Poems and Songs, v. 2006.3

'Twas brillig and the slithy toves, quoth the raven, "Nevermore." A continuation of the poems and songs thread because Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk asked. A place for your creations or others'.

‘Twas brillig and the slithy toves, quoth the raven, “Nevermore.” A continuation of the poems and songs thread because Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk asked. A place for your creations or others’.

Date: July 14, 2006

Author: Rosanne Spector (Administrator)

Categories: Fiction, poetry, and fanfiction, Things We like

Comments RSS TrackBack 166 comments

1

Darth Yoda

in July 14th, 2006 @ 09:26

cool

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2

Darth Yoda

in July 14th, 2006 @ 09:31

Why is comments capitalized but “yet” isnt in no comments yet?

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3

Sweet Melpomene

in July 14th, 2006 @ 11:08

Yay. Note to self: don’t be too lazy to go back to this thread…

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4

yesterday's_kinked_moose

in July 14th, 2006 @ 11:59

Darth Yoda: What the jubulation are you posting about?!

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5

Captain Cynomys

in July 14th, 2006 @ 12:26

This may be random, but it isn’t crazy.
4th(or fifth) post.

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6

Darth Yoda

in July 14th, 2006 @ 14:58

*first post jig*
I don’t feel like explaining.

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7

100% cotton

in July 14th, 2006 @ 15:11

My friend’s dog
chases the red light
as she flicks the lazer pointer
up and down
I wonder if he’ll ever realize it’s just
a light

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8

100% cotton

in July 14th, 2006 @ 15:14

Bwump Bwump Bwump
the pile driver drum
play base line
the foghorn comes in
smooth overtones.
the gulls are at the top-
they’re the melody
the whole world talking and we never notice

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9

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 14th, 2006 @ 15:35

I didn’t request this; I requested Writing. But I like this thread anyway, so I’m not complaining. I think I shall have to transfer my song over, because I really need some help on it.

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10

Copper Yeti

in July 14th, 2006 @ 15:36

Yay! PAS!

Here are my best hiakus…

the fox pads the ground
Without making a slight sound
as he looks for food

a kittens first pounce
he army crawls and pounces
and misses the mouse

Kittens play in grass
the bounce around and catch mice
Look at kitty run!

The woodpecker pecks
He uses his strong chisel
To pick out a grub

Summertime Songs
honeybees nbuzz and flutter
and birds sing with pride

The cardnials in spring
spread their wings with great grace
and sing lovely songs

a lost lover sings
to the birds in the oak trees
sad tunes of lovelorn

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11

Axa

in July 14th, 2006 @ 15:48

Kids. Stop. Trying.For. First.Post. It’s really, really annoying. -twitch- Gary will eat your eyes.

On a different note, yay, new poems thread!

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12

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 14th, 2006 @ 16:19

11 (Axa)- I’ve been telling them that since time immemorial (or since the blog got big, anyway). A visible improvement has not been noticed. OEADs, could you prease just zap senseless post-grubbing? It would make the blog a lot nicer.

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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13

Purple Panda

in July 14th, 2006 @ 17:32

I think I posted all my good poems. I’m going to a high school for writing next year so I’ll post any good ones I write there.

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14

Axa

in July 14th, 2006 @ 18:43

Yes, post grubbing makes Gary hunger for the brain stems of mooses (meese?)

I’ll just go ahead and post my comment on that from the old thread since it’s easy. xD

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 lastâ€¦

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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15

elassÃ«~adael

in July 14th, 2006 @ 19:07

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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16

sleepyheathen

in July 14th, 2006 @ 19:28

this is an example of why sleepyheathen ought not to flip through art magazines while tired and hungry.

i fell in love on the way to the grocery store
between here and there i was hit full force
by the staggering beauty
of unconscious ease
walking, on the opposite side of the street,
heading in the other direction.
i’d like to say our eyes met,
but i’m sure it was only me,
in my desire for connection.
i was naive to think
that love at first sight was just
a romantic myth
created to keep preteen girls happy and hopeful.
now, i see that i was wrong,
just like i was wrong when i thought
that love would be more important than my groceries.
i walked on, as did he.
now the memory of his easy stride and cool wide eyes
will feed me, just like this wonderful pomegranate i
just bought.

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17

sleepyheathen

in July 14th, 2006 @ 19:37

15-i just got into hand-writing analysis and your poem made me happy.
12-i’m supremely jealous, i can’t write songs at all. am not sure whether you were going for kind of asymmetrical (if that makes sense to you, it does to me, but i’m odd) layout, but i like it. there are a few places where it looks like you couldn’t quite find a rhyme where you wanted to, which tends to be important in a song, otherwise i really like it overall.

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18

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 14th, 2006 @ 22:02

17 (SH)- I know. I’m terrible with rhyme. There’s a reason why none of my poetry since the age of nine has rhymed. I just thought, that with a song, a bit of rhyming might be in order. Thanks, though. Any suggestions on how to finish it?

14 (Axa)- Ooh, shiny. I really like the parentheses. I use them a lot in my own work (poetry and prose) (see?), and it’s always nice to see that I’m not alone in my parentheticality.

I actually considered using parens for the italicized parts of this one, but decided against it. (For the rest of you, this is a repost, and it’s the ‘second one’ Axa is referring to.)

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 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 youâ€¦
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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19

Darth Yoda

in July 14th, 2006 @ 22:35

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
” ‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
” ‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you.” Here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
Lenore?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
“Lenore!” Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
“Surely,” said I, “surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
” ‘Tis the wind, and nothing more.”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore.”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,—
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never—nevermore.”
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore!”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!–prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted–
On this home by horror haunted–tell me truly, I implore:
Is there–is there balm in Gilead?–tell me–tell me I implore!”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil–prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us–by that God we both adore–
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore?
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting–
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the raven, “Nevermore.”
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wade;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought —
So rested he by the Tumtum tree.
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came wiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

My two favrite poems ever. GAPAs-the site that i got “The Raven” from had some links in the poem. Please zappify any i may have missed.

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20

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 14th, 2006 @ 23:05

I’m composing this on the spot because I felt like writing a poem. So when reading, keep that in mind. You may possibly be the first to lay eyes on this piece. (With the exception of myself, of course.) It has no title as of now.

‘Beauty is ephemeral; only ugliness endures.’
The pretty ones are always the first to go,
the first to fall,
the first to die.
Still, to her it is no curse.
Why would she bother to endure, hideous
when she could burn, fast and lovely?

The waving grass calls her,
tells her to come.
She could not refuse if she wanted to.

He waits there.
The wind told her this; she knows this,
and his hair is beautiful.
They are free;
they are sea and wind and fire;
they are together.

She is beautiful,
and she will die soon.
She could live a thousand years and never move from here again.

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21

Monday

in July 15th, 2006 @ 00:09

The Hero’s Lament

‘There are no monsters left to slay;
protected and preserved
they sit at peace, and every day
recieve what they deserve.’

i originally meant for there to be more verses to this, in a sort of mockery-epic-poem-sorta-thing, but poetry comes upon me in random splats and leaves after handing me strange little bits of rhyme. craaw doesnt particularly like me, i suppose.

*lurks blindly*

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22

elassÃ«~adael

in July 15th, 2006 @ 11:22

20- I like it! a lot of my P&S writing was originally written in a little comment box on the thread. (In other words I write some on the spot but some I wrote before.)

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23

seamonster

in July 15th, 2006 @ 18:29

is gymnastics4ever the only person here too?

…did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
all mimsy were the borogoves,
and the mome raths outgrabe.

does anybody like the poem They Went to Sea in a Sieve? it’s fun to chant really loudly during long, boring car rides.

who likes the neverending song? besides me…

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24

sleepyheathen

in July 15th, 2006 @ 21:53

okay, this isn’t mine, it’s by tom hansen it’s been my favourite poem for a while now, it’s fun to chant as well.

jump-rope rhyme

Tat tvam asi:
thou art that-
that leaf, that tree,
that cow, that cat,
that cloud, that sky,
that moon, that sun,
that you that I-
for all are one.
So here you are
and there you go
and who you were
you hardly know.

