Poems and Songs, v. 2006.2

The old P&S thread was getting a bit long and hard to find, so here’s a fresh notebook to write in.

Date: May 8, 2006

Author: Robert Coontz (Administrator)

Categories: Fiction, poetry, and fanfiction

Comments RSS TrackBack 240 comments

1

Phoenix

in May 8th, 2006 @ 06:03

Weeds, dry and dead in the sun
Grey, like the skeleton of what once was
And never again will be
Rustling in the heavy breeze.

A blackbird, drab as its resting place
Startled, pokes up its head
Adding death-colored life
To death-colored death.

The creature, startled at our footsteps
And our bright clothes, full of warmth, our faces
Flushed with running,
Squawks, angry with these gaudy strangers.

Spreads his wings. Now
We ourselves are outshone
By the bright red feathers, before hidden
But now showing, uncovered
In flight.

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2

yesterday's_kinked_moose

in May 8th, 2006 @ 13:37

That’s good. When i picture your words, i imagine a field in black and white with the only thing that has color being the bird. I don’t think that was correct grammer, but you get the idea. I’m guessing you are referring to a red winged black bird.

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3

Commodore SM

in May 8th, 2006 @ 14:28

Awesooooooooooooome.

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4

Purple Panda

in May 8th, 2006 @ 15:15

yay! a new one!!

*squeals in delight*

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5

MontgomeryGurl The Completely Evil and Psychotic Stalker

in May 8th, 2006 @ 17:09

Out the door I run
Wanting to have fun
Gosh that was a cheesy rhyme
Can you tell I’m not taking much time?

Wanting to post something on this thread
But having no ideas in my head
Trying to keep myself mildly ammused
But I think I’m just becomind confused

So am I going to hop off this thread?
Or will I stay here until I’m dead?
Where have all my similies gone?
I will no longer pollute to thread this is going on.

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6

emogrl

in May 8th, 2006 @ 17:13

hmm…i hav that new pearl jam song stuck in my head…worldwide suicide. its a good song to walk around the house & dance to…

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7

craisin' raisin

in May 8th, 2006 @ 17:17

what’s ‘death-colered death’ look like?

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8

craisin' raisin

in May 8th, 2006 @ 17:17

cooooool!

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9

Purple Panda

in May 8th, 2006 @ 17:34

I, too, don’t know what to say
maybe I should just shut up for the day
but that may be a little boring
for I hear people a-snoring
this is the saddest poem I’ve ever written
because I’m writing it while I’m sittin’
I’m really feeling stupid now
so I guess I’ll take a bow.

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10

Phoenix

in May 8th, 2006 @ 18:03

Yes, I was talking about a red-wing blackbird. This is based on an experience I once had. I was just felling a bit depressed when I wrote it, that’s all.

I like your poems, PP and MG!

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11

Axa

in May 8th, 2006 @ 18:17

Yay! THE POETS PREVAIL!

And yet I have nothing at the moment.

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12

The Skipper Nancy

in May 8th, 2006 @ 18:33

Yay! New poems thread! Thanks GAPAs!
That’s good, Pheonix. I like the way it’s structured… I don’t know how to explain it really, but the way you used commas to break it worked really well.

The old one was pretty good though. If anyone wants to look, it’s here.

This is one I already posted (I have to go soon, otherwise I’d try and do something new):

I had a thought, the other day,
but then it went and flew away

I hope that it is somewhere near
It’s the first I’ve ahd in over a year.

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13

random alien

in May 8th, 2006 @ 22:23

on a dank shore,
there once was a child,
but she is gone, she is gone

she is looking for the small
little kitten
lost in the hearth, in a bleak
known as midwinter.
who is gone, who is gone

the night is dim,
call her name,
call to the waves,
who have eaten her

or to the licking flames
who have eaten her sister,
a strange sister,
made of fur and paws.

the strange little sister,
the small little kitten,
sees a feather, fiery
spittling and growling

a bird, a bird!
she looks closer,
catiously,
the licking flames
lick, lick, lick

their black tinged tips
and red bodies
flicker in her blue eyes,
and warm her white fur

and then she pounces,
like persephone into the gates of hades,
a stranger plunged into the deep,
the fire crawls and devours

the fire eats all,
the fire kills,
the fire forgives none
but itself
lick, lick, lick

she mews out,
sooty and blacked
burned and dying,
she sees no more

her last little glance
at a world full of wonders,
that she shall never see,
the wonders of wisdom,
that have vanished,
decayed.

this world was meant for her,
not the fire made of wood
easily created but not destroyed,
an all-devourer with no mercy,
even for the innocent.

she collapses, a last meow,
black sooty ashes adorn the tile,
like the poppies in the spring,
but these are the poppies of the underworld,
these are the ashes of the once-loved.

the flames
lick, lick, lick

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14

KitKat

in May 8th, 2006 @ 22:25

random alien, that’s amazing.

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15

Otzi

in May 8th, 2006 @ 22:57

Le Chanson du Charbonneau!
Sung to SOMEBODy TOLD ME by the Killers
don’t forget the french accent!

Breaking my back just to cook sausage
rain and snow and I’ve had it with this trip
I’m breaking my back just to cook sausage

But the ocean isnâ€™t close in a place like this
the elk might go so don’t blink you might miss
Cause the ocean isnâ€™t close in a place like this
I said the ocean isnâ€™t close in a place like this
Push the canoe, eat the boudin blanc tonight
Never thought I’d let a captain ruin my love life

Well somebody told me
You had a boyfriend
Who looked the leader
of this expedition

Merde! The canoe rolled over something new
I canâ€™t swim and I’m not leaving without pay

Cause the east coast isnâ€™t close in a place like this
I said the east coast isnâ€™t close in a place like this
Push the canoe, eat the boudin blanc tonight
Never thought I’d let a captain ruin my —ah— wife

Well somebody told me
You had a boyfriend
Who looked like the captain
Of this expedition

Pace yourself for me
I said maybe baby please
but I just don’t know now
Who is your father
and all I want to do is try

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16

Purple Panda

in May 9th, 2006 @ 13:25

I have a numb face
because I was in a race
and now I can’t feel anything
grr.

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17

book_addict

in May 9th, 2006 @ 13:55

heres my FAVORITE song!

there were THREE shortnecked buzzards
THREE shortnecked buzzards
sitting in a dead tree (dead tree!!)
one flew away, what a shame (aww man!!)

and there were TWO shortnecked buzzards,
TWO shornecked buzzards,
sitting in a dead tree (dead tree!!)
one flew away, what a shame (aww man!!)

and there was ONE shortnaked buzzard
ONE shortnacked buzzard
sitting in a dead tree (dead tree!!)
one returned, lets rejoice (YAAAAAY!!)

and there were TWO shortnecked buzzards
TWO shortnecked buzzards,
sitting in a dead tree (dead tree!!)
on returned, lets rejoice (YAAAAAY!!)

and ther were THREE shortnecked buzzards
THREE shortnecked buzzards
sitting in a dead tree (DEAD TREE!!!!)

hahahahaha….

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18

elassÃ«~adael

in May 9th, 2006 @ 15:08

There should be a Muse Poetry collection! Crraw could have something to do with it… I’ll post some of my poetry as soon as I find it.

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19

Phoenix

in May 9th, 2006 @ 17:21

Hello
Who are you?
Have we met, by chance, in some far off world,
Where the dragons play?
I hope I will know you
Some day.

I have NO CLUE where that came from. I just started typing, and, well, there it was. Whaddaya think?

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20

emogrl

in May 9th, 2006 @ 17:52

#15: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!LOL!!!!!!!
does anyone else like Lacuna Coil? well…not many ppl know about them…b/c theyre from italy…but if youve heard anything on the radio that sounds a lot like evanescence, but isnt, then its probably Lacuna Coil…if that made sense @ all…

w00t, DOA is on the radio now! *dances*

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21

KitKat

in May 9th, 2006 @ 18:18

you are great poets!

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22

Ebeth The Stalker

in May 9th, 2006 @ 18:19

You get a shiver in the dark
Itâ€™s been raining in the park but meantime
South of the river you stop and you hold everything
A band is blowing dixie double four time
You feel all right when you hear that music ring

You step inside but you donâ€™t see too many faces
Coming in out of the rain to hear the jazz go down
Too much competition too many other places
But not too many horns can make that sound
Way on downsouth way on downsouth london town

You check out guitar george he knows all the chords
Mind heâ€™s strictly rhythm he doesnâ€™t want to make it cry or sing
And an old guitar is all he can afford
When he gets up under the lights to play his thing

And harry doesnâ€™t mind if he doesnâ€™t make the scene
Heâ€™s got a daytime job heâ€™s doing alright
He can play honky tonk just like anything
Saving it up for friday night
With the sultans with the sultans of swing

And a crowd of young boys theyâ€™re fooling around in the corner
Drunk and dressed in their best brown baggies and their platform soles
They donâ€™t give a damn about any trumpet playing band
It ainâ€™t what they call rock and roll
And the sultans played creole

And then the man he steps right up to the microphone
And says at last just as the time bell rings
â€™thank you goodnight now itâ€™s time to go homeâ€™
And he makes it fast with one more thing
â€™we are the sultans of swingâ€™

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23

HRH Julietaini; Queenie; Juliette; WDNT

in May 9th, 2006 @ 18:22

â€œTarantellaâ€ by Hilaire Belloc

Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?
Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteeers
Who hadn’t got a penny,
And who weren’t paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the Din?
And the Hip! Hop! Hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of a clapper to the spin
Out and in —
And the Ting, Tong, Tang, of the Guitar.
Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?

Never more;
Miranda,
Never more.
Only the high peaks hoar:
And Aragon a torrent at the door.
No sound
In the walls of the Halls where falls
The tread
Of the feet of the dead to the ground
No sound:
But the boom
Of the far Waterfall like Doom.

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24

Phoenix

in May 9th, 2006 @ 18:41

22: EEEEEEEEKKKKK! IT’S THE SULTANS OF SWING! I LOVE DIRE STRAITS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Are we playing the lyrics identification game again? If so, I call next.

Queenie J., that was BEAUTIFUL.

A friend brought me flowers, she said they were lilacs
But Iâ€™ve never been good with plants
Her next presentation, a new dictionary
Sheâ€™d circled the word romance
So enthusiastic, a little bit drastic
I shaved her name in my head
And as she beheld it, she said I misspelled it;
Need more be said!
These apples are delicious!
As a matter of fact they are, she said
Can all this fruit be free?
She wrote me a letter as big as a phonebook
Iâ€™ve never been big on mail
I sent her a postcard from somewhere near Lethebridge
And wondered if it still went by rail
Iâ€™ve never been frightened of being enlightened
But some things can go too far
Though sometimes I stammer and mix up my grammar,
You get what my meanings are.
Iâ€™m not trying to sing a love song — Iâ€™m trying to sing in tune.
I know I am sometimes headstrong
Falling love, catching fire — I want to be consumed
Wondering will I ever tire, will I ever tire!

Okay, who can identify the song name and the artist/band?

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25

Achoo, son of Asneeze (Sphinx)

in May 9th, 2006 @ 19:07

I’ll read a book or watch a TV show
I’ll try to jump rope; some bubbles I’ll blow
Maybe go outside, play some basketball
Write someone a letter, give a friend a call
Get some cards, play spades, solitaire, or hearts
Put on a blindfold and try to play darts
Write up some nonsense or make a doodle sheet
Listen to music and make up my own beat
Take out the garbage, clean my room, make my bed
(Some stuff under there could turn gold into lead)
Or maybe I’ll take a walk down to the dock
Anything to get rid of this darn writer’s block!

Forgotton:

It’s the end of the road
This is the last straw
I’ve got to get out
But how?
It’s the end of the tunnel
And there is no light
All I can ask is
What now?

Locked in a dark room
There’s no escape
The walls closing in
Squeezing me dry
I walk around smiling
Put on a good face
While inside I’m screaming
I’m living a lie

I don’t know how much more
Of this I can take
How much longer can I
Hold it in?
Everything’s darkness
Can’t open my eyes
Don’t know where I’m going
Don’t know where I’ve been

Forget about knowing
Forget about seeing
Forget about feeling
And leave behind all the pain
Just do what I want to
Throw it all away
I don’t have to worry
No one remembers my name

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26

Phoenix

in May 9th, 2006 @ 19:25

Okay, those were original and I know b/c I edited them when I was supposed to be listening in Gemarah class. The second one still freaks me out.

