always beholding
Our most stompy feelings.
So thank you, school hallway,
For continuing to be,
A tiled floor alway (( I LOVE THAT WORD ))
For my teachers and me.
*loves*
I love the tings you write about.
What I like the most
Is when CTN posts
About my poems
Full of loams.
That last line is off. It needs another syllable.
*/cranky teacher imitation*
I want to smile
I want to frown
Wanna see your face
I want to run
I won’t fall down
Wanna win this race
I don’t want you to go
Don’t go with the wind
I want to smirk
I want to sigh
Wanna scream your name
I want the truth
Give me no lie
Wanna see you ashamed
Cause you’re leaving me behind
You’re flying away with the wind
I want to laugh
I want to cry
Wanna show you my pain
I want to live
I want to die
Wanna be happy again
Cause I know that you’re gone
You’ve gone with the wind
Yeah
Gone with the wind.
—
My new song I’m writing, working title of With the Wind. I’m working on the piano accompaniment, I’ve got the vocals down though. Me and Holly may sing this together, or I may do this as a solo.
I like your songs much better than….oh, 37 or so of the songs on the Top 40.
*grins* Thank you! *is flattered*
Like….Kesha. *refuses to spell name with dollar sign* WHY DO PEOPLE PERSIST ON BEING FAMOUS
You know, she paraded around on American Idol wearing a silver leotard, combat boots, and an INDIAN HEADRESS! With backup dancers wearing TV SCREENS with her FACE ON THEM dancing behind her! ARRASREARASEOIJHODFIGHOIADHTGOKASDNFLK BNO
ASOERJHOI
1`890723
I’ll stop. I hope you become famous someday, anyway, Fireh.
Snippets of talking
Pieces of lives
Parts of a jumbled tapestry.
I see it all, from my seat on the side
Alone, in introvert heaven
But though I like silence
I also like friends
Mingling, feeling a part.
I can’t break the habit
Of talking to none
Not even when I feel alone
Trying to find
My place in this world
Trying to fit in with living
Finding new friends
Without talking first
How well could that ever work?
Then why do I do it?
Why can’t I talk?
Why do I keep from the circle?
Am I scared of the world? Is it worse than the pain
Of being alone while they’re talking?
Maybe someday
I’ll break loose from these chains
The self-imposed chains of loneliness.
Or maybe someday
Chains will all fall away
Maybe I’ll wake
And find myself brave
I wait for that day, but I cannot hope
Longing, but not yet believing.
I am alone,
Except for my friends.
But none of the new ones are counted.
~~~
That sounds a lot more depressing than my life actually is.
Head tilted back to face the star-filled sky,
you ask me why
I am so enthralled with the dark of night
instead of light
Why I prefer to be somewhere alone
instead of home
Why I stay quiet when I could speak out
take other routes.
The stars glint, like a forgotten city
like mystery.
I shrug, and smile, and still stare up again
hoping for rain
Hoping for love and hate and bliss and fights
Hoping for life.
_____
Doing couplets in creative writing, this was today’s assignment.
In Memoriam
A more selfless house-elf might never be known
First years of his life: spent serving a family
The Malfoys; most merciless pure-bloods that ever will be;
Until a smelly old sock was by chance at him thrown
Lucius Malfoy once owned, now had, an elf, set free
In need of some Galleons, he went door-to-door
‘A house-elf want paying?’ they’d say with a smirk
‘Not likely,’ they’d shout; slam the door; go berserk
For two years he travelled, every failure he bore
An emancipated elf wanted money for work
After twenty months, Dobby had had some thoughts
As to where an elf might find work for a Knut
Albus Dumbledore gladly provided a job, but
He must work with the others in the kitchens of Hogwarts
For ten Galleons a month, never drop the teapots
Alas, poor Dobby met untimely ends
Pierced in the chest by Bellatrix’s sharp knife
At Malfoy Manor; it stopped his short life
He was never meant to die – he was loved by his friends
Who unwittingly involved him in wizarding strife
His masters he served; while through struggles and strains
To be a liberated elf was his life’s only aim
The sui juris spirit lies buried, leaving the fame
Of the free, noble house-elf; all that remains-
A white weathered gravestone, bearing his name:
Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf
Eh, I know it’s not perfect, and I only really like the second and fifth stanzas, but still.
Oh, I like it! I nearly cried when Dobby died. It was so unfair.
Ode to a Pothole
Little pothole in the road
How felt thee when tyres flowed
Into thee, and never around
Dropping deep, down to the ground
How bore thee it if trucks would run
Rumbling and grumbling, weighing a ton
Squashing the poor tarmac around thee flat
And widening the hole where its wheel sat
How lived thee when wheels would roll
Over thee, and cars would bowl
Straight across thee, without a care
For the dip in height; perhaps it’s rare
For potholes to stand, unnoticed, alone
Without man have the gap be sewn
Until the street is smooth, looks new
Save for the middling patch of a darker hue
Perhaps it shall return, some day
To find a new place, still in the way
Of busy transport and everyday car
Travelling over this scar in the tar
That sounds just like me, except you’re a better poet.
I,
“I”
Stand straight and tall.
I never waver, never fall.
You,
“U”
You slump, you slouch.
You sag.
You drag.
I am great. I am proud.
I’m confident. I speak out loud.
“I”!
You are so quiet.
Barely a murmur.
“U”.
You,
“U”
You sit like you despair.
You slunk down like you’re depressed.
I,
“I”
I am facing the world!
I am a beacon.
I am a straight line.
You,
“U”
Could be so much taller and so much braver
If you stood erect.
Come on,
“U”
Let “I” straighten you out.
Has anyone ever told you that you are a wonderful poet?
Me? If it is me, then thank you! I was inspired to write this poem after walking home from the bus stop and coming across an almost perfectly round pothole in the road. I wrote almost all of it before I even got home, where I quickly typed it up, lest I forget. That’s how inspirations come for me. Suddenly and randomly – when I’m about to fall asleep (e.g. In Memoriam) or walking home. Anyway, I also think you’re a very good poet! Yay!
Cskia is the former *-CTN-*, right? If so, then I agree! Okay, yes, it is.
Yes, I am.
Selenium, I envy your ability to create poems without having to use pen and paper. And I love your inspirations! Not many people would write about potholes. (Maybe except for P_M. PM, you’re a wonderful poet too! Pencils
))
Thanks, again. I had to work hard to remember what I had made up in my head while I was walking home, though!
Thanks!
Has anyone ever heard of “found poems”?
I don’t think so. What are they?
“Mother Carey’s Chickens”
The petrels scream and wheel beneath a vast uncaring sky
Like empty-hearted mourners ever calling for the lost.
The sun has broken through the clouds; its beams divert the eye,
But the sea is full of drifting ice, the pebbles rimed with frost.
A ship is moored at harbor, its salt-caked rigging torn,
A dozen scars for every mile of ocean it has crossed.
Its single weary passenger stands at the bow, forlorn,
And stares across the strand to see what passing years have cost.
The exile’s eye is dimmed with age, his face is lined and worn,
A shrunken wreckage of the man who once had left this shore,
But stubborn memory persists. He sees where he was born,
His childhood haunts, a girl he kissed- but the water’s sullen roar
Is all he hears. The empty houses slump, as if to cry.
The lighthouse has been dark for years, with rotten board and floor.
He turns and gives the order to depart. The white sails fly,
The waves roll back. The petrels follow in their wake- no more.
Ohhhh. I love it. It sounds like something I thought once.
This is supposed to be sort of a song, or chant. It expresses some feelings I’ve been having in Science class.
~~~~~~~~~~~
(pianissimo)
An infinite black
Standing still
Never moving
Nothing comes
Nothing goes
(piano)
A silent universe
Tiptoeing through the elegant dance
Suns and stars
Galactic turns
Slowly spinning
(mezzo piano)
Suns with their planets
Andante dances, burning, dying
Yet brightly spirited
Never stopping
Always orbiting
(mezzo forte)
One small planet
Galloping in the lively dance
Whirling around the sun
Incredible distance
And always alive
(forte)
On the planet
Whirling through the spirited dance
Always living, never stopping
Tiny mortals, we are
Living life
Completely unexpected
(fortissimo)
Oh, miracle of life!