I think this I
is only me:
a drip, a drop,
but not the sea.
Yet when I wake
from all these dreams,

then, like the snake,
I’ll shed what seems:
this mask, this skin,
this ball and chain.
I will begin
to fall like rain.

Our heart’s last home:
the wind whipped foam,
the sweet, deep sea.
Tat tvam asi.

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25

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 16th, 2006 @ 01:38

24 (SH)- Wow, that’s really good. Especially since it’s a jump-rope rhyme. I can’t jump rope worth beans; too uncoordinated or something.

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26

Jadestone

in July 16th, 2006 @ 20:41

I memorized the entire Jaberwockey poem last year. i still know it. Lots of fun.

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27

book_addict

in July 16th, 2006 @ 20:47

twas brillig and the slithy toves did gile and gimble in the wabe….
all mimsy were the barogroves and the mome raths outgrabe…
BEWARE the jabberwock, my son! the jaws that bite, the claws that CATCH!
beware the jubjub bird and shun the frumiouis bandersnatch….

i memerized it too but i don’t know how to spell it!!! lol.

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28

Jadestone

in July 16th, 2006 @ 21:10

He took his vorpal soard in hand,
Long time his (some-word-he-made-up-that-I-can’t-quite-remember) foe he sought
So he rested by the Tum-tum tree,
And stood a while in thought

And while in uffish thought her stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyeys of flame
Came wuffling through the tugsy wood
And burbled as it came!

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29

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 17th, 2006 @ 00:28

To those of you who have been posting sections from “Jabberwocky”- The whole thing can be found in post 19 (DY). Scroll through “The Raven”, and it’s there. No need to type random sections.

I did a presentation on that in school, where I made a cardboard vorpal sword and valiantly slew the overhead projector. I left it dead, and with its (metaphorical) head, I went galumphing back.

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30

purplefinch

in July 17th, 2006 @ 05:40

Words,
Knit into a blanket,
Sheltering me from the cold.

My window to anotherâ€™s world,
Less insistent than my own.

I soar with dragons,
Past moon and stars,
And cleave the crystal oceans deep,
Scattering a storm of fish.

Book comes to end,
Iâ€™m plunged into lifeâ€™s frigid waters.

The story is overâ€¦

A new book is calling.
I gently lift the worn, well-loved cover,
And breathe deeply.

The adventure has begunâ€¦

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31

Sweet Melpomene

in July 17th, 2006 @ 09:32

12- That would make a pretty cool song. With a killer bass line and synthesized vocals for the line, “Failure 101.”

16- I liked it muchly.

18- *applause*

Here’s one by Dickinson that I memorized. Yes, I know many of her poems…
A death-blow is a life-blow to some
Who, till they died, did not alive become;
Who, had they lived, had died, but when
They died, vitality begun.

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32

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 17th, 2006 @ 16:54

30 (PF)- I think that captures well the feeling of reading a really good book. Nice job.

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33

Someone who does not feel like mentioning their name

in July 18th, 2006 @ 08:30

Yes, it’s me. I’m back with another very long poem. And it’s Free-verse, so don’t tell me it doesn’t rhyme because it’s not supposed to. And I am not depressed, I wrote this poem last night because I was feeling sad. It chanels my depresion-ish feelings. The lines are not qute evenly spaced, but I’m still working on it. So… here goes.

no matter how many stars fall out of the sky
or chain letters I forward
or dandilion seeds float off on the wind
my wishes never come true

no matter how often I stay awake
or toss and turn at night
or cry my self to sleep
my dreams never leave my pillow

and I watch butterflies float by
just to be snapped up by birds
blissfully unaware of their impending doom
or maybe they’ve just given up caring

and I see the line of ants
who march ever onward
and I see the frog who picks them off
one by one

do they realize that continuing on will kill them?
or is the emerald frog their savior?
bringing them out of the cruel harsh world
or maybe it’s just to big for them to see

but whatever way you look at it
however many angles you approach
the outcome is always the same
the ants die, every last one

they always tell you
that the world is not a fair place
and guess what? They’re right
it’s hard and harsh and cold

and whatever you do
and however often you die
you cannot change it
or make everything all right

you know what else they say?
ignorance is bliss
and they’re right again
because it’s true

no other animal comprehends death
no other animal fears it, even
or has reason to, for that matter
they don’t need to

so why do we?
what reasons do we have to wish to forstall it?
why do we search for ways to better our health?
it takes us all eventually

there’s no avoiding it
but why don’t we wish for it?
why do we feel so lost
when we ponder it’s meaning?

is it because we don’ want to lose the ones we love
or want to see just one last sunrise
or do we fear it above all else
because we do not understand what comes next?

what is the last chapter? the last sentence?
or is it the last stanza, of a poem that never ends?
we do not know, perhaps never will
it may be our future to ever wonder

and it doesn’t matter ow many times
I scream o the sky, or pound my fists
or sob silently to myself
joy eludes me, leaving nothing but sorrow

and maybe death isn’t all that bad
a peaceful sleep at the end of a hard day
a sleep from which you will not waken
and restless dreams finally let you be

is that what I’ve been wishing for this whole time?
maybe. maybe it’s what I’ve been waiting for
calling to. hoping for. yet it turns out like the rest
it does not answer my silent pleas

can a heart break if it’s never felt love?
is that is? am I unable to love?
or do I love to much; every blade of grass, feather in the water
but when they die or are carried away by the wind

my heart breaks once again
a cracked stone, a shattered mirror
all lead to the same conclusion
I am utterly alone and lost

does this matter to you at all?
can you hear me, or understand?
or are you like the rest,
shoving this to the back of your mind, trying to forget

but you can’t, can you?
you remember, and you always will
like the first time you lost something you loved
or loved something that you lost

so I tell you, take care
for wishes don’t always come true
and hopes don’t always soar high
and dreams sometimes are only in your sleep

people also say to hope for the best
but I say expect the worst
because hen when everything fails miserably
you won’t be so dissapointed

so remember all I’ve told you
and perhaps someday
you’ll manage to stay whole; unbroken, complete
unlike me

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34

Sweet Melpomene

in July 18th, 2006 @ 18:18

33- Freaking beautiful. So deep, too. Really made me think.
“no other animal comprehends death
no other animal fears it, even
or has reason to, for that matter
they don’t need to”
Love that stanza.

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35

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 18th, 2006 @ 23:19

33 (Someone)- I think that would make a really great song, or song-poem. (A song-poem is a poem set to music that is read on top of the music.) You know, you really should post your normal blog name on your poetry. I really want to know who writes this stuff. The first stanza is probably my favourite. It’s really nice, makes the reader think right off the bat, and sets a tone for the rest of the poem.

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36

FantasyFan?!?!

in July 19th, 2006 @ 12:47

I wrote this a long time ago. its probably the only decent piece of poetry ive everwritten. i just call it a pessimistic poem.

Despair is a vulture,
preying off death.
Working into your soul,
taking your breath.

Fear is an armadillo,
curled up in a ball.
Waiting to come out
when all is well.

Joy is a dandelion fluff,
lasting only so long.
Make a wish while you can,
while nothing goes wrong.

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37

Jadestone

in July 19th, 2006 @ 13:14

Fine. I was worried that some of you might think I was depressed when I wrote those poems, like all my friends did but I want you all to know that I’m not.

-Jadestone/Someone who does not fel like revealing their name(but now has)

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38

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 19th, 2006 @ 15:48

37 (JS)- Oh, it was you? You can write poetry and prose? Good for you! *enthusiastic face* Okay, stopping now. I’m not particularly good at this happiness stuff. Foreign concept and all.

So, anyway, how does everyone here get inspired and then put that inspiration into poetry? For those of us who write prose, is it in a similar or different manner?