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27

The Skipper Nancy

in May 9th, 2006 @ 19:44

This is amazing. Magical, I tell you. “sultans of swing” and “Tarantella” are both on my top ten favorite poems and songs list, and they were both posted one after the other!
I LOVE this thread!

I like your random little composition, Phoenix.

(25) wow. that really…makes sense to me. I mean, you really got the idea through the poem welll.

You are old, Father Wiliiam
Lewis Carrol

You are old, father William,” the young man said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head–
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

“In my youth,” father William replied to his son,
“I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,
And you have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door–
Pray what is the reason for that?”

“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
“I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment – one shilling a box–
Allow me to sell you a couple?”

“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak–
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”

“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose–
What made you so awfully clever?”

“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
Said his father. “Don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs.

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28

elassÃ«~adael

in May 9th, 2006 @ 20:28

I really wish I could find my poetry! I shall go search now whilst listening to Wicked.

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29

elassÃ«~adael

in May 9th, 2006 @ 20:29

oh and what do people think of the work of e. e. cummings? I like it. It is interesting to find the meaning in it.

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30

The Skipper Nancy

in May 9th, 2006 @ 22:54

I like ee cummings! I actually have only read one or two poems by him, though.

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31

Otzi

in May 9th, 2006 @ 23:10

I wuv ee cummings!

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32

Purple Panda

in May 10th, 2006 @ 15:16

ee cummings is ok, but I HATE it when people use a lower case “I” when referring to themselves. I HATE IT!!!

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33

elassÃ«~adael

in May 10th, 2006 @ 15:24

I found my poetry! yay!

Here is some:

I am a round marble
Of glass and stone

Planted in warm earth
I grow into a rainbow flower,
A thinking tree,
A fountain of silver moonlight
Where the birds sing.

The twilight moon is
reflected in my waters
where a song is growing

——————————–

Here is a place you’ve never been
The magic idle windy spaces,
see where black water falls
into
silence

——————————–

I wandered down the road
to a place I’d never seen
in the
spring
summer
fall

the sky it was gray
the birds sang their silent songs
I could hear the echoes of laughter
long
past

the ripples in the water
when it flowed
long
past

the voices of long ago
came
past

and I spoke to the sky

—————————-

the first two were written summer ’03 the last one was written just now.

24- the song identification game? I’d like to play! I’ll post some lyrics on another comment

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34

Phoenix

in May 10th, 2006 @ 15:41

Oooo, pretty.

Before anyone posts lyrics, though, they have to guess mine.

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35

Ebeth The Stalker

in May 10th, 2006 @ 15:49

32-Oh dear. ~~i do that all the time~~ I do that all the time…

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36

elassÃ«~adael

in May 10th, 2006 @ 16:46

34- but I don’t know what it is! and google-ing it is cheating.

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37

Axa

in May 10th, 2006 @ 22:29

(33) Wonderfurl imagery. I’m a sucker for it, and the first stanza was wonderful. Stone is a favorite word of mine to use in poetry. ^^

Here’ what I ended up submitting for the promotion poem, though i included to other one as well, since we were allowed two.

Conclusion

As the months and days swiftly fade
We’re left with only quiet ruminations
The future apparent- we cannot evade
I embrace it, I embrace itâ€¦

Soon the stream of thoughts grows wide
Memories race by
Some bright, some dark, some in-between
Should we give chase- or let them fly?

Our erstwhile days drift down the current
Content and moving away
“Don’t fear!” They call, voices like sprites
“More of us will come your way”

As one looks around at the deep water
It seems a simple task to lose yourself within
But this (I’m told) is but dwelling
To that- do not give in.

As the suns and moons softly descend
Crescendo reached and passed
To these days we bid fare-well
Waving to the last

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38

The Skipper Nancy

in May 10th, 2006 @ 23:59

Song identification game? I’ll play. Unfortunate,y, I have no idea what #24 is.

What is the difference between you and me,
What is it about us that we can’t see
the other side,
another’s mind
why do we hide
inside our skulls?

What makes it so that we can’t understand,
Why is another’s mind is a foreign land?
You might as well live on mars
(or anywhere else among the stars)
for all I know of your thoughts.

I can guess, and so can you
At what might be the right thing to do
but at the end of the day,
is there more to say?

there’s more than words
that are spoken out loud,
there those that linger on and crowd
our tired minds,
and it’s those that make
up who we are.

but if those are the thoughts
that don’t make it through,
that just sit and stew
inside of you,
how does the world
know what you are-
how do you know
what I am?

We are not alike
you and I,
it doesn’t matter what meets the eye
our minds are different,
we are unique
we are alone.

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39

Phoenix

in May 11th, 2006 @ 06:26

I love those two poems! I wish I wrote yours, Axa, I need one for graduation *blush* and I still haven’t written it yet.
Yes, you can google, but only if you are REALLY stuck.
Hint: this band likes singing about crazy people.

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40

Heroine

in May 11th, 2006 @ 15:03

15, OTZI!!! YOU CHEEKY MONKEY!!!! by the way, i love somebody told me, it’s an awesome song.

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41

Otzi

in May 11th, 2006 @ 15:08

My flying monkeys can beat up your guardian angel.

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42

Heroine

in May 11th, 2006 @ 15:15

typing in the song ‘demolition lovers’ by my chemical romance. mcr is my favorite band and this song is one of the best songs on the cd. next to ‘vampires will never hurt you.’

demolition lovers

hand in mine, into your icy blues
and then i’d say to you we could take to the highway
with this trunk of ammunition too
i’d end my days with you in a hall of bullets

i’m trying, i’m trying
to let you know just how much you mean to me
and after all the things we put each other through and

i would drive on to the end with you
a liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full
and i feel like there’s nothing left to do
but prove myself to you and we’ll keep it running

but this time, i mean it
i’ll let you know just how much you mean to me
as snow falls on desert sky
until the end of everything
i’m trying, i’m trying
to let you know how much you mean
as days fade, and nights grow
and we go cold

until the end, until this pool of blood
until this, i mean this i mean this
until the end of…

i’m trying, i’m trying
to let you know how much you mean
as days fade, and nights grow
and we go cold

but this time, we’ll show them
we’ll show them all how much you mean
as days fade, and nights grow
and we go cold

but this time, we’ll show them
we’ll show them all how much we mean
as snow falls on desert sky
until the end of every…

all we are, all we are
is bullets i mean this

as lead rains, will pass on through our phantoms
forever, forever
like scarecrows that fuel this flame we’re burning
forever, and ever
know how much i want to show you you’re the only one
like a bed of roses there’s a dozen reasons in this gun

and as we’re falling down, and in this pool of blood
and as we’re touching hands, and as we’re falling down
and in this pool of blood, and as we’re falling down
i’ll see your eyes, and in this pool of blood
i’ll meet your eyes, i mean this forever
(end)
that was for anthony (:))

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43

Monday

in May 11th, 2006 @ 15:16

i had a little nut tree, and nothing would it bear
but a silver nutmeg and a golden pear.
the king of spain’s daughter came to visit me,
and said, ‘what the heck is wrong with that tree?’
i didnt answer clearly, for it didnt seem quite fit
to tell her that rat poison had been buried next to it.
the learned called it ‘miraculous’, the gardeners ‘unfair’,
but then one day my brother up and went and bit the pear.
he turned so green it could be seen from sea to shining sea,
and all because of my little nut tree.
the doctors came to question me, i took my tree and ran,
and when i got quite far away, i sold my nutmeg to some man.
he gave me lots of money, but i never will know why,
since when he ate that nutmeg, he vowed that he would die.
i planted my small nut tree deep in my new backyard,
and if you come to visit me,
no gold or silver fruit you’ll see,
but though nothing of value be,
that pear was much too hard.

this is what occureth when a writer gets really sick and really bored at the same time.

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44

elassÃ«~adael

in May 11th, 2006 @ 15:25

41) haha I love it.

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45

the pink stalking penguin of penzance

in May 11th, 2006 @ 16:40

teddy said it was a hat
so i put it on
now dads saying
“where the hecks
the toilet plunger gone?”

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46

HRH Julietaini; Queenie; Juliette; WDNT

in May 11th, 2006 @ 17:22

I hate ee cummings. Can’t stand the man. I can never really fully figure out what his poems mean, or what he’s saying. Ah well.

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47

emogrl

in May 11th, 2006 @ 17:44

#42: eee! *gets excited* do you know a place where one could download Vampires Will Never Hurt You? ive gone to napstar and rhapsody, & neither of them had any songs from their first CD…

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48

Phoenix

in May 11th, 2006 @ 18:14

Hint: Amazon.com. If you don’t buy it first, it’s stealing.

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49

100% cotton

in May 11th, 2006 @ 19:05

i love your poem random alien, but it made me really sad…

i used to think
that if you tiptoed through life
and only opened doors as much as you
absolutely had to
maybe no one would notice
but tip-toeing just makes you taller

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50

Purple Panda

in May 11th, 2006 @ 19:56

once upon a time
there was a girl who loved to rhyme.

she rhymed in the streets,
in cars,
in planes,
she even rhymed in the rain!

The only problem was,
that she was a bad rhymer-uz

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51

The Skipper Nancy

in May 11th, 2006 @ 20:51

I like yours Monday. it made me laugh.

here’s an ee cummungs tha isn’t so cryptic:

maggie and millie and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)

and maggie befriended a stranded star
who’s strand five languid fingers were, and

millie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles;

and may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone

for whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.

Ok, that last stanza changes things, but at least you get the 1st level of meaning the 1st time you read it.

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52

Otzi

in May 12th, 2006 @ 00:40

Still too embarassed to share my poetry… Here, I’ll post a John Lennon song I really like.

IN MY LIFE
There are places Iâ€™ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life Iâ€™ve loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know Iâ€™ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know Iâ€™ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more

Though I know Iâ€™ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know Iâ€™ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more

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53

Otzi

in May 12th, 2006 @ 00:41

You have no idea how funny it sounds in fast play mode.

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54

Axa

in May 12th, 2006 @ 01:00

-estatic- I got picked for the Promotion poem! Yay! ^^

(42) I hear so much about My Chemical Romance but I’ve never heard one song. Those are nice lyrics though.

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55

Phoenix

in May 12th, 2006 @ 18:26

110% cotton: I LOVED YOUR POEM!!!!! I am really going to keep that lesson in mind.

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56

The Skipper Nancy

in May 12th, 2006 @ 19:56

congratulations Axa!

my head hurts. I can’t think of any poetry right now.

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57

elassÃ«~adael

in May 12th, 2006 @ 23:12

49- cool. I like it. It is thoughtfull.

When I think of songs called “In My Life”, I think of the one from Les Miserables.

a leaf falls
the pool ripples gray
in the dark water

black smoke curls from the chimney tops
I chase the smoke cats through the sky
as I fly I watch the leaf fall water
gray fall water
gray day

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The Skipper Nancy

in May 13th, 2006 @ 09:54

(57) The smoke-cat personiiication was really cool, and so was the way the poem ended. It just sort of faded out.

I was just re-reading back up the thread. I’m going to change the last verse of my poem in post 38.

We are not alike
you and I,
it doesn’t matter what meets the eye
our minds are different,
we are unique
and so, therefore
alone.

I’m still not so sure of the use of the “what meets the eye” cliche but I’m not sure what else to put there.

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59

100% cotton

in May 13th, 2006 @ 10:32

thanks phoenix! CONGRATULATIONS AXA!!!

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60

Lizzie

in May 13th, 2006 @ 10:48

I’m not sure if I’ve posted this before, or if I just thought about it, but this is a poem I really like.

anyone lived in a pretty how town
by E. E. Cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town

(with up so floating many bells down)

spring summer autumn winter

he sang his didn’t he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)

cared for anyone not at all

they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same

sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few

and down they forgot as up they grew

autumn winter spring summer)

that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf

she laughed his joy she cried his grief

bird by snow and stir by still

anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones

laughed their cryings and did their dance

(sleep wake hope and then)they

said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon

(and only the snow can begin to explain

how children are apt to forget to remember

with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess

(and noone stooped to kiss his face)

busy folk buried them side by side

little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep

and more by more they dream their sleep

noone and anyone earth by april

wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)

summer autumn winter spring

reaped their sowing and went their came

sun moon stars rain

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61

The Skipper Nancy

in May 13th, 2006 @ 11:25

(60) That’s so interesting. As I was reading the poem… I dont really know how to put this, but it’s really cool the way cummings is able to use the words, and the way he places them, in a way that completely changes the normal feel of them. The way he broke up the lines, it works is a way I’d never thought of before.
I’m not sure any onf that made sense…

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62

elassÃ«~adael

in May 13th, 2006 @ 11:40

58- thanks!