From dust, we come
The heavens in their giant dance
And our small lives, focused on us
Always moving, never stopping
And yet, one does never know the other
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comments?
And this is about astronomy?
*hearts*
Yeah. Pretty much.
During Science class, I’ve really been getting a sense of proportion. Tiny little beings, on a tiny planet, orbiting a star that usually would go unnoticed, in just one of billions of galaxies.
And yet somehow science class managed to be boring.
Science class always manages to be boring.
I love it. (The poem, that is!)
Proportion, yes. It’s wonderful knowing that each and every one of us is but a tiny part in a Existence. It’s dazzling.
I really like your poem, Enc! And also, I disagree about science class always managing to be boring. I love my science class! And we’re about to start the astronomy unit next week. We are finally done with Transfer of Energy! I am so sick of physics. What I really love about astronomy is all the deep questions it raises, such as the proportion thing. We can’t even begin to imagine how small we really are, or how big the universe really is. It’s mind-boggling.
This reminds me of a debate my friends and I had recently about which is better, astronomy or physics. Astronomy won, needless to say. I am so pro. 
It also kind of helps that 3 vs 2 turned into 4 v 1 after we successfully converted one of them to astronomy.
Argh. Why do my posts always turn out so long? Mental note to self: stop going off on tangents all the time!
Amazing! *loves*
I like the way you have the dynamics marked out. It really gives it a neat vibe. I’m imagining what it would sound like with music.
Again, utterly amazing. I wish I could write things like you do.
Thanks! You’re really good too. I think you’re much better than me.
Credit goes to Tessera Rose for this one. Apologies to any Twilight fans.
It’s to the tune of the Comet song.
Twilight!
It makes your brain turn smooth.
Twilight!
It makes you lose your frood(-iness, perhaps)
Twilight!
Please don’t highlight!
A line in Twilight!
So throw your Twilight, out your skylight, today!
*snicker*
Nice!
XD
“Out your skylight,” indeed!
XD
But what if you don’t have a skylight?
116~ Hehehehehehehehehehehe!!!!!
F+H: You really think I’m good? My poems always seem a bit cheesy to me. This poem was partly inspired by Selenium’s ode. And riding home from Junior Districts
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ode to a highway at night
Darkened sky, green and blue
Lights winking, between the black trees
Slipping past so fast
Shadow houses, behind floating guardrails
Always the same
And never the same
Rivers of lights, cars and trucks
We pass each other
Illuminating the road
Just a glimpse of another life
And never to be seen again
Road like a river
We flow along it
Merging and swimming and bumping
Turning and twisting
Mysteriously whispering
And never totally seen
I love how you describe the road as a river. You < are good. Don’t go around denying it. Don’t we all think our own poems are cheesy?
To sum it up: ’tis wonderful.
Just a glimpse of another life
And never to be seen again
PERFECT.
Enc, you are much, much, MUCH better than me. In an entirely different level. Your poems capture the very essence of life. At least, in my humble opinion.
I’ll post some of my latest pathetic attempts at poetry anyway.
—
Balance Point
Tilting this way and that
Moving forwards
Moving back
Seeking balance
Seeking equilibrium
But sometimes
There is no balance point
You fall that way or this way
You can’t stay up
There is no winning
Sometimes
The only way is down
There is no way not to fall
Falling, falling
Landing with a thud
Then you’re stuck
In a hole
Get me out
Of this hole
And there’s no way to get out
But sometimes
There’s a ladder
And you climb
And climb
And you’re at the top again.
—
You and Me
Your smile is bright like the sun
Full of life-
Rejoicing all you’ve won.
My smile is like the crescent moon
Barely there
Small and sad.
Your voice rings out
Loud and clear
Your song shows your joy in life
My voice is soft
Projected, but soft
My song holds hidden sadness
Your dance is fast
Eye-catching and lively
You celebrate your youth
My dance is slow
Wearily plodding
I look towards the future
You are bright as the day
Golden locks flying in the wind
Blue eyes sparkling with merriment
I am dark like the night
Dark brown strands stray from a braid
Dark eyes full of hidden sorrow
You stand tall
Skipping jubilantly through life
Your stance shows to all your pride
I stand straight
Walking silently through life
My stance showing that I wish to be unseen
You are a belle
With your golden hair and blue eyes
Like a fountain of happiness
I am a plain jane
Dark and ordinary
A well of silence
You are everything I wish I could be
Fair, tall, beautiful, happy
Everything I’m not
I am what I am
Dark, small, plain, solemn
Opposite of you
You are the sun,
Shining on all you meet
Brightly rejoicing life.
I am the moon,
Dimly shining on those close to me
Seeing life as it is.
Sometimes I wonder
if I will ever be like you
Shining bright with joy
But I am locked too tightly
Within my shell of silence
To change myself
I am happy
To stand in the shadow of your light
And be your friend.
Your poems are awesome too! I couldn’t write anything like you write.
My poems…. I have to have some type of structure, yet at the same time it’s freeverse. Like, I’ll have each verse in lines of three, and that’ll be my rule, then I can do anything I like within that rule. Does that make sense?
I think we’ve got entirely different styles, and thus cannot be compared fairly.
Yeah… it does.
Good. I was afraid it wouldn’t.
And fireh writes another sad song that makes me want to cry again.
It has beautiful imagery though.
My Locker.
My locker is lucky.
It is a top locker,
And,
The person under me rarely goes to her locker.
It is a small cocoon of red metal.
It is warm and safe.
On bad days, I open the door of my locker,
Stick my head inside,
And half of the hallway is cut off from my vision.
On rainy days,
Rainy Tuesdays,
Rainy Tuesdays where I know I have a test in English and notes to take in science and math homework to finish and there’s no band tomorrow and I have to go into homeroom and my friends are mad at me and I have to go to music,
I wish I could stay in my locker all day.
I wish I could shrink.
Climb behind my books
Lying on a sheet of crumpled-up notebook paper
Tapping my fingers on the red metal
And staying in my warm, safe, sheltered red locker,
Until the day is over and I can go home.
Ode to Science Class
I am sitting here
In Science class
How dull it is
(The same with math.)
I am watching the clock
And its hands, round they go
And thinking of things
That I’d much rather know.
How does a clock work?
Why do birds sing?
And why did Ringo Starr
like to wear so many rings?
What began the universe?
And how shall it end?
If you write the town but not the zip-code
Will the letter still send?
Will it rain today?
Do I have gym next, or art?
Whoever got the idea that babies
should ride in shopping carts?
Will I still remember him in twenty years?
And was the bucket yellow or green?
Am I really a raving insomniac?
And what is the purpose of a spleen?
Is this class almost over?
I should really hope so.
The bell has just rung
So away I shall go.
—
Can You? Will You?
Can you read me the story of life?
And tell me how old is time?
Can you tell me what splits a great four-way force
And tell me, is love blind?
Can you hold my hand when we cross the street
And just enjoy the view?
Can you disperse into history?
Or can I stay here, forever, with you?
Can you cradle me in the crook of the universe
And guarantee the world will never end?
Can you spend all your wishes on a single fallen star
And pinky-promise that we’ll always be friends?
Silver Lining I love your poem!!! I feel the exact same way. In fact I recently found some old poems I wrote in science last year. I’ll try to post them
And so I don’t post three separate times on this thread:
122 Jadestone – Beautiful. Short and sweet. And wonderful imagery. ( I love imagery! )
124 fireh – As usual you don’t fail to amaze. Personally I think you are the strong girl.
Thank you, Magnolia!
And, yes, please do post your poems.