Me, I take a lot of the idea kernels from prose I’ve written or read, and songs. Then, I just think and the words fall out of the keyboard. (This is why I can’t write by hand; I have to use a computer.) I find that the poetry I do spontaneously is much better and more honestly emotional than the things I’ve edited the feeling out of or sat on for a while. This is very different from my prose, which is usually inspired by my own twisted mind, sat on for a very long time indeed, finally written down, and then edited to within an inch of its life.

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39

Jadestone

in July 19th, 2006 @ 16:29

I just sit on my bed or(when I’m at school) my desk and let it all out. Good way to vent. That one up there ^ I really enjoyed writing, and I have a sort of idea for another floating around my head. All I need to do now is wait for it to come out…

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40

Anata~ChinTsu

in July 19th, 2006 @ 18:00

Because Iâ€™m different, they tease me.
The kids at school call me names.
Their words pierce like arrows,
they trip me in the halls,
but the worst part is, nobody helps me get up again.

Because Iâ€™m different, they exclude me.
People wonâ€™t give me a job, saying Iâ€™m unsuitable.
Restaurants wonâ€™t serve me.
They turn me away, their faces austere.
If this is a free society, a democracy, why am I not treated as an equal?

Because Iâ€™m different, Iâ€™m afraid.
I stay home at night, because there are people out there.
People who want to kill me,
enraged by the fact that I exist.
My path is paved with sorrow;
my spiritâ€™s filled with pain,
and for the thousandth time, I ask myself,
â€œWhy do they treat me this way?â€

Who am I?
I am the voice of the people,
the countless thousands,
teased,
excluded,
afraid,
yet still driven on by hope,
because of one reason.
Because they were, and still are, different.

I wrote this for a project on hate crimes. It’s not nearly as good as my random poems, but I thought I’d post it anyway.

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41

Quintessentia

in July 19th, 2006 @ 19:18

my sweet puppy sleeps
her face has black racing stripes
puppy runs in dreams

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42

Axa

in July 19th, 2006 @ 21:52

(40) Nice! And hate crimes are horrendous, and need to stop.
(41) I like it, very simple. It was a soft quality to it that makes me smile. :3
(38) Exactly. I can’t seem to write anything well when it’s not on my computer.

I’m constantly inspired, but much to lazy to write everything out. Prose and poetry are different things, and sometimes I prefer one to the other. Poems, usually. I’ll write one here on the spot for the heck of it.

Hope
Blank
This child is, with eyes of white
A veins of silver
Thrust upon the world, and cloaked

The wise gentleman strokes his chin and says
(to you and not me)
“Kind knave, do bring our lost hopes back
Make them risen, from the grave”

Pure
Is this boy
He of the Wide Eyes
Won’t you come and play with me?

The trickster replies, his dark eyes laughing
“I fear the choice is not mine
Nay, brother, your hopes are thine”
He cracks and turns to dust

Though faulty of step and word
He continues on, laughing
A young man of good quality
Don’t say “I won’t”

And desolate are we
Children of the long lost blood
Of silver
Give us Reason, child of innocence…

That was an odd experience. I hardly know what I’m doing when I write sometimes; it all just happens. Hmm. Excuse incorrect spellings.

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43

Jadestone

in July 19th, 2006 @ 22:36

Exuse me while I go write my poem, and thanks to Axa for bringing it out. Don’t know why, but sometimess I heve to read a couple pems to get one started…gotta go now…wheres my notebook? Oh darn…*wanders off*

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44

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 19th, 2006 @ 23:42

40 (Anata)- Vedy nice. I like it, especially for poetry that was written on a prompt and is delivering some sort of message. It’s not preachy at all.

41 (Quint)- Haiku, yes? I’m impressed. Haiku are hard. I like the simplicity of this one.

42 (Axa)- Ooh, lovely as usual. This one has a sort of fantasy feel to it, a kind of saviour, chosen-one thing going. Or is that just me?

Random composition on the spot.

And
They told us,
they told us it would never work;
better to give it up now
before hearts shattered like glass on the floor.

What did we care for them,
for their suspicions,
for their lies?
They could not see what was under their noses, we told each other.
They were old and closed,
and we were young and in love and nothing could hurt us.

We could cross deserts and oceans and stars,
and stars for the sole sake of glorious infatuation.
Meteors, guns, flowers, selves,
could fall,
but we would stand armoured until sunrise.

So we thought,
because we were fools and the old were right.

And then walls began to crumble,
things began to break,
things like cups and bottles and love.

What happened?
What stopped?
And stopped, we decided.
We stopped.

And joy stopped, and love, and laughter,
but we were apart

((Will finish later.))

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45

Jadestone

in July 20th, 2006 @ 11:26

Please do. (Finish it)

I wrote most of my poem, but now I don’t really like it…I sort of lost feelinng for it at the end when I started getting random ideas for a new poem….darn. Oh well. The new one is more of a song, for GAPA Apreciation day.

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46

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 20th, 2006 @ 15:50

Finishing.

And
They told us,
they told us it would never work;
better to give it up now
before hearts shattered like glass on the floor.

What did we care for them,
for their suspicions,
for their lies?
They could not see what was under their noses, we told each other.
They were old and closed,
and we were young and in love and nothing could hurt us.

We could cross deserts and oceans and stars,
and stars for the sole sake of glorious infatuation.
Meteors, guns, flowers, selves,
could fall,
but we would stand armoured until sunrise.

So we thought,
because we were fools and the old were right.

And then walls began to crumble,
things began to break,
things like cups and bottles and love.

What happened?
What stopped?
And stopped, we decided.
We stopped.

And joy stopped, and love, and laughter,
but we were apart
and that was better for us,
pain was better for us,
than the happiness so beautiful
that it burned into death.

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47

Axa

in July 20th, 2006 @ 15:58

Oh yes, do finish it! The anoagloy is turning out nicely, especially the bit about guns and armour; loved that.

I want to see it, Jadestone! ^-^ -prods-

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48

Jadestone

in July 20th, 2006 @ 17:28

46- I like it! It’s good. I esspesally like the last verse.

47- I don’t know. The start is good, but then it starts to fall apart… I’ll post what I think is good later then try to finish it.

!!! Insperation! We should make a book of all the songs people on the museblog have writen! I’ll compile all the ones we’ve got so far, if people want. I think it would be really good.

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49

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in July 20th, 2006 @ 17:35

I finished it! ^^ (46) Maybe, anyway… Do you think it could use adding to?

*joins in prodding of Jadestone* You’ve let the cat out of the bag, you silly girl. Now you have to show us.

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50

Sweet Melpomene

in July 20th, 2006 @ 20:18

42- I really like it.

JS- Show us!

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51

Elentari

in July 21st, 2006 @ 11:40

POEMS!!!!!! YAY!!!!
Ok here’s my favorite, called Pat the Pig, by yours truly:

There once was a pig named Pat,
Who was rather large, at that.
She would sit in the hay,
and gobble all day,
and soon she became very fat.

There once was a farmer named Benny,
who was very lean and skinny,
he owned fat Pat,
and a farm, besides that,
and he wished for food by the plenty.

Benny passed Patâ€™s pen,
and soon he began to grin,
he looked at her thighs,
and thought â€œpork chops tonight!â€
and ran to set butter aâ€™ sizzlinâ€™.

So Pat came to a gruesome end,
which I shall not relate again,
and Benny grew fat,
on ham and all that,
and never went hungry again!
THE END

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52

Jadestone

in July 21st, 2006 @ 12:08

Oh dear. I’m still being prodded. I’ll post some of it, then. I got pretty far but I lost it towards the end… But what do you guys think about a book of muser-written poems? I won’t post untill you tell me.

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53

Sweet Melpomene

in July 21st, 2006 @ 13:17

51- Spiffy! *gasp* are you new? *checks Who’s Here page* No….someone reeeeally olde! Cool. Anyway, limericks own.