60- I like that poem too. Can anyone else tell what their names are? We read that in English class recently.

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63

Queen Julietaini the Froody of Kiador; Queenie; WDNT

in May 13th, 2006 @ 11:57

And everything so niice-and everyone’s so happy, beneath the ink black sky.

Why, why do people like ee cummings? Punctuation is to the language as condiments are to hot dogs. It’s totally bland without them.

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64

Ebeth The Stalker

in May 13th, 2006 @ 12:33

60-I love that poem!!!

ee cummings rocks. And i like plain hot dogs as well. So sue me.

XD lol

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65

The Skipper Nancy

in May 13th, 2006 @ 13:12

(63) Well, I agree that punctuation is good butjust think about this

the original:

anyone lived in a pretty how town

(with up so floating many bells down)

spring summer autumn winter

he sang his didn’t he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)

cared for anyone not at all

It works. Look where the lines end and pick up again. He makes the punctuation unnecessary. It’s just about the words.

add in punctuation:

anyone lived in a pretty how town,

(with up so floating many bells down)

spring, summer, autumn, winter,

he sang his didn’t, he danced his did,

Women and men (both little and small)

cared for anyone, not at all.

The punctuation doesnt make a tremendous difference, and any difference it does make is just that it’s more choopy and artificial seeming. The effect of the words is weakened. I’m not saying this is true with all writing and poetry, but I’m saying that cummings found a way of doing without it.

I’m also not saying that cummings was good. I havent read enough to be able to say. But this the conclusion I’ve drawn from what I have read.

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66

The Skipper Nancy

in May 13th, 2006 @ 13:12

**choppy.

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67

The Skipper Nancy

in May 13th, 2006 @ 13:15

I just realised this… and now I feel kinda stupid… but I was just going on about E.E. Cummings, and I was writing like him. I didn’t capitalize his name or punctuate “haven’t”.

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68

Lizzie

in May 13th, 2006 @ 16:42

I think that E. E. Cummings punctuated/capitalized his own name, also.
62- I always thought their names were “anyone” and “noone”, if that’s what you mean..
63- Everyone likes E. E. Cummings because E. E. Cummings is cool. Really, the lack of punctuation/capitalization is part of the effect- without it, it’s a bit more surreal and, like a hot dog without condiments, you can taste the words themselves, savor their meanings and their effects, without getting distracted by a comma here or a period there. The lines flow from one to the next more smoothly, and, when he does use punctuation, it has that much more effect. In this one, the lack of punctuation also kind of makes it feel more.. more. Try reading the poem and, instead of being all uptight and conventional about punctuation, thinking about what it means, what the point he’s trying to make, enjoying the story, etc. Don’t worry about what every word is saying, but get the overall image.

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The Skipper Nancy

in May 13th, 2006 @ 17:46

(68) exactly.
I thought that seeing as we were talking about Cummings, I should actually read some of his work. I found his complete works in the office.
He deffinatley was talented. Whether you like him or not, he had a beautiful understanding of words and of how to get them to work together.

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70

emogrl

in May 13th, 2006 @ 19:41

Our Truth
Lacuna Coil

Clock is ticking while I’m killing time
Spinning all around
Nothing else that you can do to turn it back
Wicked partnership in this crime
Ripping off the best condescending smile

*Trying to forget (wasting my time)
We’re falling right through
Lying to forget (telling more lies)
We’re raising our truth*

Go on and tease me…

Clock is ticking while im stealing time
Can’t you turn it back?
Stop the cycle let it free and run away
Silence sneaking along my path
Rugged the road
But we feel it like we’re flying

*Trying to forget (wasting my time)
We’re falling right through
Lying to forget (telling more lies)
We’re raising our truth

**

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71

100% cotton

in May 13th, 2006 @ 23:02

60: cool poem… i love it when there are parentheses in poems

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72

The Skipper Nancy

in May 14th, 2006 @ 12:00

There was a girl named Skipper
Who was feeling uncommonly chipper
Around the house she danced
And sang and pranced
And even did a back flip-er!

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73

heroine

in May 14th, 2006 @ 12:18

41 what gaurdian angel? i was forsaken long ago.

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74

heroine

in May 14th, 2006 @ 12:20

47 i stole the cd from a friend of mine. i don’t have itunes so i don’t download music. i do it the old fashoined way: i buy the cds

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75

heroine

in May 14th, 2006 @ 12:21

54 you have to listen to the song. listening to it so much better than just reading the lyrics

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76

heroine

in May 14th, 2006 @ 12:25

otzi, you are truly obssessed with john lennon…and porky bald men, being that benhamin franklin is your great great great great great great grand unlce. love ee cummings, too. the introduction to one of his books is awesome. about ‘mostpeople’ and being yourself. loved it.

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77

the pink stalking pengin of penzance

in May 14th, 2006 @ 12:48

I wrote this poem to my mom cuz i want something. You people are gonna be the first people to see it

There once was a sweet young girl
Whose bangs, they always would curl
She decided one day
That this different array
Was NOT gonna work anymore

She pondered and thought
(the answer can be bought)
So now she sits here
And sheâ€™s typing with fear
That her humble request wont be met

This poem is real bad
And Iâ€™m sure youâ€™ll be glad
Once I finally get to the point

I REALLY would like a hair straighter
â€˜Cuz it would make me look so much daintier
PLEASE?

Please and Thank you
Luv
ZoÃ«

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78

The Skipper Nancy

in May 14th, 2006 @ 13:07

Well, that’s an original way of trying to get your mom to buy you something.

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79

the pink stalking pengin of penzance

in May 14th, 2006 @ 13:16

78- why thank you.

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80

the pink stalking pengin of penzance

in May 14th, 2006 @ 13:18

Big green bug

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81

the pink stalking pengin of penzance

in May 14th, 2006 @ 13:19

sat on a leaf said my this is a big leaf he ate it

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82

The Skipper Nancy

in May 14th, 2006 @ 14:15

Little yellow bug flew to a flower said my this is a funny looking flower it ate him

Maybe we should have RRR poetry thread.

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83

the pink stalking pengin of penzance

in May 14th, 2006 @ 14:58

i like your poem Skipper Nancy!
it is really original

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84

the pink stalking pengin of penzance

in May 14th, 2006 @ 15:02

a Haiku for MG

MontgomeryGurl
A one of a kind blogger
will be sorely missed

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85

The Skipper Nancy

in May 14th, 2006 @ 19:36

(83) Wait, you were joking right? Sorry, it’s hard for me to distinguish between sarcasm and sincerity when I’m reading words instead of hearing it.

Oh simple thing,
Where have you gone?
I’m getting older and I need something to rely on.
So tell me when
You’re gonna let me in.
I’m getting tired and I need some where to begin.

That’s the chorus to a song I know. I like the song, even if it is a kinda generic pop/alternative.

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86

VanZeppelin

in May 14th, 2006 @ 20:06

There’s a lady who’s sure
All that glitters is gold
And she’s buying a stairway to heaven.

When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.

Ooh, ooh, and she’s buying a stairway to heaven.

There’s a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
’cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.

In a tree by the brook
There’s a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.

Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.

There’s a feeling i get
When i look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.

In my thoughts i have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who standing looking.

Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.

And it’s whispered that soon, if we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason.

And a new day will dawn
For those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.

If there’s a bustle in your hedgerow, don’t be alarmed now,
It’s just a spring clean for the may queen.

Yes, there are two paths you can go by
But in the long run
There’s still time to change the road you’re on.

And it makes me wonder.

Your head is humming and it won’t go
In case you don’t know,
The piper’s calling you to join him,

Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow,
And did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.

And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How ev’rything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.
And she’s buying a stairway to heaven.

id have to be a genius to write this

ahhh. so poetic

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87

VanZeppelin

in May 14th, 2006 @ 20:07

btw.
its a songg

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88

Robert Coontz (Administrator)

in May 14th, 2006 @ 20:27

Here’s a Joni Mitchell song that seems to fit the mood of many MuseBloggers just now. It’s called “Urge for Going”:

I awoke today and found the frost perched on the town
It hovered in a frozen sky and it gobbled summer down
When the sun turns traitor cold
And all the trees are shivering in a naked row
I get the urge for going but I never seem to go

I get the urge for going, when the meadow grass is turning brown
and summertime is falling down and winter’s closing in

I had me a man in summertime, he had summer-colored skin
And not another girl in town my darling’s heart could win
But when the leaves fell on the ground
And bully winds came around and pushed them face down in the snow
He got the urge for going and I had to let him go

He got the urge for going when the meadow grass was turning brown
And summertime was falling down and winter was closing in

Now the warriors of winter they give a cold triumphant shout
And all that stays is dying, all that lives is getting out
See the geese in chevron flight
Flappin’ and a-racin’ on before the snow
They got the urge for going and they’ve got the wings so they can go

They get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And summertime is falling down and winter’s closing in

I’ll ply the fire with kindling now, I’ll pull the blankets up to my chin
I’ll lock the vagrant winter out and I’ll bolt my wandering in
I’d like to call back summertime
And have her stay for just another month or so
But she’s got the urge for going so I guess she’ll have to go

She gets the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And all her empire’s falling down and winter’s closing in
And I get the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And summertime is falling down…

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89

Copper Bigfoot, who is pieing herself because she also made random posts that made MG leave

in May 14th, 2006 @ 20:30

Heres a Bryan Adams song that I listen too and cry because I can relate to it so much.

Look into my eyes – you will see,
What you mean to me.
Search your heart – search your soul,
And when you find me there, you’ll search no more.

Don’t tell me it’s not worth tryin’ for.
You can’t tell me it’s not worth dyin’ for.
You know it’s true,
Everything I do – I do it for you.

Look into your heart – you will find,
There’s nothin’ there to hide.
Take me as I am – take my life,
I would give it all – I would sacrifice.

Don’t tell me it’s not worth fightin’ for.
I can’t help it – there’s nothin’ I want more.
Ya know it’s true,
Everything I do – I do it for you.

There’s no love – like your love.
And no other – could give more love.
There’s nowhere – unless you’re there.
All the time – all the way.

Oh – you can’t tell me it’s not worth tryin’ for.
I can’t help it – there’s nothin’ I want more,
Yeah, I would fight for you – I’d lie for you.
Walk the wire for you – yeah, I’d die for you.

Ya know it’s true.
Everything I do. Ohhhhhhh, I do it for you.

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90

elassÃ«~adael

in May 20th, 2006 @ 12:27

86- that song is so cool! It always calms me down.

I have so many favorite songs it would be hard to post them all here.

Song of Silence, I Am A Rock, The Boxer and many others – Simon and Garfunkle

Defying Gravity, As Long As You’re Mine, What is this Feeling?, Popular, No Good Deed and many others – Wicked

One Day More, Red and Black, On My Own, At the End of the Day, and many others -Les Miserables

This Fire, Walk Away, Take Me Out, Darts of Pleasure and many others – Franz Ferdinand

Everytime We Touch – Cascade (I think)

Stairway to Heaven, The Battle of Nevermore, The Immigrant song, Black Dog and others -Led Zepplin

SueÃ±os, Que Pasa and others by Juanes

Many by Nena and ManÃ¡

and probably a ton of others that I forgot.