To Say Goodbye:
clutch the dying flower in your hands
breathe
(let go of the memories)
and watch the seeds scatter across the sky.
Poor Balloons
On the screen, Bloons Tower Defense is running
Balloons rolling endlessly along the track
Towers, weapons, bombs exploding
Sending virtual shrapnel into virtual air
And killing the poor balloons
Poor balloons
They never had a chance
Next to me, Sarah is also
Playing the same game
Whispering angrily at the monkeys
To ‘Detonate, stupid!’
Pineapples, glue balls and airplanes
Dot the garden scene, busily crowding
The space with guns and gunners
And an evil monkey, holding a pin
Ready to pop each poor balloon
As it innocently, unknowingly, naively
Makes its way along the road
Brushing against neon green hedges
Like clouds, clumped at the side of the street
A blue pond, brightly & falsely coloured
That if it were to exist, would surely kill
All the little fish that dared to swim in it
It is here that balloons roll
Grenades fly; tacks burst; glue tangles; bombs explode;
Little monkeys cackle silently
And pop each incoming balloon with a sharp, pointy pin
Poor balloons
———————————————
Note: I wrote this poem on a whim, because my friend was playing Bloons Tower Defense in class today and introduced me to it. We were supposed to be writing our poems for Language Arts, but I’ve already written mine (Ode to a Pothole), so I spent the time playing BTD and writing this. It’s not very good. I don’t like it very much. But hey, who cares?
I like it. ‘Poor balloons”…
I seem to be writing a bunch of songs lately. I like writing songs.
My dad finally installed GarageBand, too!
—-
Who am I
Am I the girl who stands
Alone in a crowdÂ
Am I the girl who has so many friends?
The girl who will sitÂ
At the piano all day
The girl who shuts up in her room with a bookÂ
The girl who laughs
With her hundreds of friends
The girl who sits alone cursing the universe
The girl who tells
Too many bad jokes
The girl who sits at her desk and cries till her eyes are dry
The girl who is fearless
Standing tall and strong
The girl who is scared of rejection and failure
The girl who is friendly
And open to all
The girl who’s closed up like a clam
Who am I?
Who is this girl, she’s so many things at once
Who am I?
Who am I?
Who is this girl who’s so friendly and nice
Who am I?
Who am I?
Who is this girl who’s so stubbornly cold
Who am I?
Oh~
Who am I?
I’d tell you I love you, but
then I’d have to kill you.
My love is a secret
nobody can know.
I’d tell you I love you, but
you make me forget it,
the warmth of your smile blows
the words from my brain.
I’d tell you I love you, but
the words and ideas
“I love you” are not quite
the same as you’d think.
Just three words. Eight letters.
(Not counting the spaces.)
I wish I could kiss you
that you loved me back.
I wish I would gather
my failing courage
and tell you my feelings
no matter what comes.
You know me. I am a
coward of the worst type.
And all I can do is
post my love online.
I love you I love you,
I love you I love you,
I love you I love you
Now go. Make it real.
Hm.
Did you write that, or did you find it somewhere? The first stanza sounds familiar…
There’s a book called I’d tell you I love you, but then I’d have to kill you. It’s really good!
The spy one? I’ve read that!!!!!!!!! After I read it I snuck upstairs, hid, and then jumped out at my dad as he was climbing the stairs. He was mad at me
Ok, here’s a song.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hail, hail, hail!
Hail the conquering king!
We fought for other’s land, forgot everything
Hail, hail, hail, hail the conquering king
Hail the empire
Built of sand
Hail how we’ll fall
Hail how we demand!
Hail our military might
Hail how all we learn
Is to fight!
Hail, hail, hail, hail the conquering king!
Hail our children
Learning to kill
We’ll rule the world
We will!
As we run to our deaths
Hail how we stand
Not afraid
To make more demands
Hail how we treat
The disgusting conquered ones
They aren’t even people
Them with their knives, us with our guns
Hail, hail, hail!
Hail the conquering king!
We fought for other’s land, forgot everything
Hail, hail, hail, hail the conquering king!
Enc- very nice. I wish I could hear your songs put to music.
Here’s another song from me. I’m quite proud of it.
Try to make me fit your rules
Try to make me use yout tools
Try to make me ordinary
But I
I won’t change for anyone
‘Cause I
I am who I am
And I
I will be myself
No matter what I’ll be myself
Yeah
But it comes from the heart
(humming)
Comes from the heart~
Try to make me fit your mold
Try to herd me in the fold
Trying to catch me if you can
But I
I won’t change for anyone
‘Cause I
I am who I am
And I
I will be myself
Try as you will I’ll be myself
Yeah
But I sing from the soul
(humming)
Sing from the soul~
I am who I am!
My favorite line is: Trying to catch me if you can.
Kind of reminds me of “Freak Out” by Avril Lavigne, if you know it?
here’s a poem I wrote for my LA poetry final. Not my favorite, but I still like it. the 3rd paragraph is my favorite.
Slate-Grey Skies
The harsh and frigid winters nights and days
When all is cold, when all seems to sleep
For the world works in mysterious ways
When all that’s seen’s the mountain steep
For where does all the color run to
That brightens summer days true?
Or the fall glory dazzling you
To hide from winter’s keep?
Now all you have are slate-grey skies
Deaf to your lonely, tearful cries
When you learn ev’rything dies
For life is never cheap
As you sit beneath snowy, grey, tree
And chance to think what was meant to be
Remember the seasons and think of me
Of how I would not leap
The world is frozen, brittle, and cold
One blow can shatter all held dear
Yet your heart throbs with songs of old
Of light and hope, each runs deep
So part the clouds with hopes strong wind
Let us all see what is behind
So take a deep breath and unwind
I’ll watch your peaceful sleep
Now take my hand and close your eyes
Pretend you cannot leap.
thank you. It had to rhyme (most of mine don’t) the assignment was to identify the poetic devices used in a poem and emulate that poem, right down to the number of sylables per line. I emulated “The Blossom Never Knows” by I don’t-quite-remember-who.
Somewhere outside
there are voices
a constant murmur
speaking behind closed doors or into numb eyes
pretending to listen,
I nod along and escape
to endless scope of worlds within
drifting
somewhere between sleep and space
until the chance arises
to be alone
to lie back
and listen to the
rain
drops.
((I’m not really a poet, never have been, so lets see how this goes))
My heart aches.
Can you not see?
How hard is it to notice me,
once in a while?
I feel.
You may not see my tears,
but they are real
and they exist.
You go around,
acting as usual.
I stare and you still not notice
how my heart aches.
I encourage you
to be with her,
yet you seem not to notice
how much it hurts.
Oh my dear,
why must you
be so amazing?
So perfect?
Thank you,
for breaking my fragile heart
into a bunch of little
pieces.
I’m so sorry…
SFTDP My best friend wrote this poem and she gave me permission to share it with you.
You can cry that he’s gone,
and you can say nothing’s wrong.
You can wish he’ll finally realize,
but boys are not nearly as wise.
You can say, “I’m happy for him”
but you know you will never be the same.
You can try to leave the pain behind,
and yet, he’s still on your mind.
I don’t know how you feel,
I’ve never had to deal.
but know i’ll always be there,
whenever life’s not fair.
tell your friend that that poem is amazing. And very sweet.
I will.
Another poem, entitled “Get thee away” by me.
In my pain,
In my confusion
I say to my enemy
Get thee away
get thee away from me.
get thee to heaven,
get thee to hell
but get thee
far, far, away
from me.
SFTDP-I meant to share this with you in the same post, but my mother came demanding access to her email.
It’s called All we dream of:
All that is
all that was
all that could be
all that’s not
All we dream of
all we need
All we think of
all we plead
And the words flow on the paper
like a stream down from my head
And though I feel all alone
I know that it will end.
As I see you in the distance
The you inside my dreams
though I know that in this instance
the dream is killing me.
As you sit down across from me
and look me in the eye
I know that you will free me
I know the dream will die.
And I begin to cry.