52- That would be completely and totally awesomely awesome. NOW POST! But really, it would.

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54

Jadestone

in July 21st, 2006 @ 18:34

Well I didn’t type up the other one, but I did write a new one that will hopefully hold off the ravonous TIGERS that keep pestering me to post! I wrote it ten minutes ago just for you.

Just a Mirror

I am empty
I look inside myself and see nothing
just my sadness
taking up all that space

it works like a mirror
reflecting others
instead of myself
for who am I?

am I the confident friend?
standing tall and striding forth
do I blend, like the walflower?
flitting aboout like a shadow no one sees

am I the rebel? the cautious one?
or does who I am
depend solely
on who i’m with?

am I all of the above and more?
or am i none of them at all?
is there a word for who I am
or am I just there, taking up space

like the sadness inside me
is there a reason to why it lurks inside?
or is it just there because
nothing else is?

people tell you, be who you are inside
but who am I?
can you tell me that?
or are you as lost as i am?

For when I look into my own face, my eyes,
I see just a mirror
reflecting me back
reflecting upon itself
reflecting on
and on
and on…

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55

Sweet Melpomene

in July 22nd, 2006 @ 09:10

*applause*

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56

Jadestone

in July 22nd, 2006 @ 11:31

*bows* I hope that one keeps you happy, cause I havn’t finished/fixed up my other one and don’t know if I’m going to be able to.

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57

Sweet Melpomene

in July 22nd, 2006 @ 13:21

I’m sure you will. *hands choklit encouragingly*

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58

100% cotton

in July 22nd, 2006 @ 19:43

She turn’s her head,
The executioner’s daughter.
She won’t do him
the honor of watching.
In his last moment
He looks up, hoping.
Maybe? would Forgivness
really be that hard?
Then it’s too late
For either of them
Instantly she regrets it.
Wishing she’d had another chance
Oh, if only
She could do it all over

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59

Jadestone

in July 23rd, 2006 @ 10:17

58- Awww….*sniffsob*. Good poem.

57- I am leaving Monday, though, so I don’t think I’ll be able to type it all up in time. Mebbe. However…*takes Choklit*

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60

Phoebe

in July 24th, 2006 @ 23:38

I’ve got an evil jingle, if that counts.

I’m Phoebe the Awkwardly Morbid,
Many folks say that I’m warp-ed.
I like to kick cute little puppies,
Mess with me, and I’ll poison your guppies.

Ok, so I’m not Poe.

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61

Zallie

in July 25th, 2006 @ 19:50

What’s the difference between poetry and prose? (minus the rhyme issue, please)

It seems to me that when reading both aloud, the difference is in the performance only. (ie If you took away the spacing, it’d just be prose).

Thoughts?

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62

Purple Panda

in July 28th, 2006 @ 20:43

“Eat vegetables with every meal
or your lips will start to peel
and your eyeballs will fall out
and your feet will smell like trout!”

(from Making Fiends )

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63

kiki_the_great

in July 29th, 2006 @ 09:40

MAKING FIENDS! WOOT!!

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64

VanZeppelin

in July 29th, 2006 @ 17:15

most pop songs of today have no meaning
they are written by songmakers that want to make money
the songs that have meaning are songs by many rock artists that write their own songs and put theyre heart and soul into theire music.

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65

Jadestone

in July 29th, 2006 @ 20:07

Fellow Musers, please read this.

I really think that we should start colecting all the poems that we have writen and put them in a kind of book. I would be willing to go back to the origanal threads and copy all the ones from there, but I want to know if that’s okay with everyone. I would put your blog name under each one so people knew who wrote it(Unfortunatly, I can’t put your real names). Please tell me what you think(You too GAPA!) and if you want me to put your poems in.
Thank you.

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66

Rosanne Spector (Administrator)

in July 29th, 2006 @ 21:25

Jadestone, if you gather up the poems, we could post them as an online book in the GABOOMBA

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67

Sweet Melpomene

in July 30th, 2006 @ 09:14

Hey, that would be cool…

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68

K. Z. A. Penty

in July 30th, 2006 @ 12:02

65 (JS)- I’m game. As long as nobody I know knows it’s me who writes my random emo-ish poems, that is.

61 (Zallie)- I believe it has something to do with the feelings and way the words are used. Prose has more room for full sentences and elaborate description, and also tends to be longer. Poetry is a lot more ‘spare’, describing emotions and situations in fewer words and more obscure figurative language. Imo, anyway.

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69

Axa

in July 30th, 2006 @ 12:50

65- That sounds awesome, I’m for it!

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70

The Skipper Nancy

in July 30th, 2006 @ 14:37

(65) Yes, a most excellent idea.

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71

Ruffled Grouse

in July 30th, 2006 @ 15:41

That sound GREAT! However, most of my poetry is rather BAD. But I agree wholeheartedly!

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72

Jadestone

in July 30th, 2006 @ 20:31

Okay, I’m glad a lot of you like it. I’ll go copy some stuff from the origanal threads and stuff… I’ll post all the numbers of the coment’s I’ve copied from.

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73

kiki_the_great

in July 30th, 2006 @ 21:09

Flowers and clothes
Poems and prose
music and dancing and singing

Turning around
flat on the ground
realizing your cell phone is ringing.

That was EXTREMELY random.

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74

Axa

in July 31st, 2006 @ 11:33

I’m so behind on this…Bah.

(73) You should write limericks! I have a feeling you’d be fantastic at it if you did, since the rythym of that was similar to a limerick.

Creatively, I have a huge mound of ideas since I always think lots and lots at camp. Still writing them down.

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75

Otzi

in July 31st, 2006 @ 14:09

My favorite sad song. Please don’t say anything about the fact that it’s by Puff Daddy.

Verse One: Puff Daddy
(Yeah… this right hear… goes out to everyone who has lost someone they
truly love)

Seems like yesterday we used to rock the show
I laced the track, you locked the flow
So far from hangin on the block for dough
Notorious, they got to know that
Life ain’t always what it seem to be (uh-uh)
Words can’t express what you mean to me
Even though you’re gone, we still a team
Through your family, I’ll fulfill your dream (that’s right)
In the future, can’t wait to see
If you open up the gates for me
Reminisce some time, the night they took my friend (uh-huh)
Try to black it out, but it plays again
When it’s real, feelings hard to conceal
Can’t imagine all the pain I feel
Give anything to hear half your breath (half your breath)
I know you still living your life, after death

Chorus: Faith Evans
Every step I take, every move I make
Every single day, every time I pray
I’ll be missing you
Thinkin of the days, when you went away
What a life to take, what a bond to break
I’ll be missing you

Verse Two: Puff Daddy
I miss you Big
It’s kinda hard with you not around (yeah)
Know you in heaven smilin down (eheh)
Watchin us while we pray for you
Every day we pray for you
Til the day we meet again
In my heart is where I’ll keep you friend
Memories give me the strength I need (uh-huh) to proceed
Strength I need to believe
My thoughts Big I just can’t define (can’t define)
Wish I could turn back the hands of time
Us in the 6, shop for new clothes and kicks
You and me taking flicks
Makin hits, stages they receive you on
I still can’t believe you’re gone (can’t believe you’re gone)
Give anything to hear half your breath (half your breath)
I know you still living you’re life, after death

Chorus:
Every step I take, every move I make
Every single day, every time I pray
I’ll be missing you
Thinkin of the days, when you went away
What a life to take, what a bond to break
I’ll be missing you

Faith Evans:
Somebody tell me why
One Black Morning
When this life is over
I know
I’ll see your face

112 Outro:
Every night I pray, every step I take
Every move I make, every single day
Every night I pray, every step I take
[Puff] Every day that passes
Every move I make, every single day
[Puff] Is a day that I get closer
[Puff] To seeing you again
Every night I pray, every step I take
[Puff] We miss you Big… and we won’t stop
Every move I make, every single day
[Puff] Cause we can’t stop… that’s right
Every night I pray, every step I take
Every move I make, every single day
[Puff] We miss you Big

Faith Evans:
Every step I take, every move I make
Every single day, every time I pray
I’ll be missing you
Thinkin of the day, when you went away
What a life to take, what a bond to break
I’ll be missing you

Every step I take, every move I make
Every single day, every time I pray
I’ll be missing you
Thinkin of the day, when you went away
What a life to take, what a bond to break
I’ll be missing you

Every step I take, every move I make
Every single day, every time I pray
I’ll be missing you
Thinkin of the day, when you went away
What a life to take, what a bond to break
I’ll be missing you

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76

Axa

in August 1st, 2006 @ 03:37

That is a sad song! I just hope they made it clear that the chorus is a take off from the song “Every Breath You Take” by The Police. Which is one of my favorite songs, actually. xD

And here’s the product of not getting to write very much at all last week. This can be read as five separate poems, but I wrote them as a sort of simultaneous series thing. If that makes sense at all. So take them as a whole, but separate too? -most likely confusing others-

Anywho, enjoy.