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91

Purple Panda

in May 20th, 2006 @ 14:22

We just recently talked about Haikus in Language Arts class. (I would post this on the Haiku thread, but I won’t because I can’t figure out how to get it in the 5-7-5 rhythm) Our teacher said that many people don’t really understand Haiku’s at all..he said that the “real” Japanese Haiku’s are meant to be written about something interesting/out of the ordinary/or something that caught your eye…

I don’t know…I myself am guilty of writing Haiku’s just for the heck of it (see the Haiku thread) but here is one that was trying to follow the directions of my LA teacher:

Look at its bright wings
Yellow with a hint of black
A small butterfly

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92

Otzi

in May 21st, 2006 @ 18:11

My comuter is not so great with spanish punctuation. But here is a favorite of mine, incorrectly punctuated. See if you can figure out what it is:

Verso 1
Amanece, lo veis?, a la luz de la aurora?
lo que tanto aclamamos la noche al caer?
sus estrellas sus franjas
flotaban ayer
en el fiero combate
en seÃ±al de victoria,
fulgor de lucha, al paso de la libertad.
Por la noche decÃan:
“Se va defendiendo!”
Coro
Oh decid! Despliega aÃºn
Su hermosura estrellada
sobre tierra de libres,
la bandera sagrada?
Verso 2
Sus estrellas, sus franjas,
la libertad, somos iguales.
Somos hermanos. Es nuestro himno.
En el fiero combate en seÃ±al de victoria,
Fulgor de lucha
(Mi gente sigue luchando)
al paso de la libertad
(Ya es tiempo de romper las cadenas.)
Por la noche decÃan: “!Se va defendiendo!”
Oh decid! Despliega aÃºn su hermosura estrellada
sobre tierra de libres,
la bandera sagrada?

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93

elassÃ«~adael

in May 21st, 2006 @ 18:39

92- It is the star spangled banner!

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94

Purple Panda

in May 21st, 2006 @ 18:45

Ë†

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95

Purple Panda

in May 21st, 2006 @ 18:46

oops…sorry, I didn’t mean to post that last post.

(#92) (Otzi)

Â¡Muy Bien!

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96

The Stalking Torch Singer of Knottingham (formerly The stalking Yeti of knoggtingham)

in May 22nd, 2006 @ 15:24

Hes a jerk, chatterbox lowlife stupid socks, I still love him
Hes alost case in your face bull, I sitll love him

And who cares if he has to stand on a stool
Just to reach puberty
Hes smart clever funny witty
Thats all that matters to me

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97

Axa

in May 22nd, 2006 @ 20:30

(96) The first two lines of the last stanza are hilarious! Great analogy! ^^

I have a question though, for all you poets and poetess…es… um.
Should I read my poem for the Promotion thing? I originally wasn’t going to , but now, I don’t know…

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98

Lemon Curry

in May 29th, 2006 @ 02:32

(97) Yes, do!

The space between

The space between us is
silent, secret, something
that doesn’t exist-
Except in the back
of every one’s mind.
The words not said, the deed not done,
The look that didn’t
– quite
reach the eyes.

A joke, a laugh.

That’s all there is.

The space between us is ice.
Ice,
a desert impassable,
a wall impenatrable.

I put my hand up
trying to reach what I know must be there
And for a second-
Just a moment-
the ice thaws.

But eyes turn away
Thoughts go astray,
the ice closes up
Isolating us again
Cold, alone, in seperate worlds.

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99

The Skipper Nancy and Lemon Curry (YA! LC's back!)

in May 29th, 2006 @ 02:32

Lemon Curry is moi, by the way. Or rather, my long lost alter ego.

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100

The Skipper Nancy

in May 29th, 2006 @ 02:47

My comment has been disappeared for quite a while now…
well it’ll prob’ly reappear later. ‘Night, folks.

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101

100% cotton

in May 29th, 2006 @ 10:35

oh, that’s sad, LC/Skipper

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102

The Skipper Nancy

in May 29th, 2006 @ 21:26

mmm… I was kind of in frusterated mood when I wrote it. Thanks for replying though.

Sing Silly Songbird

Sing silly songbird,
Sing a song for humankind
Sing sweetly so to sooth
The sickly sallow skies

Soot, smoke, sweat and smog
Your song can set it all aside
And saturate the city’s air
With silky satin sighs

Sing silly songbird,
Savor this so long it lasts
So when spring is stiff and still
We can think of your songs past.

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103

Yup

in May 29th, 2006 @ 22:47

i like your poem, skipper.

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104

The Skipper Nancy

in May 29th, 2006 @ 23:38

Thanks.

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105

Bird

in May 30th, 2006 @ 19:43

Lemon Curry, yours make me cry! i liked your a LOT also nancy!
i made a poem once, it was BAD BAD BAD BAD. i made the mistake of reading it to people and humilated myself forever. ho hum.
oh… is lemon curry skipper nancy? oops… i still have a lot to learn about museblogging i guess.

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106

The Skipper Nancy

in May 30th, 2006 @ 21:59

Hehe, sorry to confuzzle you, Bird. Yes Lemon Curry and Skipper Nancy are the same person. Sometimes I get bored and want to change, so that’s when I post under LC.
Thanks! You should keep trying poetry. I never wrote poetry until I came on here, and then I started posting on the this thread andit’s precurser and ya…now I really like it. Don’t worry about if your poems bad or not. Eventually, you’ll come up with something that you don’t feel like tossing in the trash. (I don’t really like my own poems, but I have fun writing them,so I keep doing it).
Another fun thing is just to write silly poems that are just you making random rhymes (read PP’s post 50, for example) (And PP is a really good poet too)

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107

The Skipper Nancy

in May 31st, 2006 @ 01:27

Hmm, I was just reading throught this thread, and I realized I never commented on Monday’s 43. It was really good. (So are all of these. You guys are awesome!)
I think this calls for another “Dudes Who Rock” poem

Dudes who rock,
you just can’t mock
they walk the talk
and talk the walk
I bet the could even make a clock
out of nothing but a pie and sock!
These rocking dudes
are really froods
and they are always in clever moods
And are always witty and shrewds
And now, my friends,
it’s time this poem ends,
Before I, any more rule, bends
And before they, to bad poem jail, me sends!

*bows*
*scattered applause from audience*
*falls over*

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108

100% cotton

in May 31st, 2006 @ 15:32

btw. skipper, when i said your poem was sad i meant it in a good way, like bird.

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109

elassÃ«~adael

in May 31st, 2006 @ 16:42

98) ooh that is really good and haunting!

we sit, like whispers on a silent planet
waiting for a breeze of do-go
of leaping
of skipping
of reaching

we dream of doing
but we keep sitting
waiting
reaching
trying

we go now and act
we skip, leap and laugh
dancing
jumping
singing

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110

elassÃ«~adael

in May 31st, 2006 @ 16:44

do go and sing out loud
do go and dance
do go and laugh
do go and play
do go and dream
do go and love
do go and skip
do go

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111

The Skipper Nancy

in May 31st, 2006 @ 18:49

(109/110) Yeah…

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112

elassÃ«~adael

in June 1st, 2006 @ 14:55

has anyone seen Dead Poets Society? It is a good movie.

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113

The Only Hufflepuff Who Hates Harry Potter

in June 1st, 2006 @ 22:18

wow cool poems and stuff peoples!! uhm lets see *digs through old poetry written long ago* ok heres one…

Once there was a little girl
Who hated to be left alone
For fear that evil might ensnare
And keep her in a gilded throne

See her friends with whom she played
Then awake to find them dead
The evil that could have ensnared
Might then add haterd to her head

Should she run and hide away,
Should she stay and fight them back?
The evil that cannot ensnare
Her friends and all her girlhood laughs.

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Axa

in June 2nd, 2006 @ 20:19

Oooh, this are all so good!
(98) That was very nice LC/Nancy. ^^ I like the beat, and the use of ice is excellent.

So I’m going to read the poem now if I still can; hesitance is bad. >.>

I’m writing an on-going type poem about this lizard I see outside my window everyday. He’s quite funny.

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 7th, 2006 @ 01:36

(114) that’s a cool idea! the ongoing poem about a lizard, I mean.

which poem are you going to go read now?

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116

The Skipper Nancy

in June 7th, 2006 @ 01:55

At my window sill
a stream flows

Not there yesterday-
likely gone tomarrow

It’s a river of little
itchy black dots

trickling in, under the screen
on tiny marching feet

quietly streaming in
searching for something sweet

I haven’t the heart
to tell they must leave, and

They haven’t the brains
to understand me.

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Axa

in June 7th, 2006 @ 13:28

^^ Ants! xD Makes me smile, I love ants. Usually.

I’m going to read, if possible, the one in post 37. Yaaay!

Here’s a little thing I wrote a week or so ago. My poems seem to be getting shorter.

I’m the type
To forget
Not you though
Sing with me?

The breeze, while clear and cool
Is forgotten as the sun beckons to me
Oh!-
It shines…

“Hello,” it said; to me
I smiled and waved.

Tilting, and f a l l i n g
As though at sea
I’m not

And here you are-
Sing with me?

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 7th, 2006 @ 13:49

^^Excellent. The way you break up the lines makes it feel more poetic, and the personification of the sun is good!

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 7th, 2006 @ 13:52

wow, I had forgotten 37! That’s beautiful, Axa. It has a thoughtful air to it.

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elassÃ«~adael

in June 7th, 2006 @ 14:41

116 “tiny marching feet” I like it!

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100% cotton

in June 8th, 2006 @ 22:58

i love your poems, skipper and axa!!!

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122

Cedar

in June 9th, 2006 @ 18:34

This poem is contained in the’ Poetry’ thread as well, just so you know.

THE UPSIDE OF BONOBOS
A poem by Cedar

Whereas chimpanzees are nasty
and not too well behaved
bonobos are quite freindly
at most hours of the night and day.

Whereas chimpanzees and humans
are centered around the male
bonobo girls form bonds through sex
and all the boys turn tail.

Whereas chimpanzees and humans
spend time on blood and gore
bonobos focus on the positive
making love instead of war.

Whereas chimpanzees are brutal
when they’re fighting over food
bonobos you will find
are not nearly quite as rude.

So to hell with all these patriarchals
to hell with chimps and men
long live the great bonobos
and their sister guided freinds.

Hope you like it.

Hmm, maybe I should search for song threads, and write down all the songs I’ve written.

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Cedar

in June 9th, 2006 @ 19:13

If you liked my poem here, you can read the lyrics to all of my songs, and the ‘Music and Lyrics’ thread.

It’s filed under ‘The Universe.’

Hope you like em.

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 10th, 2006 @ 01:34

You could probably just post ’em here, seeing as this thread is titled “Poems and Songs”.
Funny poem, though. I like the way the first couple stanzas start with the same line.

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Cedar

in June 10th, 2006 @ 18:12

Damn!

I didn’t think of that Skipper.

Sorry.

I already posted them at ‘Music and Lyrics.’

Hope you like em still.

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 12th, 2006 @ 13:46

Hahaha. Hohohoho. Hehe. Sorry. That was really funny for some reason. Here’s the Music and Lyrics thread for all you kiddies who are too lazy to type it into the search engine-
https://musefanpage.com/blog/?p=159

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Harriet is not my real name

in June 12th, 2006 @ 16:22

an unholy facination
has taken hold of me
i know better than to folow it
or is my curiosity too strong
too stong for me…
I can’t run and i can’t hide and nobody can tell
or are they just waiting
as even part of me is
i’m almost looking forward to it
and i’m waiting, for…
WHAT?
I have no idea…
is that why i’m waiting?
with bated breath?
too young to die…
This is not to die
though you’re never too young for death
i give up, i’m done trying
black and red and shadows
but i still don’t understand…
stop trying
i’m not myself anymore, i’m turning into someone else
and i give up,
i don’t know who’s me anymore
and i almost welcome this transformation, why?
stop trying
I don’t know

this poem is very weird, it’s about a girl who’s being turned into a vampire, yes I am a bit obsessed with vampires. don’t hold that against me though, my poems somehow have a tendency to come out faintly macarbe but i am not.

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Harriet is not my real name

in June 12th, 2006 @ 16:23

correction, first verse: an unhealthy facination. oops

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129

Harriet is not my real name

in June 12th, 2006 @ 16:30

this is the corrected version…

An unhealthy fascination
has taken hold of me
I know better than to follow it
or is my curiosity too strong
too strong for meâ€¦
I can’t run and I can’t hide and nobody can tell
or are they just waiting
as even part of me is
Iâ€™m almost looking forward to it
and Iâ€™m waiting, forâ€¦
WHAT?
I have no ideaâ€¦
is that why Iâ€™m waiting?
With bated breath?
Too young to dieâ€¦
`This is not to die
though you’re never too young for deathâ€™
I give up, Iâ€™m done trying
black and red and shadows
but I still don’t understandâ€¦
`stop tryingâ€™
Iâ€™m not myself anymore, Iâ€™m turning into someone else
and I give up,
I don’t know who’s me anymore
and I almost welcome this transformation, why?
`stop tryingâ€™
I don’t know
This poem is very weird, it’s about a girl who’s being turned into a vampire, and yes I am a bit obsessed with vampires. Donâ€™t hold that against me though, my poems somehow have a tendency to come out faintly macabre but I am not.