All that is
all that was
All that could be
all that will be
All that’s not
and all that we dream of.
I wrote this just after I was over-ish crushing on my one of my best friends. I hate crushing on my friends.
WHAT!! It deleated my careful formating!!!! (that’s the problem with free form poetry, all to often it doesn’t translate well to computer.)
You hate cruching on your friends? I had a crush on one of my friends a while ago and totally loved it. It was the getting over it and seeing what a lovesick nutcase I had become that was REALLY painfull.
I’m far too rational to enjoy crushing on my friends, especially when I know they won’t ever crush on me.
“Why”
Confusion is here.
Chaos breaks loose.
Yet through all of this,
all I can see is you.
I run to you, but find myself lost
Hopelessly lost.
Why is this?
I try and call your name,
but my voice is never heard.
“HELP, HELP!” I cry,
but you just pass on by.
Like I mean nothing.
Why is this?
Do you not care.
whether I live or die?
Do you not care,
that I always think about you
and always will?
I run to you,
but you act if I am not there.
Why is this?
You take no notice of me in public,
but alone,
I mean the world to you.
At least, this is what you say
Do you really mean it?
Do you really care?
Although you say you do,
I know you do not mean it.
Why is this?
Please explain to me,
why you must be so cruel.
You guys know the feeling, right?
When it’s way too late and the stars are calling
But you just can’t bring yourself to shut your eyes and sleep?
When an overwhelming loneliness creeps in
And someone is trying to pry open your ribcage
And your heart is yearning, aching, moaning for some unknown cure.
When your hands ache to create but your nerves are crying out
And all you want to so is lapse into the sweet, empty bliss of sleep
But your heart is calling to the sky
Wishing, needing something more.
You guys know the feeling, right?
It’s not just me?
I know the feeling
When the night is black as ink
And thousands of stars are splashed across the sky
Twinkling, blinking goodnight
Yet the windows are shut
The curtains are drawn
And in suffocating darkness, I lie, eyes open
The house is asleep
The world is asleep
It seems as if just one person tonight
Is awake
Hidden in the shadows
The blankets are too hot
The pillow is too cold
I toss and turn, and yearn for sleep
For relaxed escape
For honeyed dreams
But my mind is racing, racing
With too many thoughts to contain
A million inspirations arrive at once
And with them comes the urge to write them down
In my sleepless state, wide-awake
I struggle to remember all these things
Torn between wanting to sleep
And wanting to think
Night-time is for sleeping
But for me, it’s the only time I have
Free, interrupted time
For thinking, just thinking
As outside, hundreds of stars fade away
As dark turns to dawn
The sky lightens to a deep purple
Faintly-coloured, bruised blue
Birds, awaken, stretch their wings
With a flurry of feathers
And rise into the morning air with a warble or two
As finally, finally
I drop off to sleep
I love this one!
Oh yes, I know the feeling.
The yearning for one final look
When it’s already far too late
And I’ve been up reading far too long
But who can resist the moon?
Not my heart, I cannot.
Don’t take off the glasses, just stand and stare
At the window in the dark, sleepy-eyed.
So high above the city’s glow
Looking down, kindly.
A destination for my dream-ships if no others.
On warmer, summer nights
I’ve lain on coastal lawns
And stared eternities at Vega and the Rift
Or climbed high in slick trees,
Moss-covered branches
Half-blinded in the dark
But not blind to what lies above me
Pulling myself up to a sitting-place
And watching the great cascading band of stars
Between the wind-blown leaves
It’s hard to remember
On stuffy, cloudy winter nights
Alight with city-glow
After long chatroom debates
On policy, budgets and messiness
On rage and criticism, of hopes won and lost
That wonder in the rural trees or fields.
But I wrap myself up tight
And call it back,
Let it overcome my worries
As it must
And feel again the wonder and serenity
It’s good to remember on those stuffy nights
Those summer eve feelings
For these are the feelings
That set our minds to voyaging
It’s good to remember-
WHY.
My favorite of those so far. *applauds* The others are great too though.
“Chain Mail ( Happy Poem )”
I
am
an
Apple!
(If you are taken.)
I
am
a
Cherry!
(If you like someone but not sure how they feel about you.)
I
am
a
L-E-M-O-N– (If you have given up.)That is
not very
happy.
I
am
a
Pineapple!
(If you’re just taking life as it comes.)
I
am
a
Strawberry!
(If you like someone and they like you but you’re not going out.)
Fruits!
Fruits!
They
are
so
juicy
and
fruity
and
happy
things.
Pseudo
is
Grananamonapple!
( The Pine-apple
apple. )
On the chain mail,
what
are
you?
Happy
fruits!
I know the feeling
of sitting out in the summer,
all alone.
And knowing I should sleep tonight
but, look, there’s the moon
and wondering if I’ll ever know
what it’s like to be warm
as I sit beneath the pines
or on the waters edge
And almost crying
for the love and stress and joy
flowing through me,
yes I’m happy
but I can always remember
what it’s like to be sad
I see the stars in millions
forget the clouds in the city
this is summer
smell the breeze
through the trees
the evergreen, the pine
sweet, cool, salt off of the sea
this is summer
and, for once this year,
I am nearly home.
Marvel at the universe streached above me
marvel that I am alive.
see the lights on other islands
hear the waves,
it’s never quiet here.
smell that breeze again
hug my knees up to my chest
and think over this moment
it’s enough to make me wonder
where my life is going
cause, no matter how I plan
and plot, till I get there
I won’t know.
but that’s alright, i guess.
because right now,
I am home.
Did you know
It feels like joy and melancholy
All mixed together ’til you can’t tell one from the other
Like dancing alone in a crowd
Heartbeat mixing with the bass drum
It feels like you’re about to overflow
But then it ebbs away and
You feel strangely deprived
Empty
I know the feeling
of sitting on a roof
letting velvety warm air surround me
watching the stars above me turn in the sky
and reflect in the river below.
A place apart from noise and rush
that still can see
still watches
what lies below
I’d like to say that I sold a poem of mine to a magazine recently! It is my first sale.
ohh! Congats! which magizine?
I know the feeling
Of sitting all alone
Wishing for…
Something
You don’t know what it is.
I stand by the window
Shadowy reflections
In the water
I know it’s hopeless
But I can’t help it all the same
The feeling
Of not knowing
What it is you want
Is it just me?
Am I so indecisive, me alone?
I know the feeling
of sitting outside under
the starry night,
and wishing for just one moment,
everything would be different.
I know the feeling
of running through fields of flowers,
staring at the clouds pass by,
and reading a book
beneath a tree.
I know the feeling
of dancing in the rain.
The smell, the sound,
and the feeling of the raindrops
that drip down my nose.
I know the feeling
of being all alone.
The feeling of emptiness
and yearning inside,
that never seems to go away.
Do you?
Yes I know THAT feeling
that my life is incomplete
that I am still waiting for
something.
or maybe, just perhaps
someone.
And often I feel homesick
even when I’m sitting in my room
And the world just spins around me
and I can’t quite grasp it
can’t quite join it
though I’m in it.
And I love the feeling
of danceing in the rain
whirling and twirling
my hands warm in hers
the rest cold and wet
a smile on my face
I will never forget
that feeling
I also love the feeling
of sitting on the shore
my knees up to my chest
and listening to the wind blow
feeling it soft on my skin
and breathing in the scent
of the trees and the water
the scent of the island.
it makes me feel so small
but so safe
a part of something
SO BIG
i can’t begin to understand it.
Yes, I know these feelings.
I write poetry
’cause in a poem
i don’t have to explain.
I can show you how I feel
show you my memories
my fears
and not have to explain them
I write poetry
to deal with the emotions
the lonelienes the grief
I’ve seen too many die
and too many shrink
inside themselves.
I need to get it out
or part of me will die as well.
I write poetry
to show the unknown that
I don’t fear it
that I’m ready,
waiting even.
to see what comes
I write poetry
to calm down
to feel alive
to know myself,
my thoughts
and not fear those either.