Sunglasses

An idle thought became a glance that
Changed direction
(Directly, to use an analogy)

Suppression was my method
Which dissolved, much like my supposed iron will
I needed little persuasion

Walk, trot, lope
I never reached the last step
What would you think of that?

////

Tried to swallow my pain with pain
Bit my tongue and said your name
I think you know it didn’t work

Feeling lost I closed the door
The need is here, a heavy storm
My eyes cannot adjust

A dull and aching sort of pain
My tears are an absent, blissful rain
All that’s there is-

///

The slow descent of disappointment
Haunts my existence, and I turn away into the dust
Lost in the slow clip-clop
And a deep, amber glass reflection

Blinking now
Once, twice
Though emotion surrounds me
Why do I not feel it?

They dance together,
red clothed passion
blue wrapped tranquility
orange tinged persistence

Give me your strength

//

Mist of soft sorrows
Blows on my face, like the cool wind I imagined happiness to be
The grey sky is inviting to me
In my own ways

The sadness is locked with a key
Still, a one of rich color and determined intent
I am glad only for
My own sake, as always

/

Intuition seems to have failed me
(Though never reliable in the first place
Always helping someone else, I did not object,
Such is my nature)

When such things disappoint or frighten
Like a foaling in the snow
I am resolute on my goal,
But cautious

I take heart and breathe again
Though still my sadness will not come out from hiding
I can think of a way to pass the
Time

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77

Whee

in August 1st, 2006 @ 15:45

TO ALL MUSE FANS
you must lean the song THATS OUR HOROSCOPE FOR TODAY by Weird Al. It is hilarious

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78

Sweet Melpomene

in August 2nd, 2006 @ 12:16

77- I LOVE THAT SONG!!!!!!! Someone on ABS recently posted a flash to that song…

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79

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in August 3rd, 2006 @ 18:40

76 (Axa)- Bloody brilliant. (Excuse my Klatchian.)

The Wall
The place: xi’an, china
The time: so very long ago.

i.
The wall is high, and the people inside,
The people inside, well, what is to be said of them?
They are alive, and they work, and some of them are happy,
And some of them are happy, and that is enough for you to know tonight.

ii.
The sun rises here like it did on that wall,
its rays caressing stone like they do your hair,
yes, like that, the same way, the same glow.

“Pretty,” the woman said (though really little more than a girl)
It was not the right word; that was lost in the translation of years.
Then she laughed, and went to play with her dolls, her children,
her children, her dolls: she showed them the sun.
They laughed with her, eyes like little brown beetles flashing in the ascent,
voices melding into beautiful cacophony so their mother does not see the other wife.

iii.
“Her clothes are funny,” you say, “so very old.”
Yes, they are, silk and emboidery from a time far away,
far enough away that it is nearly a different world.

“But they are lovely, yes?”
Yes, they are lovely, my child, my mother, my sister.
Someday we will go to the wall and see her bones.
Would you like that? Of course you would.

iv.
At midnight, she is in her bed alone because it is not her turn with her lord.
Without her lord, she can see outside the carved prison-window,
See the wall, looming as huge as it does in day.
Some things, she thinks, are not part of the whims of this world
And the wall is one of those things.

She would like,
She would like to leap over it just to see what was on the other side.
Oh, she would come back to her bed before the sun rose, do not worry about that.
She was a careful child (woman), that one.
If you can jump over that wall, I will tell you more about her.

v.
“Did you know, beloved wife, that we grow old?
Did you know that?”
She nods; she has seen the grey in his hair like the rock in the wall.
She has seen the lines come to the faces of the once beautiful.

vi.
Her son is taller than she is, and now he plays games with swords and lives,
Swords and lives rather than the little pull-toy dog his grandfather (maternal, for the other is dead) made for him.
She is proud of him, and keeps the dog in her trunks lined with silk for when he dies.
“Pretty,” she says when the sun hits the wall.
Some things, love, do not change.

vii.
Did you know, beloved wife, that the wall grew old?
Tourists walk it now, stepping in the footprints of guards.
See, that is where a spear rested when you were a little girl.
The sun still rises on it, gold-amber glow,
“Pretty,” she would call it, but she is dead now,
She is dead now, like all the others,
Some of them were happy, and that is enough for her to know tonight.

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80

Axa

in August 3rd, 2006 @ 21:58

(79) Beautiful. The change in perspective that still keeps with the original plot line ( so to speak) is great. The word choice is as always pleasing, but I love how you divided each line; it feels so natural, as if it was not written but simply is

I;m quite inspired by it. ^^ You’re part Chinese, correct? I should write something related to Japan some day…

Just wondering, doesn anyone know of a good place online to have poetry and such critiqued? I’ve looked at Cicada’s “The Slam” but it seems sort of dead and I’d like something a bit more interactive…or something. Feh.

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81

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in August 4th, 2006 @ 00:44

80 (Axa)- Yes, I’m half Chinese. I’ve been to Xi’an, and walked on the wall used in the poem. The rest of it is entirely of my own devising, although the ‘lord’ mentioned is meant to be an emperor, since Xi’an (then known as Chang’an) was the capital of China for several dynasties. </history lesson>

I usually get my work critiqued online in the Writers’ Forum of Gaia Online, which is a great deal more literate and sensible than the rest of the site. Fictionpress is also supposed to be quite good, but I have no experience on that and can’t vouch for it either way. From what I’ve seen, it appears to have a review system similar to that of FF.net. Never tried the Slam.

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82

Axa

in August 4th, 2006 @ 12:48

Gaia? Really? Well , I do still have an account there, so maybe I’ll check that out. -notorious forum lurker- I have a dislike of FictionPress for some reason I can’t quite pinpoint, and with both that site and FF.net, the reviews usally consist of “update son plz!!!1 :)” Hmm.

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83

Jadestone

in August 4th, 2006 @ 14:51

So far I have from this thread 10, 14, 15, 16, 18, 20, 21, 30, 33, 36, 40, 42, 46,

gotta go now, finish later.

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84

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in August 4th, 2006 @ 18:19

83 (JS)- Say, maybe we could put prose in that too. It could be a very large volume of Muser-written shinies. (Okay, so I’m still on my “Wallflower” high. Sue me.) I could help gather the prose, if you’d like. There’s probably less of it, because a lot of us posted works in progress.

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85

Axa

in August 4th, 2006 @ 23:32

(83) I still think this is such an awesome idea. xD Yay for poetry! And prose too, that sounds like an equally good idea, Penty.

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86

Jadestone

in August 5th, 2006 @ 11:19

Yeah. Mostly I just went back to the start of this thread and colected anything that looked poem like, so I thik there’s some prose there too. Also, If I missed anything please tell me, cause I’ve benn trying to get only muser-writen stuff so a few may have been accedentally skipped.