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 12th, 2006 @ 16:36

hello, harriet, even if that’s not your name. your poem is good and sinister.
if you wanted to revise it, I would suggest changing the line structure around to get a more pronounced rhythm. I like it, though- creepy, but interesting.

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131

Axa

in June 15th, 2006 @ 00:06

Ooh. Very nice. I do suggest for this one perhaps combining a few lines as The Nancy (xD) said.

-goes to post in music-

Here’s my attempt at a sonnet.

The world begins in one place at one
time, with this shard of existence called life
Faster,sighing into old ways, we run
Our Arms bruised and Legs cut by time’s silver knife

Sunny days, I spent without fear of what
Could or would come, but with great pain, return’d
To the old places-with grief, my heart shut
Wailing out a silent dream- how it burn’d

It was in this state I wandered, always
Fading and brightening in the same breath
The world dims and blurs in these hallways
Spinning twisting turning, and death, and death

Wasted words, yet so dear they are to me
If only, only I could make you see.

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132

The Skipper Nancy

in June 15th, 2006 @ 20:18

Axa, I love your poetry. Sonnets are hard.
“time’s silver knife”- excellent.

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133

Axa

in June 16th, 2006 @ 02:25

x-x I know. The whole structure is hard for me. –;; Shakespeare was a genius for being able to pull it off so well.

Yours have a very quiet elegance to them, I think. -cheers for everyone on this thread-

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Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 16th, 2006 @ 22:10

Very nice, Axa. Sonnets are evil to write–you should see the one I had to write for English class. On second thought, you probably don’t want to.

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 16th, 2006 @ 23:50

No Penty! Post it! Post it! POST IT!!!!

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 17th, 2006 @ 02:22

Indulgences

(I was feeling bitter again)

I’m not here to cry
I can indulge that craving
In a bathroom stall
The walls closing in
My hand groping for a hold
It feels good
to feel bad
sometimes.

I’m not here to rant
And scream and blame and point
To be a jug
of malice-
resentment
full to the brim,
and ready to pour out
this sweet burning fever
The world, I think
Fills that place
On it’s own-
This is one craving
I need not indulge

I’m not here to lecture you
to appeal to your sense of shame
You seem to have misplaced it-
or perhaps you’ve cut it off
like an troublesome relative,
always knocking at you mind’s door.
Indeed, this indulgence would be futile.

I’m simply here to say-
You weapons are words which
haven’t merit
haven’t worth
And though-
you probably won’t
be sorry one day-
It is only fair to inform you
of this simple fact:
(though you never seemed to like those
I rather think you prefer
your own self
indulgent
stories)

Truth is more beautiful
than all your glittering creation
more inspiring
than all your heartfelt rhapsodies
And passionate webs of glorious words-
so skillfully laced with disregard

A grain of truth
on the scales of knowledge
can outwiegh all the words spoken in your lifetime.

This poem can outweigh
them tens times over,
and still have enough left over
to know the difference between
right and wrong.

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100% cotton

in June 17th, 2006 @ 09:12

i love your poem, skipper!

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138

Axa

in June 17th, 2006 @ 12:38

Ahhh. The stanza beginning with Truth is more beautiful is PERFECT. -swoon- I love the whole poem overall, the tone is very consistent throughout.

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 17th, 2006 @ 18:19

Thanks guys. Free verse is hard because you don’t just want to make it sentances strung together. I really appreciate you saying saying that, because it was a weird poem to write.
Thanks

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Axa

in June 17th, 2006 @ 20:41

I keep forgetting to close my tags. Grr. -_-

But I know what you mean; thought truthfully I hate writing poems with rhymes for some reason. I like the freedom of free verse. Though it is easy for it to turn out disjointed.

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 18th, 2006 @ 01:45

*nods vigorously*.

I don’t actually mind rhyme and meter if it’s something comical or trivial- like limeriks. They never turn out very well when i do them, but they can be kinda fun, like a puzzle.

But when I just want to write about how I feel, I have enough trouble wracking my brain for the meaning and words of of what I’m trying to say. If I’m restrained by rules, what I’m trying to say is lost. I think really amazing poets can accomplish this, but I’ve only been writing- well, since I came on here.

Your poems are so- elegant. Graceful, I think. You have beautiful word choice.

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142

Axa

in June 18th, 2006 @ 23:41

Ah, exactly! I think I have too many ideas too get out all the time, which is why I take to free verse. Although I should say that I do like to rhyme once in a while as you say; limericks are hilarious to write, and I love the rhythm. :3 And thank you!

We need more people on this thread. -rallies- TO MEEEEE!!!

xD;;;

But here’s a nice bit of unedited work; I wrote it after coming home from my promotion…thing. -giggles-

A sight beheld:
The sun slung over your shoulder
A slight, emerging smile
Like a shoot coming of the snow

The thoughts withheld:
Soft chords
Small wishes
Hope

I think I’d like to live on love.

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143

100% cotton

in June 19th, 2006 @ 12:29

i like your poem axa. the last line is wonderful.

The Invitation
It hummed in her pocket
creased and folded
from being read
over and over
Maybe this was a new beginning.

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144

The Skipper Nancy

in June 19th, 2006 @ 17:51

142- Alliteration! The alliteration is great. I love alliteration. clear meaning too- the hope, but also the thought withheld- you describe the subject well.

143- personification “it hummed in her pocket”. Excellent. Exciting, too.

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145

Axa

in June 19th, 2006 @ 19:13

143- I like how from the well chosen phrases we can feel clearly the excitement of this invitation. Nice!

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146

The Skipper Nancy

in June 20th, 2006 @ 00:33

GOVERNMNT WARNING: HIGHLY DANGEROUS AND EASILY ATTAINED

mothers, fathers, adults beware
there’s a drug worse than cocaine out there
it steals the brain and shakes it about
it makes kids cease to scream and shout
it’s mind-bending powers are quite a threat
it’s seriously dangerous, and not hard to get
you can find it in schools, homes and shops
and isn’t stoppable- not even by cops

it’s made of paper, ink and glue
it’s simply outrageous- we ought to sue
the things it does to the brain are sad
people become rational, instead of mad
even the nicest truths they start to doubt
they take the ethical, not easy route
they don’t believe the things on TV
even though they are clear to see
and when you tell them a well covered lie
they simply frown and ask “why?”
they get interested in things like art
and forget the good old shopping cart

well, my friends, I’m here to say-
this atrocity can’t last a single more day
clear it our of your life- it’s called a book
don’t pick one up- don’t even look!
once you start reading, you can’t ever stop
you’ll forget important things, to watch TV and to shop!
keep your children away from this deadly drug
by any means neceessary, keep them under the rug!
it’s time to unite- a war must be fought
against this movement of actual Thought!

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 20th, 2006 @ 00:34

woah, that was a lot longer than I intended it to be…

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148

Axa

in June 20th, 2006 @ 11:35

Oh my. o.o That’s funny! I love the beat; the ryhme scheme is aabb I think, very nice. The first line is ♥.

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100% cotton

in June 20th, 2006 @ 21:54

ha! that’s quite funny! ordinarily i don’t like rhyming poems but that one is excellent.

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150

The Skipper Nancy

in June 22nd, 2006 @ 22:01

Thanks! I was thinking of changing it around to be a song, but I’m not sure how I’d do it.

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151

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 25th, 2006 @ 23:30

An unedited, spur-of-the-moment thing, better than most of my unedited, spur-of-the-moment things. (This is why I write prose…)

Feet resting, at last
deep in a red-black ocean
He never thought it would end up like this.

Told him, when he left
Not to come back:
what good would it do?
looking for the love in an opened wound?
She said that; he remembers only that he has forgotten it.

They don’t matter now,
blood and water after the night,
before the morning.
Where his arched feet dangle, he no longer cares.

Walks, leaves footprints
Soon to be erased; he was never there
She does not follow.

Found, at last, some sort of peace
Living apart is better than dying together
She always thought he was a coward; he knows that she was right.

Her hand does not miss his;
they never really fit together anyway.
She will not remember why she tried to make them.

Forgetting is the drug that dulls all pain;
both know this, keep it
where the other used to be.

He wanders; she waits,
The absence is all that’s present.

Maybe it was always supposed to be this way.

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152

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 25th, 2006 @ 23:32

Nice poems, Axa, SN, and cotton! They are quite shiny, and another reason why I write prose.

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153

Phoebe

in June 26th, 2006 @ 00:03

*Gigglesnort* YOU DID NOT JUST SEE ME GIGGLE!

A boy in my class named Henry and I wrote a ballad about Puss In Boots. It’s a little messed up, but I’ll try to post it. Also, Henry and I wouldn’t exactly win prizes for best ryhming. (sp?) And this was sorta thrown together.

*Hem*

Puss In Boots

Listen now to my tale of yore
A tale of a very old miller, poor
But then one day the miller died
And all his three sons laid down and cried.

The oldest got a mill and of food he got a mass
The second got some food and a rather grumpy ass
And the third got a black and white cat.
“Oh woe, oh woe,” said the downstricken son.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mac,” said the cat.
“I’ve got six toes, that’s downright lucky. Now get me some shoes so my feet won’t be yucky!”

The son, he said, “This plan I enjoy.
I think that I will call you – Leroy!”
As soon as the cat had all the stuff he had asked,
He hid in the grass by his master’s brother’s ass.
And not long from then, along came a hare. He jumped into the sac without a care.

And than, acting like a royal vassal, the cat took the road to the king’s royal castle.

“Here is a present, it’s from the Marquis.
If I’m not mistaken his name is Maurice.”

He pretended his master’s name was one of great fame.

The cat scattered some grain, and it was not in vain, for soon he had caughten two partridges plain.

He brought them too the king, and he traded them for bling. He kept bringing small game in his fake master’s name.

One day the cat was taking a ride. And he would be down by the riverside.
The cat told his master
“If you try, you’ll get there faster! Now you should go, you should swim in the river! Even though you’d do better to hide in your kivers!”

The king road by in his sparkling carriage,
along with his daughter, who was not claimed by marriage.
The cat showed the king his drowning master.
The king yelled too his footman, “Save him! Go faster!”

The king has a servant who played the oboe.
“Go get this man clothes, ’cause he looks like a hobo!”
After the Marquid was all nice and dressed
The princess went ahead and ‘came quickly obsessed.

While the king and the master were talking, the cat looked around, and than starting walking.
“I’ll say this, I swear, by the boots on my feet,
If you don’t tell the king you’ll be chopped to mincemeat.”

This happened for a while, till the king rode a mile.

The cat arrived at the orge’s big palace,
And he asked for the orge, who, uh – who’s eyes were filled with malice!

The cat said ‘Is it true you change shape?
That’s what they say in the stars of the state.”
Without further ado The orge changed too a rat.
Right in front of the truimphant cat.
The cat broke the rats bones
The death was quick
There were no moans.
Than the cat ate the rat,
Just like that.

And than came the king, and, of course, the Marquis.
Fortunately, they were all in one peice.
The cat bid the cook, “Go cook us a feast!
We’re due to celebrate the death of the beast!”

They sat down to dinner and ate themselves full.
And than over marriage the king took a mull.

“I tell you what, princess, that Marquis is quite handsome.
And I’m pretty darned sure he won’t hold you for ransome.
Would you like to marry him?
He is awfully rich
And not to mention, he’s a bit of a dish.”

“Sure,” said the princess.
“Sure,” said Maurice.
They were married that evening
And had a huge feast.

The END.

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 26th, 2006 @ 02:09

(151) Penty I love the phrase- like She said that; he remembers only that he has forgotten it. and Forgetting is the drug that dulls all pain; Excellent!

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155

Axa

in June 26th, 2006 @ 14:50

(151) Wonderful! I really like this, the mood is set well with the first stanza. My favorite part was Her hand does not miss his;
they never really fit together anyway.
She will not remember why she tried to make them.