I write poetry
so I can be happy
and not afraid.
You are newly on the list of my favorite poets.
I agree. Twas quite beautiful!
*blushes* thank you both
We should save all of these “I know the feeling ones” in some special place.
We should.
What do you do,
when you’ve given up hope?
What do you do,
when everything goes wrong?
Do you just face the facts and move on?
Or do you always keep those horrid memories,
close to your heart.
When life isn’t fair,
who’s shoulder do you cry on?
When the road never seems to end,
who do you turn to?
Do you have someone to whom
you can tell everything?
Or do you keep your feelings to yourself.
Are you like me?
When everything goes wrong
and there is no hope to be found,
do you take things as they come,
and not do anything about it?
When life isn’t fair,
and the road seems to never end,
do you keep your feelings bottled up
inside yourself?
On the outside, are you a bubbly person,
yet on the inside, your heart hurts,
you’re angry, happy, scared,
jealous, and alone at the same time?
I know the feeling
of when the stars swirl around you
and there’s nowhere to look but up.
The feeling of the wind in the trees
and the frozen icicles hanging in the air
wanting to open your mouth
and sing?shout?whisper?
glorygloryglory
but for what, you do not know.
There’s a quiet, private feeling
of when it’s so late the sun is rising
but it can’t be time to sleep, not yet
I think, yes, I think I know the feeling
of when there’s too much skyworld to sleep
and you slip out your window and stand
on the grass rainflicking your feet with the night’s dew,
looking at the death-dimming stars
and itching to fight and obey
at every moment, at the same time, the feeling to run.
“Do you know?”
Do you know how I feel about you?
Do you know that when you call,
I drop everything I’m doing, no matter
how important, just to listen to you.
Do you know that when I see you,
I automatically smile?
Do you know that I treasure
every moment spent with you?
Do you know how much you mean to me?
Do you know that I would be depressed for weeks
if you ignored me?
Do you know that if you asked me to,
I would walk to the ends of the earth
in a heartbeat?
Do you know that I would do anything
to be with you, for even just a minute?
Well my dear, do you?
OK, so, apparently the poem I wrote in one day (the day before the deadline) to submit to a city-wide poetry competition was a finalist. I have mixed feelings. I’m happy that I got through, of course. I’m also surprised that it made it, as, like I said, I practically wrote it in two seconds and it’s not very good. On the other hand, I don’t like the poem as much as some of my later creations, and I don’t really want people thinking this is my best (though of course they’ll think it’s ‘really good – I mean, you won!’), because I can write and have written so much better. Here’s the poem in case any of you were curious. It’s long.
HONG KONG YOUTH MUSIC INTERFLOWS, 2009
the orchestra walks out onto the stage
single file, they solemnly proceed
streaming through the hastily arranged rows of stands
until every last musician is seated
all but one
one empty chair at the very front
is left, conspicuously vacant
the lights are dimmed, yellow
the audience shuffles edgily
the orchestra sits nervously
backstage, I hear their anxiety in my own heartbeat
loud, fast; it threatens to halt my breathing
the hand clutching my violin is sweaty
the audience is quiet, and I know
it is time
taking one last breath, I step
out of the shadows
and into the glaring light
as I walk across the stage
the same steps we’ve practiced
over and over and over again
on one side: the orchestra, my orchestra
below me is the audience
large and critical
hungry eyes watching this new
addition to the stage
under the pretext of polite applause
this solitary figure, who draws so well the interest of her orchestra
as she walks across the stage, every student seems to
sit up a little straighter
adjust their instrument a little more
and now, I’ve reached my seat
directly to the left
of the conductor’s podium
I stand, and turn my back to the stolid audience
among them the judges
that first note ‘A’ breaks the restless silence
facing the cellos, I play the one note
drawing my bow across the string
on and on, until everyone is tuned
of course, everyone is already tuned
but this is for show
for the judges
the concertmaster entering separately
the orchestra fake tuning
all for the competition
finally, I sit down
the conductor enters, and starts without delay
the piece itself is a blur in my mind
I only remember
the excitement
and passion I feel
I want to win; I want us to win
finished, we stand up
take a bow
breathing heavily
from the thrill and energy
of finishing a piece successfully
flushed with the heat of accomplishment
in the end, we win
our school earns gold
when really
all anyone could have hoped to imagine for
was silver, at most
onstage when they announce it
I am shocked into silence
it seems as if
my happiness is too much
too much to be contained inside me
I cannot restrain the grin
from spreading across my face
until I am positively beaming
to myself, and to the audience
I receive the award
gingerly holding the very envelope labelled with the words:
“gold prizeâ€
and suddenly, it finally sinks in
the section where our school is sitting
has exploded
students and teachers alike
jumping up and down
hugging each other
screaming
“gold – gold! tied with DGS*!â€
no one, nobody expected such a triumph
we have won gold
gold!
and I, as concertmaster
have led our school to victory
*A local school. They’re really strong academically and musically. I still have no idea how we managed to tie for gold with them. The judges must have been Confunded.
Congratulations! LOVE the poem, too.
“Beastly”
To the chamber farthest east,
I plod to wrestle with the beast.
All the less defensive portals,
Are taken by the happy mortals,
The beast will never die.
I enter the arena,
Trudging ever nearer.
Nearer to the only
Magic realm left lonely,
I seat myself and sigh.
“Now, beast, awaken!
The other portals taken,
I have no choice but to select
You, who in normal I’d reject,
You that will never die.”
I give the beast a prod,
In its side most broad,
It wakens with a groan
Begins to whiz and whir and moan.
Appendages all awry.
I sit and wait
Before the gate
To that magic land
Free knowledge at hand
The beast watches with a lazy eye.
Finally it asks my name.
I quickly tap it out.
Three zero zero three nine four,
I submit it with a clout.
So I have entered in one gate,
But barriers are still yet to come,
My nerves are beginning to grate.
Sitting, staring, glum.
I will watch my beast’s face,
Waiting for the obstacles to leave,
Hunkering down with little grace,
Not appreciating this siege.
Finally, all the fences are down!
The land of free knowledge is in sight!
This event lessens my frown,
I still have one more fright.
This beast is corpse-like, very slow,
A reluctant chauffeur,
Blocks me from many I want to go
Those that have forbidden allure.
However, I am grateful at least
For not even needing to abet,
This square, gray, horrible beast
To let me onto the Internet.
( School computers. )
Selenium: Congratulations on the gold medal in your music competition! I think some people missed the good news because it was hidden inside a poem.
Why, thank you, Robert! It’s not really a medal, more like a trophy…but yeah.
148, 148.1 – Those are amazing!
*mumble* Thanks. Dumb school computers. Just sitting collecting dust while everyone else uses the NEW ones.
Dichotomy
I’m afraid
To go farther
Of what I might do
Who I may become
What might change
Who might leave
To go to the deep end
That I’ll go off the deep end
Of what might happen, and it’ll all be my fault
But, I’m afraid
I’ll stay behind
That I won’t do anything
I won’t become anything
I’ll stagnate
My friends will become a clique
Not to explore
Not to be crazy
I’ll make good things will happen, and I won’t benefit
I am so sorry
I must admit you had me fooled there for a while
And if I’d known how it’s been hurting you
Tearing you apart
I don’t know how I could have helped
I only know I would.
Oh, dear, I know just how it is
How he makes your heart jump
Makes a smile slide onto your face no matter what the time or place
How your very fingertips are shaking
And you’re going weak at the knees
Trust me, I know
I guess I was too blind to see
What was before my nose
Oh, dear, I know you deserve him
Way more than I ever could
You’ve always been the kind one
The giving one, the lovely one
And dear, I’m sure I know I’m greedy
And I’m so sorry
Because I don’t think I know how to let go.
*weeps into handkerchief* :'(
OHCAKEICLICKEDCOMMENTTOOEARLYNEVERMINDHERE’STHERESTOFTHEPOST
Dandelions.