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87

Jadestone

in August 5th, 2006 @ 11:27

54, 58, 73, 76, 79, …. Wow. Is that this whole thread? Cool. We’re at 14 pages all ready. I’m goin to edit this now, spelling and stuff. I’ have to really pay atention as now it wants to edit peoples name.. espesally yours, Penty. It doesn’t lik any of it.

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88

Jadestone

in August 5th, 2006 @ 11:38

Woo!! Edit of this thread’s poems all done. Now… I still need to go back and do the other threads… well that must wait, as I have to get off the computer now. And I feel like writing anyway after reading all those poems…*fingers twitch*

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89

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in August 5th, 2006 @ 23:25

87 (JS)- Not even the ‘Angel’ part?

Meh. Inspiration-dry right now, since I really need to go off on one of my marathon prose-writing sessions to kick off Golden People. I always find starting a story the hardest, and I’m so tensed up beforehand that I can’t think of anything else. Does anyone else get that?

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90

Sweet Melpomene

in August 6th, 2006 @ 08:50

All. The. Time.

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91

Axa

in August 6th, 2006 @ 12:55

YES! That’s why I like poems better, it’s easier for me to start. Though I do have one story that’s about half a page in. Hardest half page I ever had to write. >_______>

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92

Ruffled Grouse

in August 6th, 2006 @ 15:12

88-If you find any that are by me, could you please say they are by purplefinch, seeing as we are the same people, and purplefinch sounds more poetic…

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93

Jadestone

in August 6th, 2006 @ 15:24

92- Okay. Let me go back and look, then. If I find any I’ll change them.

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94

Otzi

in August 6th, 2006 @ 17:52

79: I’ve been there! however, I must admit I was not thinking anything so elegantly poetical. All I was thinking was that it was bloody boiling out. But the poem is beautiful.

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95

Ruffled Grouse

in August 7th, 2006 @ 10:52

93-There might be one or two on the last thread, but not on any before that. Thankee kindly and muchly!

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96

Jadestone

in August 7th, 2006 @ 16:22

Okay! I got most of the ones from version 2 now. Don’t worry, I changed all the Ruffled Grouse’s t purplrfinch. Now just the organal is left…

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97

The Skipper Nancy

in August 7th, 2006 @ 18:06

(79) *searches for word* Original! Clear! Interesting! It tells a story so well, it describes the situation in such a characteristic way….I’m sorry, I’m terrible at saying what it is I want to say…but that’s really good!

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98

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in August 10th, 2006 @ 17:38

Aww, thanks, everyone. I submitted “The Wall” to a Gaia contest. Not sure how I did yet; the results aren’t in. (Hmm…much of my best writing seems to have to do with walls. I wonder why that is? I don’t even really care about walls unless they fall on my head.)

I don’t like this one terribly much; it was written when I was in an emo mood. Kinda PG-13, though I’ve censored out the language (marked with [CFYP]). You’ve been warned.
Roadkill
She told you that the world was flat,
and you, fool that you are, believed her.
So much easier, after all, just to smile and nod.
(Why shouldn’t it be flat if she says so?)

Cigarette burns on her arms, nevertheless,
she giggles like a schoolgirl (whether she is is not important)
when she spouts her lies all jumbled with truth.
You ask where the burns came from, and she says dragons,
then laughs, high-pitched, red fingernails on dusty chalkboard.

[Say, if the world is flat, can we dig to the other side?]

It’s your turn to laugh now,
as is your [CFYP] prerogative, should you remember you have one.
Dragons, well, lunacy leads to that,
And the moon is on you [werewolf] and you believe.

Bite it back and drink the blood,
sweet salt, metal floating back into you.
Her eyes are there, above your knee,
so you down the pills for your head while you’re at it.
They taste like dead dust (you like that, don’t you?)
but they don’t make anything go away. [And a]
(Placebo is just what you wanted.)

A bolt of lightning hit her when she was five and a half, and she lived.
[Of course, that’s just what she tells you, but you swallow it like the pills.]
There’s that bleached streak in her hair
(that she gets dyed every Wednesday)
(or Thursday when she forgets)
as proof.
That lightning wasn’t yellow, but white
from life. [Better than either of you.]

She spits out a cherry pit, smearing her lipstick,
and tells you she’s going to sail off the edge of the world.
[Your loss.]
You’d like to go, but you’re too busy sitting in your bit of
real estate that you bought from the Devil
and wondering where the dragons are.

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99

Sweet Melpomene

in August 11th, 2006 @ 05:40

98- Very surreal. But I loved it!

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100

Rebecca Lasley

in August 11th, 2006 @ 15:21

I swore I would resist the siren call of writing threads . . . I lay the responsibility for my capitulation entirely at your feet, Ms. Pentatonikk, Most Honourable and Dangerous Wielder of Words. Just for that, I shall comment upon your poem.

Forgive the random fragments; if I try to tidy this up, it will never get posted. Which you might prefer. However:

From opening line to last, very strong, vivid image of the girl being described.
Good detail about dying her hair, the Thursday contingency plan.
Gotta love a poem with “placebo” in it.

The narrator seems to be straddling a dual role: part character in the situation, part outside observer. Very tricky to do; I’m not sure the balance is quite there. As if the narrator verges on stepping out of character? Or explains a little too much. I’m thinking in particular of the stanza with the [CFYP] — and, by the way, I don’t see that you need the deleted word. You’ve captured the attitude without needing to be explicit.

You might look at your usage of parentheses and brackets, give them specific, consistent functions. Some appear to convey the girl’s comments, some the narrator’s, some are just random parentheticals. Sorting them out might also help to bring the narrator into focus.

Line 2, you can leave out “fool that you are.” You’ve already conveyed the meaning in more interesting ways. Same with “lies all jumbled with truth” in the second stanza. That’s a judgment better left to the reader. In any case, the girl’s lies are so theatrical and transparent, they’re not even lies in a sense. Let the ambiguity ride.

Not wild about the penultimate line. An unfair comment to make, since I can’t pin down my objection. Maybe I just don’t like the word “devil.” So ignore me.

Overall, a sharp-edged poem that sticks in my head. I like its clear-eyed attitude, applaud how well you’ve handled a subject someone else might have made melodramatic or self-pitying. Brava.

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101

elassÃ«~adael

in August 14th, 2006 @ 16:54

65- cool! I’ve been at spanish camp so I haven’t gotten a chance to write here in a while…

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102

elassÃ«~adael

in August 14th, 2006 @ 17:03

30- I like it

33-beautiful and sad

40- very true. nice.

here’s one from me:

susurrar
the whispers come
snakes to my ears
they seem to say
bad secrets
gossip about me
i know that i imagine
but sometimes imagination can become real

and another:

I dance a dance in my soul
I sing a song in a language only I can understand
I speak, but no one listens
They can’t hear my words
I don’t know how to make them listen
My thoughts fall on covered ears
empty
no one wishes to wander with words so random
to dance my dance
they are all stuck in mundane ruts
their own paths through life

and more will probably come later

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103

elassÃ«~adael

in August 14th, 2006 @ 17:08

I stand
feet in the sand
hair blowing in the wind that comes through the trees
apart
the other children play
I think
alone
my head far from my feet on the earth

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104

Jadestone

in August 14th, 2006 @ 17:47

I’ve added all the new ones in…

However, my cmputer is really starting to bug me. I mean really. Before, whenever I copied poems in It didn’t sperate the stanzas, but I could still tell because the letter of each new one was a tiny bit in front of the rest, bt now it’s also started so that when ever I copy and paste into a word document it doesn’t even seperate the lines! All it does is put a little dash bewteen each one. So for instance, one of elassÃ«~adael’s poems ends up looking like:

susurrar_the whispers come_snakes to my ears_they seem to say_bad secrets_gossip about me_i know that i imagine_but sometimes imagination can become real
and another:
I dance a dance in my soul_I sing a song in a language only I can understand_I speak, but no one listens_They can’t hear my words_I don’t know how to make them listen_My thoughts fall on covered ears_empty_no one wishes to wander with words so random_to dance my dance_they are all stuck in mundane ruts_their own paths through life
and more will probably come later

Oh, and by the way I’m on page 42 now.