Excellent! ^^ And I love Puss in Boots, Phoebe! The way some ryhmes don’t ryhme give it character.

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Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 26th, 2006 @ 16:31

I like the Puss in Boots poem. Favourite fairy tale ever. Seriously. And the poem’s awesome. Maurice is a wonderful name.

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100% cotton

in June 26th, 2006 @ 16:46

151- excellent poem! wow that is so amazing!! and you say it’s unedited? i like living apart is better than dying together

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158

elassÃ«~adael

in June 26th, 2006 @ 21:00

There is a journey never taken stop
A poem never written stop
Forbidden dreams stop
Buds of ideas picked
before they bloom stop
The lighthouse has gone out stop
And the dream-boats
crash on the shore stop
Iridescent flies buzzing around
the once-beautiful thought feast stop
No more are the hopeful ideas stop
They have all been picked
and eaten by ghosts stop

Feedback please! Should it be “full stop” at the end? Telegraph form inspired by the random thread ^_^

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elassÃ«~adael

in June 26th, 2006 @ 21:03

Childhood flys high
flying higher than
ever before
it soars

suddenly it tumbles
down it falls
swiftly.
Its wings break

Slowly it begins
to fly again
as an adult
it flies with broken wings

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elassÃ«~adael

in June 26th, 2006 @ 21:04

content I fly high
wings expanding
Iâ€™m confident
sure and happy

nervous and unsure
I am squeezed
into too small a box
I donâ€™t fit

lonely I
sit in my nest
hungry alone
while the other birds are fed

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elassÃ«~adael

in June 26th, 2006 @ 21:07

131- that is very impressive. Sonnets and other forms are extremely hard to write. Great job!

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162

Zallie

in June 26th, 2006 @ 21:12

I (generally) think poetry is sappy and pretentious, but writing some of it for a Lit class has made me change my mind a little. Now I only think a good deal of it is sappy and pretentious.

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Zallie

in June 26th, 2006 @ 21:16

Although, I feel compelled to add, I haven’t read any of the poems on this thread. They could very well be not sappy and pretentious at all and prove me wrong. Because I’m a hypocrite, I’ll post ~~some~~ one of my mildly pretentious poems.

Three Doughnuts

Three doughnuts side by side.
A plain, old fashioned one to your left.
A strawberry filled one to your right.
And a chocolate one, with colored sprinkles sits
Right in front of you, waiting.

Choices, choices.
The plain one is boring.
Not enough variety.
The strawberry one stands
Too far away, but a classic.
Chocolate has always been your favorite,
but the sprinkles are too much.
Doughnuts shouldnâ€™t be an adventure.

Your mind made up, you reach,
Passing over the plain one,
With no hesitation.
Your hand lingers over the chocolate.
It does look fun.
But, at a whisper from the crowd,
You settle on the strawberry one,
Your nervous fingers gripping
Too hard on your pastry prize.

Now, you have strawberry filling,
All down the front of your shirt.
What did you do that for?

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Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 26th, 2006 @ 21:41

I like all your poems, e~a, especially the one that ends “as an adult/it flies with broken wings”. Really lovely imagery there.

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elassÃ«~adael

in June 26th, 2006 @ 21:52

162- read some before you judge. Maybe it will change your mind.

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elassÃ«~adael

in June 26th, 2006 @ 21:55

I still think we should have carus pub publish a book with MBer’s writing in it. ^_^

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Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 26th, 2006 @ 22:00

My poetry is sappy and pretentious. Someday I’ll have to compile a list of all the reasons why I (mostly) write prose. I do like the doughnut poem, Zallie-san. What decisions we face in our difficult lives…

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Phoebe

in June 26th, 2006 @ 22:24

Zal, that poem was great! And not at all sappy. I’ll admit I’ve definitely heard some boring poems. I just don’t get it. People nod and say stuff like, “Ah,” “But of course,” “Oh, I see,” but I don’t see anything. It’s just a lot of mush on a peice of paper. And people think it’s the greatest invention since toilet paper. Honestly.

A book of Muser poems would be great. We could have them all be un-sappy, and people would be shocked.

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Robert Coontz (Administrator)

in June 26th, 2006 @ 22:58

Poems can be tough, clear, and cold. Poems can be funny. Either way, there’s no law that says poetry has to be high-faluting, obscure, or embarrassing.

Here’s one of my favorite poems, by Jane Kenyon, about a summer (it must have been summer) when she was 10 years old. In the first line, “timothy” is a kind of grass.

In the Grove: The Poet at Ten

She lay on her back in the timothy
and gazed past the doddering
auburn heads of sumac.

A cloudâ€”huge, calm,
and dignifiedâ€”covered the sun
but did not, could not, put it out.

The light surged back again.

Nothing could rouse her then
from that joy so violent
it was hard to distinguish from pain.

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The Skipper Nancy

in June 27th, 2006 @ 00:21

(153) HA! That is magical. *applause* And think the lessness of the rhyminh, in this situation, somehow makes it more.

(158) *reads twice* Interesting. If you’re going to put it in telegraph form, maybe make it more like a telegraph? Like a message that you are sending to the world (I mean, it already has quite a nice message, but make it more like a letter dort of thing). What I would try doing is writing it with out the stops, and then add then in where they sound best. It’s really nice though, I like the bit about the lighthouse going out and the dreamboats washed up on the shore.

(159) The last line is excellent. I would just say, maybe try and use the word “flies” less often.

(160) I like the from of this poem, and the way you make yourself a bird. The only thing I have to say, is try and make a link between the first and second two stanzas. The message is a bit mixed when the first is so happy and the other two so sad.

(163) I like it. It’s funny, but sort of secretly serious too. Feedback would be to try and vary the sentance structure to make it flow more poem-y. I don’t know if you wanted any feedback. It’s great though! Often, I find things are only pretentious if your not entirely comfortable with them. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.

A lot of the poems that I’ve posted on here are sappy. But sometimes, with my over dramatic teenage mind, that’s the only way to put in words what I’m trying to say. Things can be cheesy but still have an underlying truth to them.

The Pool
Thin strands of light vibrate
quivering, along the gentle curves
that are the watery floor
They reflect off the pebbles
And are caught by branches, walls, and my fingers
Which twirl them about, my new found toys

They fluctuate incessantly
Across the clearness that is water
Twinkling, they seem to laugh-
“Time stands still,” the cry
“Enjoy it while you can.”

The clearness opens up and
the world drops away
As I fall from the stifling air
into the muffled, quiet calm
Wrapped in a blanket of vibrating light
Weightless, freed.

By measure of the human body,
you might say it is twenty feet long
But my measure of a child’s mind
It turns the Pacific into a teardrop.

I have been a mermaid,
a dolphin, and a seal-
I have lived for thirty years in a coral reef
among fish the color of dreams
and not come up for air
I have sailed on a raft of foam
And battled pirates for treasure

Before there was a world
There was a pool of childhood dreams.

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171

Ruffled Grouse????

in June 27th, 2006 @ 05:28

Longing…

Midnight dark wings cut wind,
Harsh calls resound,
I stand bound
I, the stone
While you fly free
You crows

The glossy ebony feathers
Cover your body
Like a cloak,
You are the wanderers and
Adventures of the world,
And I envy you more than you
Could ever know.

You perch uncomfortably,
Like you have not had experience resting,
Or at least not much,
So you hop around a bit
Before settling down.

You are wise in the ways of the sky,
While I see only water,
Rushing past.

Yet, when the wind wails,
And snow piles high,
You still soar in the cold
Desperate,
Desolate,
Fighting to survive

I am anchored in the ground,
Safe,
You have no home,
No comfort,
Wander,
Wander away bird,
Find your nest,
Fly home

IS THIS NOT SAPPY???(it is also sort odd, being in the view point of a rock in the river and all…)Hey, it was a poem for english class. I got anA+. My teacher must have been feeling generous…

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172

Ruffled Grouse????

in June 27th, 2006 @ 05:34

One day,
I’ll climb that,
cloud mountain,

And skip off,
Away,
Into the,
Stars

SHORT AND SWEET!!

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173

Phoebe

in June 27th, 2006 @ 10:38

I’m no good at poeming, really. I like descriptive writing, though, even though pretty much everything I do is sappy.

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174

Robert Coontz (Administrator)

in June 27th, 2006 @ 11:17

Embrace your inner sap, I say. There will be plenty of time later on to be hard and dry and brittle and dusty and full of splinters, if you turn out the way so many adults do. (Not GAPAS, though.)

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175

Phoebe

in June 27th, 2006 @ 11:39

Speaking of GAPAs… Cover your ears.

In Honor Of All GAPAs

There once lived a fellow,
They called him Robert Coontz
He wrote for a magazine
He typed in fancy, uh, ‘foontz’

He opened up a fanpage
For the readers to enjoy
And as it turned out later,
This was a very wise ploy,

For soon enough there was a board
‘Gaboomba’ it was called,
All the readers came too it
And fists were never balled.

Some of them were E-A,
DQ, Morbid, and Cel,
And Pari-somethin’Dirmiel,
Who we all liked very well.

The numbers grew enormously,
Queen J, Grant O, and Liz,
Even though some thought
That it was madness and it fizzed.

And than one bright and sunny day,
The Gaboomba took a change,
It then became the Museblog
And some thought it was strange.

So even more kept coming
But who was here from the start?
Our very favourite GAPAs,
And they never shot, um, darts!

FINIS

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176

The Skipper Nancy

in June 27th, 2006 @ 12:16

(171) The imagery and emotions in this poem are excellent..

I believe the word “sappy” is indeed applied to liberally. Sure, poems can often turn out rather sentimental, but if they weren’t like that, they’d be, as Robert says, dry, brittle and dusty. (I’m not saying poetry can’t be good and not sentimental, but I think we should stop worrying about sappiness).

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177

Robert Coontz (Administrator)

in June 27th, 2006 @ 12:46

Pheebs (175),

Awww… I’m speechless. But where is Rosanne?

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178

Jadestone

in June 27th, 2006 @ 13:03

*clapclapclap*
That should be our theme song. One of them, anyway.

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179

100% cotton

in June 27th, 2006 @ 13:03

I really like the doughnut poem, Zallie. it reminded me vaughley of the style of Naomi Shihab Nye.

172, i agree. short and sweet.

At the station
mittened hands wave a last goodbye
it’s not forever
right?

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180

Someoe who does not feel like mentioning their name

in June 27th, 2006 @ 13:48

This is not the name I usually go by. I wrote this poem a while ago…it’s a bit depresing, I was feeling depresses then but I don’t want you all to think of me as chronicly sad.

No one to love, no one to hold
You left me alon, you left me cold
You claim that I never mattered
making me feel sad and sadder
Nothing will please you, nothing at all
Now I’m to weak to beg or crawl
And then you left, just like that
Did I do somthing to make you mad?
No, you’re just to goo for someone like me
Yet I never thought that you would leave
Or at least not quite so fast
But it’s over not, we’re in the past
Perhaps if it had asted longer
Maybe then I would have been stronger
But now I’m weak, cold and tired
My heart consumed by icy fire
Only one solution can I find
I turn it over in my mind
I wait till night, the go outside
Staring into the starlit sky
Then I call you one final time
You could’ve known , you’d seen the signs
Shineing light on a silver blade
Soon I would end all the pain
Plunging down into my chest
I hear a cry, then faint footsteps
But it’s been to long, now its too late
Has love managed to replace hate?
But I guess I’ll never know
It’s over now, it’s time to go
My vision blurs, tears mix with blood
And my heart, sorrow does flood
For noe it’s you who’s alona and lost
In the end, who paid the greater cost?

And that explains why I’m reluctent to tell you who I am. But don’t worry, I’m not really suicidal. I’ve never even really been in love, or even deep like. So. Please give me feed back. GAPA, please don’t say who I am.

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181

Phoebe

in June 27th, 2006 @ 16:25

Oh, it ain’t over.

The Tale Of Rosanne

Rosanne is a writer
she likes too write for ‘Muse’
But if you offer her a doughnut
She’ll probably refuse.
She likes to mod the Museblog
She’s getting very good,
and she likes to take vacations
As any GAPA should.
She writes a lot with Robert,
They write the Q&A,
And if you ask her why,
This is what she’ll say:
“I write for this whole magazine,
Because it’s loads of fun!”
So call on Rob and Roseanne,
They get the job done.