Miniature suns,
Always shunned.
Yellow and green,
Never seen.
Beautiful,
Dandelions
blooming everywhere! Sunny yellow gold dandelions.
Scourged and hated,
Destroyed, abated.
Always persisting
Never desisting
Those disliked dandelions continue to grow.
Dandelions, I wish you’d never go.
So happy
Blooming yellow
In all that green
Dandelions, I love you.
Shrouded in a gray fuzzy halo.
Wish,
Breathe,
Carrying your wishes on the breeze.
( Those are two seperate poems. ) ( Why did I just spell “separate” wrong? )
*joins weeping*
That’s so beautiful, Daisy. So beautiful. And so sad…
Thank you…
1. A comet streaks across the sky, flung through space by some unseen force. This is I. You are a planet, unavoidable, vast. As I find myself crashing into your surface I am changed: charred by ozone, skin peeled back layer by layer until my heart lies in smoldering pieces fragments of star scarring your surface. Smashed pieces slowly absorbed, alien imprints.
The planet turns on, barely noticing the impact.
2. Humans are fascinated with blood. The color, the smell, the taste.
What matters is what it carries.
3. Space is vast.
4. All comes from the center, the point of origin. All matter in one dot.
At that point, that time,the atoms that form our bodies were closer than we could ever force them now.
5. In the vastness of space, planets and comets are the same size.
6. We form intimate bonds with everyone, even strangers, especially strangers.
(when you give your heart away, you know who to)
I breathe. Air flows into my lungs, into blood. It is transported to the far reachers of my body, lodges into some obscure cell of which I am unaware. Eventually it is released, carried out again by blood to eventually be expelled in a laugh, a whisper, a yearning. These same atoms that were so intricately woven into my being are now absorbed into others, released again, taken in.
Inside me I carry a thousand strangers, and I am unknowingly bound to thousands myself.
7. Long ago, everyone thought that the heavens were fixed, unchanging. The only things that did move about and flux were the ones in our own atmosphere.
You could not change the sky
You could not change the stars.
8. Everyone thinks I am brave.
9. Distance does not matter, there is nothing more sacred than the exchange of air.
10. Some part of me will always be lodged deep within you, unknown to us both.
11. Everything moves. Particles shake and flee, planets spin, the ink shadow of the sky is slowly growing, drawing us farther away from the other pinpricks of light.
Life repels:
People shift, move away.
12. The distance between us is negligible. Look at the universe:
to it, we are the same.
13. Nothing we do matters.
Everything we do has impact.
14. A star was born, and the world whirled in disbelief.
15. A single motion: a dismissal, a smile, a laugh, a kiss.
None is noticed by that infinite dark, yet somewhere inside sparks swirl and die.
16. The distance between us is infinite.
17. We are made of dinosaur bones and oceans and the shattered fragments of comets.
Atoms never change, only exchange.
The skin I wear now will some day be the dust of a far away moon, the chemicals roaring through my blood the flash of a future sun.
18. Emotion leaves no physical mark.
Feelings are unsharable.
19. We are each our own galaxy.
20. Long after the universe finishes its outward rush and crumples back in on itself, invisible traces will linger in the spaces that no longer exist:
longing
fear
hope
21. Someday
matter will retract
(who knows how many times we have begun this dance)
and we will be closer than imaginable once more
22. Laugh with me now: Life is nothing more than a
flash
a distant sun suddenly going out
And the realization that a star we thought we knew
has been dead for eons.
23. I am afraid.
24. To you: This is my goodbye.
someday
We will meet again.
That’s very pretty. And sad, too. Good job!
Thank you. A while ago I became fascinated with the poem “Spaces” by Arkaye Kierulf, which Sweet Melpomene posted here ages ago. It is a remarkable remarkable piece and you all should read it because I did and fell in love a little. I tried writing in this style a few times and let’s just say it was failures that I never posted (for good reason).
But this poem just came out that way on it’s own. Things are better that way.
The full title is Perspective (There is no such thing as death).
I am unable to counteract all the dying, crying, ignoring, and unrequited loving that goes on on this thread. Somebody help me out.
“Ode to Trees”
Paper,
paper,
Everywhere paper!
Overflowing, piles growing,
paper paper paper.
Colored, white, dull and bright
Paper, paper, paper,
Typed on, drawn on, painted on, written on.
Photographs and notes and old scripts.
Flowing all around the floor,
Getting kicked outside the door.
Scraps of paper, sheets of paper,
paper paper paper.
Strewn on boards,
Behind the stage
In the trash and recycling
Paper paper paper paper paper all over the desks and barely a place to step where there is no paper paper all over the red and white and black tiles of the floor
on top of the computers and on the floor
all over the counters and on the floor
Cutting paper for the boards,
colored paper.
Scribbling on scripts to make it short,
computer paper.
Tissue paper, sheets of paper
Ms. Sears’s room
is full of paper
History Day
so much paper!
Is grass green?
Is the sky blue?
Is what I see
What you see too?
Do you call orange
What I see as red?
But I think red’s orange
So I call it that instead?
Is there any way to know?
Is there any way to tell?
If you see something ‘red’
But call it orange as well?
Do we all see different colours
Yet call them all the same?
My red, your yellow, his blue
All under green’s name?
Will we ever know
The way the others see?
If black is white and white is black
And purple graces a tree?
Whispering winds wail
Whirl where white willows waltz
While winter wakens
Sound of a foghorn
Echoes sadly across seas
Battling through mist
Cool crisp autumn air
Crinkly leaves of fire float
Gently on the breeze
Silver stone splashing
A sparkling stream, sending
Sunshine scattering
From where they sit, they
Chirp; leaving the nest, taking flight
Swallows in the wind
154/155 Thanks for the happiness!
*skips* They’re beautiful, beautiful poems, too!
*curls up in corner and weeps*
*follows suit* And so this isn’t a PoPo…
For how long can you watch someone?
The way their head tilts, the way
They grasp their pencil, curled between their
Fingers
For how long can you study
The twitch of their muscles
The sound of their voice
The colour of their laugh
For how long can you remember
The warmth of their flesh
The glint in their eyes
The sheen of their hair
For how long can you watch someone from a distance
Before you begin to see them up close?
Farewell
Farewell- may you fare well
Our paths will never cross again
You’ve said the last farewell
And you’re not looking back.
Good bye- I’ll miss you
We’ll never sing together again
You’ve said goodbye
And we’re walking away
See you later- no I know I won’t
I’ll remember you always
But this is our last parting
We know what this means
Farewell- may you fare well
Though our paths will never meet again
We’ve said farewell
Farewell.
That sounds kind of like an old Irish ballad. Cool.
It’s six in the morning, and outside’s still dark
The stars are fading, and the sky is stark
Dark, but lightening to pale blue mists
A streak of white cloud across the sky twists
The trees shuffle softly, the leaves tossing strong
The branches wave wildly, stretching them long
The streetlights dim, quickly, one by one
And slowly, slowly starts to rise the sun
A rosy tinge at the horizon grows
Where mountain meets sea, the brightness glows
The mellow pink blooming until the sky is drowned
A sliver of sun, the hillside crowned
The birds hold their breath as the sun starts to climb
The night has lain dormant, now it is time
For the sun to come out and brighten our day
A dazzling yellow circle to hang, a display
Of the power of morning and the loss of the night
Calm stillness is gone, replaced by the light
Who shines, boldly, in its warming way
Until the sun sets, and then sinks the last ray
Of bright happy sunshine, deep into the hills
Buried deeply in the night, not a single strand spills
Into the quiet navy blue which has settled over the night
An undisturbed peace; deep, dark, just right.
Selenium, you’ve just made my list of favorite poets.
All those thoughts crowding the walls of my brain will never be written down,
only staying in my brain,
pushed down and welled deep up in my body.
Hold me tighter,
you won’t get at them.