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105

Jadestone

in August 17th, 2006 @ 11:39

-composing on the spot-

Paper flutters
a girl looks up, startled
she has dark hair
and brown eyes
not much too look at

she sits Alone
in a group of tress
it’s not really a forest
just some land that hasn’t been buldozed yet
but don’t worry
construction starts in 3 weeks

a closer look:
she’s writing
in a journel
a poem
tears have stained the pages
but her face is dry
no tears left

her handwriting is scribled
across the pages
she wishes it were beautifull
like the fancy fonts on her parent’s computer
but it’s not
and never will be
for her wishes never come true

she sighes
staring at the page
on which her poem is writen
she reads it softly to herself
her tounge stumbles over the words

a soft breeze
her hair blows across her face
tangling upon itself
and she looks at her paper sadly

she doesn’t want to leave
the trees are nice
comforting somehow
even if half are dead
a bright green leaf falls down
she reaches up to catch it
but misses

it falls to the ground
just out of reach
and she leaves it there
why sould she take it
from where it wanted to be
she knows how it feels

she takes her ntebook
the kind with the cardbored cover
and frayed edges
and she burys it
in a plasic bag
where no one will find it

she stands up
looking at the small grove
she hopes it stays forever
so she might come back to it someday
and read once again her stories and poems
scribled down on paper
but we know she won’t
the buldozers will arive next week

she turns her back on the trees
her safe harbor
her only true home
and walks away
never to return

on the ground
a bright green leaf trembles in the wind
on it lies a small drop of water
a single tear
from the girl who left
it rolls to the edge of the leaf
and falls to the ground
swallowed up the the soft earth

and the leaf blows away
forever

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106

Axa

in August 19th, 2006 @ 02:46

Argh, we’ve disappeared off the front page. Time to plug.

For two weeks nothing and suddenly BAM. I write a poem in three minutes. The joys of writing.

(103) I’ve always liked the outward simplicty of your poems, while they do have deeper meaning. They have a very refereshing, clean feeling. Keep writing!

(105) Nice! My only critique is to be careful with that length; you may have been going for a longer free verse, but sometime it ends up muddled. It looks pretty good, but just keep it in mind. I love the constant use of tree related things in it. Good job!

Annnd here’s mine. Argh.

The day’s call is long and low
Black scenery fades into a creamy and yellow tinted light
Stars are not stars,
but life

She says-
What have I done
And what do I do?
(It’s driving me crazy looking for you)
The blankness creates more pain

(If a picture’s worth a thousand words,
I have millions of words from you
And yet it doesn’t feel that way)

The crescent moon
Is fraught with condescension and defensive celebration
He has a good soul, but his heart’s in the wrong place-
The night.

She thinks-
Where have you gone
And why did you say
(It’s not just a game I’m pretending to play.)
The heart creates, more pain.

A rising sun
Is more sorrowful then the media lets on
For what could be worse than
Heralding in a new day without you?

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107

elassÃ«~adael

in August 21st, 2006 @ 20:46

106- thanks!

105- Oooh, I really like that. As Axa said, though, be careful with length.

106- I really like the parentheses and the reference to “a picture’s worth a thousand words”. I like it when sayings are incorporated into works.

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108

elassÃ«~adael

in August 22nd, 2006 @ 11:52

a thought falls
a leaf from the tree
that grows in my head

it makes ripples of poetry
when it touches the river at my feet
i pour the ripples into poems

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109

Axa

in August 23rd, 2006 @ 00:28

Thank you! ^^

(108) I really do love everything you write…it’s as though all the useless frills of the every day are cleaned away, leaving a very pure and beautiful piece of poetry. I love the allusions to nature, especially to water. Great job! ^—–^

And we neeeeed more people to post here. POSTTTT~

(We’ll give you pretty words. :D)

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110

The Skipper Nancy

in August 23rd, 2006 @ 20:42

Da-dadadada-DA!
Have no fear, Skipper is here!

I am sorry that I have been so absent as of late, me friends. No excuses, except a combination of being too busy and too lazy.

I’ve been reading a lot of poetry lately, but I haven’t written any… expcept for a few lines I got out at camp. I’ll put them here, even though they’re just dort of unfinished fragments.

Hmm, reading through it, I’m not so sure I like it… but I’ll put it here anyway…

life is a shadow on the surface of a lake
far deeper and stranger than that simple flicker
which, to us, seems so complex
us, who can only percieve the world
through a filter of thoughts
a screen of emotions

And then there were these couple lines, which I scribled at the bottom the page on a bit of a whim-

What is real?
Is it something you can see
Or what you feel?
What is truth?
Is it beautiful, elegant,
or crude, and uncouth?

… I shall return soon and read as much of you loverlies’ stuff ASAP.

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111

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in August 23rd, 2006 @ 21:58

I’m not giving nice comments on all the stuff, but I’d just like to say I read and enjoyed it all and y’all are some amazing poets. Thank you, Ms. Lasley, for your lovely crit on my latest poem. Your suggestions have been taken into consideration.

It’s meant to be sort of ironic, the way the narrator sees ‘you’ and what they’re saying about the world. And I loathe the title.

Monochromatic
It’s wrong,
it’s wrong the way you see the world,
black and white and never grey.
Some people say there’s color in this,
but it must be hiding beneath the rocks I don’t turn over.

And here you are,
your nails black with Sharpie
your pack-a-day breath clouding in my face,
and you stand before me charcoal, like all the rest of us
but you, of course, won’t see that.

You’re nodding like one of those dogs on my dashboard,
to music only you can hear,
only you understand.
A different drummer, and one without rhythm besides.

Still you’re assured, confident.
People like you for that, though you’re blind.
Ignorance, so they say, is bliss.

So positive that your way is right
that I sometimes forget it’s not,
that is your problem.

I don’t say it,
since you wouldn’t listen after all.
And you,
you leave me standing here in the dust
of the energy you’ve taken from me
and trying to pick up the pieces.

I’m right.
You’re wrong.
Hold it close to me,
your hands covering my chest
and my heart beating like some bird.

This is the way
the way it was
meant
to
be.

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112

Sweet Melpomene

in August 24th, 2006 @ 15:27

Loved them all. No time for long comments.

Will find notebook to post poems. Where did it go?!?

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113

Jadestone

in August 24th, 2006 @ 21:13

Ohh.. I like. All of ’em. That poem in 105 was mostly long cuse it was on-the-spot… I’ll tweek it later. I think I’m gonna write somthing now… I’ll comment more later, too. Have to get off the comp now.

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114

elassÃ«~adael

in August 25th, 2006 @ 11:49

Voila! Je suis ici!

109-thanks! ^_^

bounce.
how long have i been waiting,
armed with a boredom-repeling rubber ball?
bounce.
staring at the poppies
that line the path to your house.
bounce.
——————–
————————

I’ll think of something to go there later. It’s unfinished.

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115

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in August 26th, 2006 @ 11:28

I like to think that I’m a good poet, but I don’t think that I’m actually that good. Some of my friends are really good, though. Here’s a poem that I wrote but my friend says she wrote. (this is another one from the Taiwan hippo) It’s really bad and really funny:

the very lucky tree
grows very lucky fruit
with very lucky seeds

those very lucky fruits
are eaten by very unlucky me
who is about to become
finally very lucky!

Isn’t that the most terrible poem you ever heard? I wrote it.