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182

Rosanne Spector (Administrator)

in June 27th, 2006 @ 17:17

So true, Phoebe. Though I really probably would accept a doughnut. Especially if it’s a jelly donut. Or chocolate covered.

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183

Jadestone

in June 27th, 2006 @ 20:38

*sends Rosanna Choklit-covered jelly-filled donut for no reason*

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184

Jadestone

in June 27th, 2006 @ 20:39

Sorry. Ment Rosanne. Tho Rosanna sounds cool…

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185

Jadestone

in June 27th, 2006 @ 20:40

Hey, why didn’t Robert do anything in the Q&A this issue?

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186

Axa

in June 28th, 2006 @ 02:10

-sniff- I’m so touched by everyone posting at our little old thread.

(180) Nice! I suggest just giving it a bit more structure; separeating the lines, really. Very clear emotion, I like it.

I will hopefully have something new by tommorow, I’m braindead. x_x

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187

Rosanne Spector (Administrator)

in June 28th, 2006 @ 11:23

That’s the ideal donut, Jadestone. Thanks.

#185: I sent two at once to Samablamablous — thinking she’d use one in this issue and one in the following issue. But she surprised us and used them both at once.

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188

Robert Coontz (Administrator)

in June 28th, 2006 @ 11:30

It’s much more fun when Rosanne and I are in the magazine together, but these little hiccups happen sometimes.

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189

Jadestone

in June 28th, 2006 @ 11:42

Oh well. Did you send one in to Robert? Or ar they going to use that one next issue?

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190

Robert Coontz (Administrator)

in June 28th, 2006 @ 11:48

Rosanne and I both send our answers to Samantha Sordyl. Then Samablamablous and She Who Must Not Be Named decide which ones to use in any particular issue. Sometimes I suspect it depends on whatever Slug Signorino feels like drawing that month.

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Jadestone

in June 28th, 2006 @ 11:55

^^ Cool. Hey, I have a question. Is that his real name?(Slug) It’s cool.

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192

Rosanne Spector (Administrator)

in June 28th, 2006 @ 12:06

I don’t know how Slug Signorino acquired his name. Maybe it just grew on him?

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193

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 28th, 2006 @ 17:42

I’m not going ot comment on everyone’s poem in-depth because I’m lazy. (Other Musebloggers: Since when have you done anything in-depth?) Since I ran into a tree and hit my head. (OMB: That makes no sense.) I’m naturally cryptic. (OMB: *pie Penty*)

-170 (SN)- It’s beautiful, not sappy. We’re just all victims of teen angst on here, aren’t we? *runs off to be emo*

-171 (RG)(Ooh… that reminds me of RG Veda… have they translated that yet?)- Shiny! Not sappy, either. (O’course, this is coming from the Priestess of Sap herself. Tree sap and poem sap.) I thought it was a person until the stuff about the rock started…

172- Short and sweet indeed for the second one.

-175 (Phoebe)- I wanna type in fancy foontz! Where do I get a fancy foont?

181- How dare you slander Rosanne by insinuating that she doesn’t like doughnuts? I am very ashamed of your behaviour, young lady!

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194

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 28th, 2006 @ 17:44

The first part of 193 has inspired me to write a poem. Be prepared for some sap…

(Never mind, I must leave.)

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195

Phoebe

in June 28th, 2006 @ 18:25

Eh… I don’t know what Rosanne doesn’t like, so I just thought doughnuts. And I don’t know where to get a foontz… ask Rob, he uses them.

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196

Rosanne Spector (Administrator)

in June 28th, 2006 @ 19:32

I don’t like steak and kidney pie. But that would throw off Phoebe’s poem’s meter.

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197

The Skipper Nancy

in June 29th, 2006 @ 01:55

It’s so nice to have people posting here again. I love the new GAPA poems, Pheobe. *claps*

(193) Thanks for reading it! It was about my pool-*facepam* thank you, Skipper Obvious.

(180) It’s very clear,and the ryming works very well. I would just suggest varying the sentance (line?) structure to see if you can make the rythm/meter stronger. Nice job! It’s sad, but good.

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198

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 29th, 2006 @ 17:06

Yo, Coontz! Where do I get foontz?

This is meant to be read as a conversation. It’s sort of a love poem, but not really. Make of it what you will. I deliberately wrote it ambiguously.

Wind- A Different Kind of Here

What would it be like to be you?
Unfettered, perfect, free?

(I don’t know;
I have never been anyone else.)

I have-
not the body,
the person.

(They were not you.)

He was.
He is.

(But-
he was not free, then.)

No.
Not free.
None of us.
That’s the way the world works;
here and now.

(So I do not exist.
Free but not here.)

More… a different kind of here.

That:
the two of us
could dance on different planes of the world.

You cross;
I stay,
but for once,
I live.

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199

Ebeth The Stalker

in June 29th, 2006 @ 17:24

Ooh, i want to use fancy foontz too! Like papyrus!

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200

elassÃ«~adael

in June 29th, 2006 @ 18:04

198- oooh, lovely.

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201

someoe who does not feel like mentioning their name

in June 29th, 2006 @ 18:10

Yet another depresing poem… posting them makes me a bit nervos but I would like feed back…
This one I wrote with a sort of Chinese tune to it, so sing it in your head like that. It works better that way.

The wind wistles softly through the willows and the trees
Begging you to rest a while with it’s silent pleas
The sand by the shore wishes for you to never leave
And you give your answer by sinking down to your knees

The warmpth of the water spreading into your chilled bones
Wishing that you could have just one last glimpse of home
But that is imposible because your all alone
Maybe that is why you feel so lost and freezing cold

Sit in th sand and wait for the sea to reach it’s high
Memories come back and you cannot repress a sigh
Nothing can disguise all of the old and hated lies
Soon, when the waves grow high it will disguise the fact you cry

You were left all by yourself with nobody around
Your love went away from you leaving you on the ground
And though you search, it is true no other can br found
Your loss echos like a cry, a horid wailing sound

The ocean reaches it’s high, the waves enclose our head
And you sink inyo yhe depths, heart as heavy as lead
Sorrow drifts away as you sink down towards the seabed
And you find pease at last, for you feel no dread

I was going to write more but didn’t have time… Feedback, please.

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202

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in June 30th, 2006 @ 22:27

201 (Somoe)- I like the poem. I’d just watch your spelling. (warmpth-warmth, imposible-impossible, wistles-whistles, etc.)

This is sort of vindictive… hee hee hee. Again, make of ti what you will. This is poetry, after all.

Second Time Around

I laugh, hair pulled back,
legs crossed.

You watch, stare, eyes and mind fixed
on what you almost had.
Little faerie wings pulling, dancing,
ever out of your clumsy fingers.
Isn’t that what laughter’s all about?

When you looked at her,
did you see me?
Was it guilt or the ocean
that pulled you away and then washed you up again
like driftwood?

Which was it that didn’t work out-
shoes or hips or eyes or minds?
Why have we come full circle again,
trapped on a carousel we never asked to enter?

You sit on the wall;
offer me your hand.
Can’t you see that it won’t work
the second time around?

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203

100% cotton

in July 1st, 2006 @ 11:38

i really like your poem!

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204

Jadestone

in July 1st, 2006 @ 12:30

So do I.

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205

elassÃ«~adael

in July 1st, 2006 @ 21:55

Bittersweet Raspberries

Bitter the thorns that prick
sweet the juice
of two weeks spent with friends
almost like family now
The parting cuts like
sharp thorns
as we hug goodbye
knowing another
fifty weeks
seperate us

Written after a day camp class thing ended.

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206

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 2nd, 2006 @ 23:59

205 (e~a)- Ooh, very nice. It’s kind of understated, but very beautiful and real in its own way. I love your poetry… ♥

This li’l thingy ties into a piece of prose I’m writing, but it’s still a pretty stand-alone poem. Not horribly romantic, for once. And it’s not suicidal at all. I don’t write that kind of stuff.

Dao
They said that it meant ‘way’;
He told her it was ‘knife.’
Interchangable terms, she supposed.

The knife is the way,
silvery point angling off,
one straight line.
It will not falter because it cannot feel.
Sometimes she wishes that she were like that.
Looks for the way to becoming hard and metallic,
glinting in the sun.

She holds it in thin, pale fingers,
her grip such that it does not cut her.
What use is there in wasting good blood?

We walk along roads and the edges of blades.

Her feet are bloodied from slipping and losing her way.

Ways and knives are the same,
when he breathes the word on his lips.
She will walk forward.

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207

M & M

in July 3rd, 2006 @ 00:34

Blue skies
fresh pies
cool breeze
green trees
SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER
Skippin’ rocks down by the lake
Stuffin’ yer mouth with choklit cake
Jumping around like a maniac
Buying a worthless potatoe sack(on Ebay!)
SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER
Taking a swim on a hot sunny day
soaking up the sun’s warm bright rays
Jump up and down, give a ginourmous shout
because THIS is what Summer is all about.

SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER

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208

Ruffled Grouse????

in July 3rd, 2006 @ 06:46

207-lighthearted and funny(potato sack?)I like it!

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209

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 3rd, 2006 @ 14:01

207 (M&M)- I like the poem, but I don’t like summer. (That’s a compliment, though.) If you can write a positive poem about something I hate with a bloody passion and make me enjoy the poem, youve done a pretty good job. The only thing I’d change would be the repetition of the words SUMMER SUMMER SUMMER in the middle of stanzas. They just seem to break the flow for me. But it’s good anyway!

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210

M & M

in July 3rd, 2006 @ 16:57

I thanks you both very much :] :] :] I’m glad I can write a good poem. I always feel like my poetry is sucky. Har, this one is probably the best I’ve written so far! *low self esteem is boosted greatly*

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211

Axa

in July 4th, 2006 @ 00:29

Two poems. ^w^ I’m high of AX, so everyone knows. Tommorow is that last day though…-sad- T_T

Written

You’re dying just a little bit
I see it in the things you don’t say, and never will
You hide behind what you need to hide behind
Endlessly fragmented, and only drfiting.

A piece of the sun made it’s way to your eyes
Snow flakes graced you lips
But in the end, nothing was gained
And nothing was lost

All I am, all I am
And who you used to be
Though eroded are the images
I hold them close to me

This one has no title. ^^;;

Cry for me
Show me your humanity
Blatant and uncaringly
Thought to watch you die…

Sigh for me
Think on things, remember me
Everything you do, and see
Hope to see the lies

Nigh, doth be
The horrors and calamity
Sorrow in the fading sea
I’d like to see you try…

I was mostly trying to get a certain beat for that last one, as a note. The first line of the third stanza is most likely phrased wrong, but such is life.

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212

elassÃ«~adael

in July 5th, 2006 @ 14:16

someone in the class I wrote my poem for suggested I take out the likes, nows and ofs. I like it better that way. Though I left in the now. What do you guys think?

Bittersweet Raspberries

Bitter the thorns that prick
sweet the juice
two weeks spent with friends
almost family now
The parting cuts
sharp thorns
as we hug goodbye
knowing another
fifty weeks
seperate us

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213

elassÃ«~adael

in July 5th, 2006 @ 14:23

211-I like your first one! The second one is very dark..

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214

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 5th, 2006 @ 17:33

211 (Axa)- Aww, now you’ve gone and made me jealous again. *goes off to cry in corner* Seriously, those are wonderful.

Adagio

It was a beautiful sound:
dying slowly
the long aria of a cello cutting through uncertainty.
We knew what was happening.

The beauty of you was always the pain,
exhilaration, intoxication,
the knowing that we had something that would soon be over.

The cello played on,
background for this act of our lives.
Lived in adagio, slow love songs under honey-pouring skies.
The curtain falls, but it will rise again.
The smell of antiseptic and hospital and rain is not quite gone.

It keeps singing, alone.
Somewhere, a fire burns.
The good thing about this one was the end;
it tapered off until I forgot it had ever been there.

I thought the best thing would be for us to live forever
or die together.
Now I see that it was what happened:
standing here and listening to the final strains of our adagio.

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Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 5th, 2006 @ 17:37

In the last stanza, it’s “best part”, not “best thing”. Sorry ’bout that.