I will never tell you my secrets.
Pull the air out of me,
They will stay corked up.
Everything I feel like screaming and singing and playing out
late at night in my bed,
thoughts jumping up and pushing and shoving,
opinions, and theories, and fantasies
they all stay where they belong.
Lift me higher,
tell me what I want to hear,
and I still won’t divulge their secrets.
If you hurt me,
I’ll just evaporate
and they’ll scatter on the breeze.
Sometimes it makes me sad that I won’t remember them
those thoughts screaming and shouting in my mind,
but then I think, if I put them out to the world,
will anyone listen, will one person care?
Bring me closer, I know what you want to hear
and you don’t care about the rest,
but I will never tell you. Ha!
It’s my secret. It’s their secrets, but now they’re mine
and I’ll never share!
All those thoughts overflowing in my chest.
I stop them up again.
I’ll go to sleep now and tomorrow, I’ll feel better.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell you some things.
Look at me closely, you don’t know all of me
everyone who knows me only has a piece of me,
but no one I know has all the pieces together,
and I will never share all the pieces with anyone,
I will never share even all the important pieces with anyone,
because then they’d have me in their hands,
and I can’t have that.
Look at me closely,
which pieces do you have?
Ha!
I’ll never give you all!
I…well, thanks, Princess_Magnolia! It’s a true honour, as I’m sure you are very widely-read and will have encountered many fine poets and examples of poetry in your lifetime. I also think you are a wonderful poet, keep writing about all those happy things in life! I’ll try to do that as well…on the other hand, I can’t recall any poems I’ve written on here that are morbid (are there? I’m too lazy to scroll and check). Anyway, thanks again!
Nope, no morbid-ness. Congratulations
It’s six in the morning, and outside’s still dark
The stars are fading, and the sky is stark
Dusky, but lightening to pale blue mists
A streak of white cloud across the sky twists
The trees shuffle softly, the leaves tossing strong
The branches wave wildly, stretching them long
The streetlights dim, quickly, one by one
And slowly, slowly starts to rise the sun
A rosy tinge at the horizon grows
Where mountain meets sea, the brightness glows
The mellow pink blooming until the sky is drowned
A sliver of orange, the hillside crowned
The birds hold their breath as the sun starts to climb
The night has lain dormant, now it is time
For the sun to come out and brighten our day
A dazzling yellow circle to hang, a display
Of the power of morning and the loss of the night
Calm stillness is gone, replaced by the light
Who shines, boldly, in its warming way
Until the sun sets, and then sinks the last ray
Of bright happy sunshine, deep into the hills
Buried deeply in nightfall, not a single strand spills
Into the quiet navy blue which has settled over the night
An undisturbed peace; deep, dark, just right.
-A slightly (very slightly, mind) revised version of my previous poem. The original one I wrote in literally between five and ten minutes this morning when I woke up early to
finish my homeworkgo on MB.I am very proud of my poem. I read it aloud in class today (we’re doing a poetry unit) and later on my teacher was discussing equality and unique-ness (because of Animal Farm, which we’re studying also) and she said:
“I don’t really believe that everyone should be equal, because everyone’s unique and if the world was all the same, we’d all be like little robots.
For example, I can’t play the trumpet as well as [girl in my class] can, or dance as well as [another girl in my class] can, or* write poetry as well as Isabelle (me) can. But I’m good at my own things, etc. etc.”
*Here she turned to me, and I thought she would say something about my violin because she had previously said something (something being ‘you were amazing!) about me and my violin-playing on Thursday after our assembly performance, because I was the concertmaster and very much visible.
This is a poem about poetry.
How odd.
I don’t understand it,
how to write good poetry.
Must it rhyme, must it describe, must it entertain,
must it make you feel something?
I don’t understand,
why I like some poems but not others,
and
I don’t understand why people write poetry.
In the textbook
they are all illustrated with different pictures
and photographs
in between comprehension questions and vocabulary words
sandwiched in between the heavy covers.
I like those textbook poems,
because the pages are white and cheery looking
and they are exactly the right poems for learning
I wonder who put them together?
I wonder who decided?
Did they have a preference?
Myself, I like
eerie poems
and scary poems
“The Raven”
“Little Exercise”
“Southbound on the Freeway”
They are all textbook poems.
I used to read
a book of poetry
with white covers and watercolor illustrations
but I don’t remember what happened to it
and I forgot that one that I memorized
I memorized “Jabberwocky”
and I’m trying to memorize that one
that goes
“Up the airy mountain/Down the rushing glen…”
There are so many poems
stuck in random places
like the novel about Agate Hill
and those inspirational books
on the wall of my room
and other places.
Once you publish a poem,
where does it go?
I wonder.
I wonder how many poems there are on scraps of paper all over the world, in school notebooks,
science notebooks,
alongside diagrams of inclined planes and Newton’s three laws,
between definitions of “biome” and “atom”.
In journals and on the backs of hands.
I wonder why people choose to write poetry
instead of a story?
My theory: it is more random
and less structured, sometimes.
Free verse
But it feels like cheating, a little?
It’s more like
your thoughts spilling down, down
like water trickling out from rocks
on the side of the highway.
Poetry
I know who writes good poetry.
And I like textbook poetry.
I admire your poems.
I don’t know
about this one
a poem about poetry
How odd.
You should read The Realm of Possibility. Wonderful poetry in a varity of styles.
Oh, and poetry is whatever you need it to be.
holding hands
and running in a circle
chanting age-old nursery rhymes
dark-haired girl
jumping in the center
her short curls bouncing
as she smiles
End of the rhyme and she points her finger
YOU
as you enter
the center of the circle
you see her rub her shoulder
just a little, the smile disappears
Close your eyes and you’re
jumping in the center
jumping in the center
for the very last time.
and later you wish you knew
just how or why
to say goodbye
to this beautiful dark-haired girl.
it still haunts you, sometimes
its been such a while
and still, we try
so hard to figure out
what it is
a metaphor
(i like you)
of what isn’t
(you like me)
and what ought to be
a path like
a beaten trail
(lead me on)
that winds through the woods
of memory
and eternity
(lean on me)
a journey
(take my hand)
that travels through
mind
body
soul
(i feel vacant
and yet so whole)
and maybe
it’s all three
but if you never
stop
to notice
(with you is
all I want to be)
we might never
find ourselves
and i’ll be lost
searching
without an answer.
Wonderful poem. I love it. *laughs at extremely awful pun*
Thank you! I enjoyed yours as well.
Life & Death
Life is rotten
and I love it.
when it chews you up,
tears you apart
changes everything
and you must deal
with it.
Death is freedom
and I hate it
when it steals those
you love
and you must deal
with it.
Life is beautiful
but deadly.
yes, we know
we’re gonna die.
and when we do we cry
why?
why them?
why now?
why not me?
can’t all life
last eternally?
But in truth we know the answer
pained though it may be
if we did not die
we’d have nothing to live for
NOT
ONE
THING
(yes, I was a bit depressed when I wrote this)
*hugs* Beautiful.
*hugs back* thanks!
Got here on the random thread clicker. I might as well post the poem I wrote last night. I had to write a lyric poem for an assignment last night, and I was getting frustrated. The sheet the teacher gave us said to just write down the first thing that came into our heads – “Piles of random words often lead to poetry” – so I did. And it came out pretty good.
Ohcake I left it in school. Let me try to remember:
Random word
flying bird
pelting rain
speeding train.
Gloomy thoughts
tarnished pots
burnt toast
quiet ghost.
Locked inside
something’s died
empty nest
put to rest.
Something I just wrote now: I originally imagined it as a song, but I don’t have the tune, really, so just read it as a poem:
Do they have dreams like we do?
Do they wish on falling stars?
Do they fall in love like we do?
Do they ever wonder how to pass the hours?
Do they have hopes like we do?
Do they smile and laugh and cry?
Do they have that special someone
We all see when we close our eyes?
Sometimes I wonder
if we’re alone in this crowd.
Just a lonely few of us
who like our music too loud.
Are we the only ones on this planet earth
who believe in staying young?
While all the rest
want all the best
and we just want some fun
along the way?
Do they have thoughts like we do?
Do they dwell on things gone past?
Do they find it enough to play the game
or are they to afraid of being last?
Do they have friends like we do?
Are we just that lucky few?
Do they have those people who make them smile
just like I have you?
Sometimes I wonder
if we’re alone in this crowd.
Just a lonely few of us
who like our music too loud.
Are we the only ones on this planet earth
who believe in staying young?
While all the rest
want all the best
and we just want some fun
along the way?
I don’t know, it’s probably no good, but it’s late and I’m not thinking straight and I’m really posting so I can say that I am rather saddened by the fact that there is no random thread open.
Wow, fast moderation! Thanks!
I love it.
Me too ^-^
As do I.
Thanks, everyone!
Thirded, by the way.
165- Great!
OK, I’ve resorted to sappy love poetry… No, I’m not completely pathetic. I get extra credit for reading an original poem at my school’s poetry slam tomorrow. Which means that I need an original poem to read. So here goes.
The Things Not Said
I could have told you so many things
I could have told you some irrelevant fact that you’d find interesting
Or made a witty comment
Or said some wise philosophical statement
Or failing that, just remarked on the weather
I could have told you I remembered you
That I had been thinking of you
That even though I didn’t want it to happen
My thoughts kept slipping back to you
I could have told you about how I felt the night I met you
How I came home nearly dancing
How I thought I’d forget about you soon enough but never did
I could have told you I loved you
I could have just said hi
I could have
It’s quiet
And cold
But that’s alright
A nervous tremor shakes my spine
I didn’t study again
I can’t really bring myself to care
I know I should
The clock says twelve oh six
My heart says wrong
I should be sleeping
Tick tick tick tick tock tick tick
The fan goes round and round
The shadow in the corner is expanding
I’m going to hate this in the morning
I’m tired
Good night.
I think I never shall be happy, aye
My times of joy are past and gone, to sleep
My silent tears drifting down my face
Alone, with none but I to watch me weep
I used to be so content with the world
Those days have ended, forgot to but you
And how! You know I clung to life itself
But once you left, no cause to live was true
Though many tried, there never was such mirth
As known before in previous times gone by
My mind is growing weary of this heart
Which, heavy with my sadness, aches to cry
Lament those memories which have been missed
By none save I, who yearns not to exist
(Do sonnets need titles?)
(An edited version:)
I think I never shall be happy, aye
My hours of joy are past and gone, to sleep
My silent tears pour from watered eye
Alone, with none but I to watch me weep
I used to be content, I felt such pride
Those days have ended, forgot to but you
And how! You know I clung to life, I tried
But once you left, no cause to live was true
From new attempts, there never was such mirth
As known before in previous times gone by
My mind is growing weary of this earth
My heart, heavy with sadness, aches to cry
Lament those memories which have been missed
By none but I, who yearns not to exist
How sweet the sound that rings so true from you!
A deep rich sound which vibrates to the core
Of those who hear; it sends shivers right through
The luscious dark sounds from the small frame pour
A stream of high notes trickles high and sweet
They trill and warble, playful to the ear
Ascending scales laugh, the tune complete
Melodious and joyous, the notes clear
From soft to loud, and loud to soft, they change
They fluctuate, from lilting to succinct
Expressive and emotional, they range
To sharp notes, each one carefully distinct
The violin will never cease to bring
Great joy, from each note pulled across the string
That’s amazing. I love your sonnets!
Thanks!
*sniffle* So beautiful! *cries at amazingness of all your poems and sonnets*
A purplish mist above the valley night
A foggy blue until the morning stays
The light of dawn is pale, not quite yet bright
A swath of cloud does float upon the haze
Refreshing wafts swirl gently through the trees
A silent breeze is hidden in the sky
The mountains sleep, they’re edged with frosty seas
Two swallows swiftly through the dark woods fly
Their early call wakes all those close to it
The creatures stir, their slumber broken fast
The winds caress the woods: leaves, rustled, flit
Through trees, they mourn the peaceful night gone past
The sun has risen, starts a fresh new day
The daybreak here, the gold replaces grey
I dreamed of you, not long ago
You chose me, and I was happy
Then I woke up.
Dreams
take me out of my dreams
because you’re not the same there
and if you’re worse, I’m disappointed asleep
and if you’re better, I’m disappointed awake.
Wait, I’m editing that.
Take me out of my dreams
because you’re not the same there
and if I like you less, I’m disappointed asleep
and if I like you more, I’m disappointed awake.
Prepare for lots of edits on this poem.
170 & 173- You almost made me cry. Thank you. Really, I mean it. *hugs*
Why did you have to shatter the illusion?
I thought that every thing would be ok.
I thought we’d be friends.
You just ruined it for me.
My wonderful dream, my perfect illusion.
Broken and twisted by your unthinking action.
And you can’t even see it.
You think I’m being irrational.
Oh, I am.
But you don’t know the half of it.
But you don’t know any of it.
Now I have to hope that someone gets hurt.
Now I have to dream that someone is gone.
I thought it would be perfectly fine.
I thought she’d never show up.
But, you had to go and meet her.
You had to go and kill me.
You killed me.
Yes, I’m alive.
But any love I had for you or her is dead.
For now.
I have to hope she goes away.
I have to hope you leave her.
Or she leaves you.
But you can’t go away.
I have to want pain for someone else.
I’ve never wanted that this much before.
And it’s your fault.
On the bright side,
Your relationships never last.
That’s a curse too
Because what if you leave me?
I can’t like you.
But I must.
That’s a very, very good poem. I like the idea of wanting someone to be hurt, if that makes sense. I mean the concept as you expressed it. Anyway, it’s a really great poem.
I thought
that maybe
you would understand
but no
you laugh
like all the others
I thought
that perhaps
there was some way
but then
you vanished
and I can trust no other
I dreamed
that we were friends again
but dreams are dreams
and only dreams
no one
can see me anymore
I dreamed
that life was good
but then I woke
and became a shadow
once more
in the darkness
I thought
maybe
we could work it out
but some things
can never change
I’ve lost the light
I know
you will never understand
I am
the constant shadow
I love
you.
Sometimes, when I’m reading
Lines just stick in my head
“inexplicable thing”
like lines of music
“you press down like salvation”
forever reverberating
“cut the ending, reverse the script”
against the limits of my mind.
They never go away
just quiet
then,the ache when I see her
and my stomach pluments
while my heart soars
And I know I love her
just not sure how
and I can’t quite think myself anymore
they return
the whispers in my ear
describing things unsaid
but things I wish I could say.
By the way, the first two qoutes are from The Realm of Possibility, and the last one from Keeping You a Secret.
176- I love that poem. It’s beautiful and I can relate to that feeling very well.
Beyond the rain
beyond failure
beyond distress
beyond sorrow
there is a cloud
Beyond the clouds
beyond regrets
beyond frustration
beyond despair
there is a star
Beyond the stars
beyond dreams
beyond efforts
beyond hope
there is nothing
Beyond the nothing
there is nothing
nothing goes on forever
everything is far behind
Happy?
Meh. Some of the words don’t fit as well as I’d like, but I guess for the first try in over a year it isn’t too bad.
These nights
i just can’t sleep
too much to think about
too scared of myself
My mother wondered
if I was having nightmares
Cause she didn’t think I’d had any
in awhile
What she doesn’t know
is that the nightmares never stoped
she only stoped hearing
about them
I’m having nightmares
but that’s not why I stay awake
too stressed, I guess
about school, about her.
And then I can’t stay still
my legs are always moving
and if they’re not
they’re sore
sometimes,
my hands twitch
and it scares me,
wakes me up.
either something’s
wrong with me,
or I’m going crazy
either way
I
just
can’t
sleep