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elassÃ«~adael

in July 5th, 2006 @ 20:59

who else wants a new Poems and songs thread? ^_^

214- I really like that! It is beautiful and haunting. the use of the adagio metaphor is quite nice.

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217

Axa

in July 6th, 2006 @ 03:01

(212) I like it! Very nice, I love the structure,

(214) Beautiful. The analogy is perfect, and the constant use of musical terms and the like maintain the lyrical feeling. It’s vivd, an I love it! xD

And now a longer piece by my standards; influenced by a fanart I found on the internet…try to guess of what. ^^

Speak to Me
Two were born
Inversed in image but in truth the same:
Alone, children of their parents, by all means
They only wanted the future

The boy of the sun, with the same brightness
Lives on courage alone- he is his father’s son
A streak of gold in the night
He tries

Shadow’s boy, who was not always this way
Is weeping
All the things he lost, though he knows exactly where they are
Buried to be blunt; he saw it happen

Don’t speak to me
As if you know
We’ll turn away, disgusted
And longing…

Brightness does not obscure the truth
Sacrifices of the past do not mend mistakes of the future
Trying his best, giving a smile
“If only” haunts his dreams

Lost love’s blood stains the face of the other
There are no tears, his eyes are wide
Save me from this, a whisper
Hate me

Don’t speak to me
As if you know
We’ll look away, untrusting
Things just are this way

He’d do anything for you, son of honor
Although he may stumble
A flash of shining light
I am, I am, my father’s son

He’d do anything to see his goal through
Even giving himself away, the ultimate price
This child the world could not forget, and so destroyed
I’m nothing you think I am

Please speak to me
And try to know
We’ll look to you, though faltering
Life needn’t be this way.

—
If you guessed Naruto, you WIN THE INTERNET! LAWLZ!!11! No but really this is one of the many changing point of view poems I do. THe first is both, th next two Naruto then Sasuke then both, etc.
Inspired by the sweeeeetest fanart of PTA meeting Yondaime and Fugaku with respective sons.

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218

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 6th, 2006 @ 22:04

217 (Axa)- I like this one a lot. Even though I don’t know Naruto (I really should read that sometime), I still managed to make my own images from the words. Very nice.

Hold my heart in your perfect hands
Fragile, beating, bloody
Grab it tighter, don’t let it go
You have the beat, I the soul.

How could I lose what I never had?

Touch my fingers to your lips
It was never him; it was always you
Keep playing out our endless charade
We never believed, yet here we are.

How could I miss what I never saw?

Bring me flowers on my grave
You were the one who brought me here
Lament, that I left you
Does it hurt now? Feel the pain now?

How could I love what I was born to hate?

Send me laughing, send me crying
Reeling, falling, dancing
Give me freedom, steal my breath
Together, we can turn the world shades of grey.

How can I die when I’ve barely lived?

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219

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 6th, 2006 @ 23:31

Look! Angsty emo-ness! How shiny!

Sometimes I
want to cry
and then I go sit in the grass and listen.

The world turns:
turns around and then to red and black.

Once
the sky was open and I felt its blood
falling on my face.

Second
the grass curls around my swollen feet
Straps and chains
but the kind I don’t mind having
the kind without a key.

Three
suns hang low in the sky
setting in free-fall
Maybe I’m just dizzy.

I reach out my hand
Just a little higher and
then I’ll be able to climb
to someplace else.

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220

Yup

in July 7th, 2006 @ 22:47

nice poems, axa and KZAP

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221

Axa

in July 8th, 2006 @ 12:53

Oooh I love the sequencing. It sets everything up very nicely. All of my poems are angsting on the angsting chair (hahaha I wish someone got that). Your words choice is also nice, it fits perfectly. -clapclap-

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222

elassÃ«~adael

in July 8th, 2006 @ 23:10

219- I like the once, second, three and I like the last stanza. Nice poem.

he loves me not
the song comes again
the painful beauty of it passing my ears
slowly I turn
bleeding into the cool petals of the white rose

I hold it
he loves me
pulling
he loves me not
petals
he loves me
one
he loves me not
by
he loves me
one
he loves me not

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223

elassÃ«~adael

in July 8th, 2006 @ 23:14

my handwriting
awkward bird-footsteps
accross the page

yours leads
round shapes
straight lines
beautiful

my pen stumbles
as it follows
in your tracks

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224

Yup

in July 10th, 2006 @ 12:20

wish i could write poems like you lot…

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225

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 10th, 2006 @ 17:00

224 (Yup)- You probably can. Correction: You probably can write good poetry. Writing poetry exactly like Axa, or SN, or e~a, or me when you’re not one of us would be silly, and it wouldn’t be as good as stuff you come up with in your own style. (Oh god, now I sound like my English teacher…) Post some of your poetry. We’ll critique it (possibly) and praise it (probably). We’re all Musers here!

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226

Axa

in July 10th, 2006 @ 22:47

224 If you’d like to write poetry, the best thing to do is just write what you feel.

Actually, that brings me ot my next topic: how did everybody start with poetry? I mean, when did you first take an interest in it, and such. My first real poem was written in June 2005, and it was bad Ugh.

I actually prefer poetry over prose sometime because it’s “faster”; I have so many ideas in my head and it’s difficult for me to get them out quickly enough. Poetry solves that. ^^

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227

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 11th, 2006 @ 00:03

I don’t remember how I started out with poetry. I think it was for a school assignment in third grade, but that poem is painful even to think about. I started writing angsty emo stuff last year, when I was in an angsty emo mood. It’s only recently gotten to be anywhere near good. But I really prefer prose to poetry, because I feel like I can express myself better through other people, namely my characters.

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228

elassÃ«~adael

in July 11th, 2006 @ 15:35

226- I agree on the faster thing. I kind of fail at writing long pieces.

hmm… In sixth grade we did a poetry unit where we wrote various poems and my parents liked mine. The summer before seventh grade I took a really awesome poetry class at this really awesome writing place. This summer I took a writing class through MITY, a camp that I’ve done before. It really renewed the poetry spark. I’m sure I wrote poetry before sixth grade. In fact I wrote a poem when I was five I think. I’ll go find it and post it here. Never mind, I can’t find it right now… I know I enjoyed poetry in general when I was about six.

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229

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 12th, 2006 @ 00:31

Poetry has never been my forte, but I do write it in my spare time. (Hah, spare time, that’s rich. Tell me another one.)

This one’s a song. I’m not very good at these, so concrit is appreciated mightily.
Faliure 101 (Purgatory of Sorts)

Failing wasn’t an option,
but neither was success.
Purgatory of sorts
Purgatory of sorts

Take it down,
throw it on the floor
Bring me ’round;
no one has before

Throw it out,
all cards on the table
Play my doubt
To all that you are able

I never thought it would be this way,
that you’d say,
“Turn away”
How could I have failed you
the person who
would stay?

Failure 101
Failure 101
Mission impossible
Undoable quest
Failure wasn’t an option,
but neither was success.
It’s a
purgatory of sorts
purgatory of sorts

This is
how we did it
how we lived it
how our lives worked

TV program
Easy does it
Faliure 101

Oh,
Crash and burn
Flying down to heaven
Never learned

-cracklefizzpop-
And that’s all I’ve got. Suggestions?

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230

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 13th, 2006 @ 17:20

Nobody lives here anymore. *TRAGIC SIGH* So… here’s something I’m writing on the spot, just because I feel like it.

Born Again
She comes back at last,
comes back to the place she tried to forget.

I let dirt fall through my fingers
like some sort of waterfall,
but warmer, as if alive.

That shouldn’t be right;
what happened to the bones?

What happened to them?
Even the dead die again.
I thought I knew that.

Trusting in hope killed them.
I cannot be so weak;
I am the only one they have now.
Death cannot change that.

She swears, on the living graves:
that she will avenge them.

They nod;
they still watch me.
While I abandoned them,
they still need me.
Comfort, somehow.

Will finish later.

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231

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 13th, 2006 @ 23:06

Born Again
She comes back at last,
comes back to the place she tried to forget.

I let dirt fall through my fingers
like some sort of waterfall,
but warmer, as if alive.

That shouldn’t be right;
what happened to the bones?

What happened to them?
Even the dead die again.
I thought I knew that.

Trusting in hope killed them.
I cannot be so weak;
I am the only one they have now.
Death cannot change that.

She swears, on the living graves:
that she will avenge them.

They nod;
they still watch me.
While I abandoned them,
they still need me.
Comfort, somehow.

And you…
You trusted me.
You loved me,
but you lie here,
and I move on.

Such is life, and such is death.
They truly are mirrors of each other,
It would seem, at least.

So she remembers,
so she vows,
so she speaks,
so she weeps.

Trusting in hope killed me,
and falling in love brought me back.
But, it seems, it cannot do the same for you,
or else you would be standing here,
watching me with him.

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232

Axa

in July 13th, 2006 @ 23:27

Nice! I love the beatttttt of the first one, it has a sort of choppy elegance. AND THE CHANGING POVs IN THE SECOND IS LOVE. I do that so often with things and I love to see it in people’s work. xD

I think we could use a new Poems and Songs thread, this one is getting long and hard to find like the last…

More than a Passing Shower
Drip-drop
Goes to sky
In a sad sort of way

(The first rain drop, she said
Is sweetest, but also hardest
What does that mean?)

A soft swish of rain colored silk
The rustle of embroidered leaves
The aged rocks

(The sight and smell of rain is my favorite thing
He said to her, countenance damp and dampened
Though eyes still glow)

Ah-
More than life
Is this feeling

The rain, they say together in the first agreement
Runs deeper than all things
So let’s follow it, and be.

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233

Jadestone

in July 21st, 2006 @ 18:11

There’s a part two to this now…:) Yay! Now I don’t have to search for it evey time. I wonder why the GAPA haven’t locked this yet? Ah well, I shall post one last time before they do! Mwahahahaha!

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234

Jadestone

in July 23rd, 2006 @ 10:54

LLOYD FLANDIS WON!!! WOOOOO!! YEAH!

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235

Jadestone

in July 23rd, 2006 @ 10:56

Sorry. And, yes I did mean Floyd Landis. Why didn’t we have a Tour de France thread?

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236

whiteraven

in July 23rd, 2006 @ 14:35

to one of my best friends from our kindergarden days.

we walk to the car together.
you are quiet, my
eyes are filled with tears.
the car is there too
soon,
we promise to see each other, but i know
it’ll
never happen,
not for many years. as the tears
spill over,
you pull me into one last hug,
and tell me
not
to cry,
not for you.
but
my tears fall like rain,
will our friendship stay?
across a million miles?
will
i
see you again?
mom walks up,
i know what she
sees,
my head on your shoulder,
your hands on my waist.
mom,
she opens the door,
but i don’t care,
for i am loosing a boy,
who i’ve known as long as a brother,
as well as a best friend,
and maybe something more.
but its time to go;
you pull me close,
then webreak apart.
a car door slams,
or is that my heart?
closing forever against the pain
i get in the car,
press my face to the glass
as yours fades from view.
years later,
i look back on now,
i’m surrounded by friends,
but none of them is
you.

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237

Jadestone

in August 6th, 2006 @ 20:36

More that go into Jadestone’s colection-

1, 13, 25, 33, 37

more later

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238

Jadestone

in August 7th, 2006 @ 12:26

49, 57, 98, 102, 146, 151, 158,

Oh darn. I capied alot more but forgot to write the numbers dow…. gurr. Oh well, just asue I included your poem because I probably did.

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239

Jadestone

in August 16th, 2006 @ 20:35

This thread is done! Vola! *happy dance*

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240

agrrrfishi

in October 10th, 2006 @ 16:01

hi its me i wrote a sad poem today
story of my life
here goes

TWO WORDS

Two words: Weâ€™re through.

They pain

So much

Friends that pull away

Donâ€™t come back again

You donâ€™t know what

It was you did

Something you said

Or something you didnâ€™t

But they got hurt

And went.

â€œYou canâ€™t do that to me!â€

They say and walk away.

Do they enjoy

Leaving you

To ponder what you

Might have done?

Iâ€™ve seen it happen.

Keep your friends close

And donâ€™t become the enemy.
***
So, whadda you think? you can hate it and tell me, dont care.

~agrrrlfishi, Quadrant 5, Sector 4, blah blah blah BLah

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Phoenix

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