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116

Jadestone

in August 26th, 2006 @ 20:17

Okay, so I tried to make a shorter poem this time as I seem to make too long ones…. here goes.

the dusty grey moth
flapes it’s battered wings
flying drunkenly through
the shimmering blades of grass
that dance with the light
of the nearby fire
as it draws ever closer
in the flickering night
a beacon, reflecting the light of the stars
and it draws even closer
and closer still
untill it’s wings grow hot
and it’s antenna shrivel
yet continues on
towards this sun, this star
becoming one, at last, with it’s desire
the flame crackles
a shower of sparks light the night
illuminating the smokey air
the moth is gone
burned up in Bliss

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117

elassÃ«~adael

in August 27th, 2006 @ 20:12

alone
my voice – unheard
though the words flow from me
many of them
ignored
waste away
these thought treasures
tossed along with the garbage
forgotten
ignored

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118

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in August 27th, 2006 @ 22:26

I’ve been re-reading the last two poems and songs threads and the poetry I see there is incredibly beautiful and touching. All of you should be proud. If you want to read good poetry, go to our poetry and songs threads!

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119

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in August 28th, 2006 @ 09:46

Everything’s good exept the part about antenna shriveling. It doesn’t really fit the mood.

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120

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in August 28th, 2006 @ 09:47

that was to Jadestone.

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121

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in August 28th, 2006 @ 09:53

here’s one that should be at least a bit better than the very lucky tree:

Drifting past
are words
too small to see
too important to lose
Moving
Telling their stories
Alive.

Not very good, but definitely better than The Very Lucky Tree. I don’t know if there’s anything that could be worse than that.

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122

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in August 28th, 2006 @ 09:57

I think this is by EE Cummings. I don’t remember it word for word:

a l
ea(
l
o
n
e
l
y)f
alls

Something like that. That’s not it exactly, but close. I wish I remembered it.

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123

The Honorable Otzi (or Ã–tzi) , Boian Prime Muser

in August 28th, 2006 @ 12:50

Its not EE Cummings, its ee cummings. No capitalization…

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124

Ebeth The Stalker

in August 28th, 2006 @ 15:48

ee cummings pwns. I think u got the pome right, THF. i don’t remember it too well though

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125

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in August 29th, 2006 @ 12:01

e e cummings is awesome. Anyone have comments on my poem?

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126

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in August 29th, 2006 @ 20:16

hello?!?!?! I’d like feedback! and more poems of others!

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127

Jadestone

in August 29th, 2006 @ 20:25

119- yeah… I didn’t know what to put. Any sugestions? Mebbe “And it’s antenna curl?”

e~a- I like 117(along with all the others you write!), it reminds me of when I try to say somthing I belive is important and people make sarcastic remarks…

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128

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in August 29th, 2006 @ 20:44

127- Thanks for the feedback! Feedback is always appreciated especially when I start begging for it…

116- I really do like the way you capture the moth-y addiction to light!^_^ maybe and antennas curling? and for it posessive isn’t it without an apostrophe? Nice work!

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129

The Skipper Nancy

in August 30th, 2006 @ 10:17

I have late start today!

(Tawain Hippo Fan) Ha ha! Don’t worry, I’ve read much worse than the Lucky Tree. Don’t fret. I think it’s cute. And your second one was good- nice and short, but still with meaning.

(JS) Yay! Lovery imagery. The only thing I would say, and this is more in general- sometimes your poems seem to be one long sentance, so that at the end of each line, there’s still more waiting to be said. This is actually really good, but, maybe just try break it up by ending a thought/line with a period here oor there. I’m not sure if that makes sense.

(e~a) I like all the words they used. It’s like you eliminated all the filler words and just put in ones that show emotion. Good job! The only thing is, don’t do it too much. Make sure your lines aren’t too sort and choppy.

I have a poem brewing (that sounds weird….) and I’ll ppost it as soon as it takes shape.

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130

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in August 30th, 2006 @ 15:20

I have a poem brewing sounds like that line plus more would make a good poem. I just like the imagery of “poem brewing”

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131

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in August 30th, 2006 @ 21:03

I have a poem brewing too, actually. I’m not sure if it is finished but I’ll post what I have here for you guys to comment on.

make a list of your dreams
at the crossroads of imagination and despair
as you write, you are ascending
past the nightmare groves
where darkness is dancing

—————
two more:

——————–
We are all
(at first)
empty lumps of waiting clay
ready for hands to shape us

slowly they come
thousands of them
bending and breaking and twisting and mending
(always mending)
never an end to them
molding, shaping our lives.

but we are never finished
there is always another pair
waiting to shape and mold
always changing, we continue to be molded

—————————-

love touches
a thousand little hands
(everyone brushed by the fingers)
grasping, holding on
to all of us

love threads
entwine the world
connecting us all
one to many others
some are strong as rope
others fading and unraveling

why are some held safe in nets of love
yet others falling; held only by a single thread?
who’s to say who is held
and who is only touched?

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132

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in September 1st, 2006 @ 08:36

123 – But all the books capitalize it. At least the books I’ve looked at do.

131 – The first one is a great idea. The second one takes a while to sink in. Good job, though.

My gosh, this thread shows me what a horrible poet I really am.

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133

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in September 1st, 2006 @ 11:12

Aww, come on, does everyone leave once a thread is off the “Most Recent Posts” thingy?!

(I know, a lot of you don’t. I’m just a bit bored.)

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134

elassÃ«~adael

in September 1st, 2006 @ 22:39

132- I posted three, which are you talking about?

Does anyone else have feedback?

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135

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in September 2nd, 2006 @ 15:38

134 – I’m talking about the 2 last ones.

Here’s a poem that I am making up on the spot:

We are all feathers
Dropped
In the beginning.

We become more
Accumulate knowlege
And rust.

We travel
Not knowing
Where we are
But learning all the way
And teaching.

Here’s another one:

Knowledge
is indescribable

The understanding
That is waiting to be unleashed.

Show the world
how not to waste it.

Yet another one:

Drifting
Seeing
Learning

The world from someone else’s eyes

Amazing
Inspiring
Teaching

Light
As never seen before

Why?

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136

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in September 2nd, 2006 @ 15:39

That looks like one long poem. I wish I had separated them a bit more.

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137

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in September 2nd, 2006 @ 22:23

135- in the first one maybe put dust instead of rust. Good job though.

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138

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in September 3rd, 2006 @ 10:22

137 – Good idea. I like rust because that’s how I think of getting not-as-smart or when I haven’t played violin in a while, I’ll say that I’m probably a bit rusty. But dust defininitely makes more sense.

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139

Taiwan Hippo Fan

in September 3rd, 2006 @ 10:31

Here are the three new and improved poems:

We are all feathers
Dropped
In the beginning

We become more
Accumulate knowlege
And dust

We travel
Not knowing where we are
But learning
and teaching

—————————————-

Knowledge
is indescribable

The understanding
Waiting to be unleashed.

Help the world
Do not waste it.

—————————————-

Drifting
Seeing
Learning

The world from someone else’s eyes

Amazing
Inspiring
Teaching

Light
As never seen before

Why?

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140

Axa

in September 4th, 2006 @ 23:11

(131) Ohh those are great! I like the first especially. Your metaphor and analogy use is impeccable. (THat was so spelled wrong >__>)

(139) I really like the minimal feeling of the last, very clean sounding. I like your style!

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141

Zyviva

in September 5th, 2006 @ 12:30

her is a poem i wrote that really has nothing to do with anything, but whatever

What is darkness with out light?
What is have with out have not?
What is silence with out noise?
What is construction without destruction?
What is birth without death?
So many questions, so few answers
What is knowledge with out ignorance?
What is balance if the scales are broken?

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142

Zyviva

in September 5th, 2006 @ 12:31

139- i like it!!!!!!!!!!!!

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143

Oddzilla Pentatonikk

in September 5th, 2006 @ 12:48

140 (Axa)- Actually, you spelled it right. And yes, the poems are impeccably shiny.

139 (THF)- For some reason, your writing reminds me a lot of e~a’s, only with more capital letters.

School has dried up my poetic juices. Grer.

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144

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in September 5th, 2006 @ 16:43

141- I really like that poem! Though I’d put “so many questions, so few answers” at the end. Lovely poem! I agree with Penty, it reminds me of my pieces.

Speaking of which only one of you has critiqued my post 131.

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145

Zyviva

in September 5th, 2006 @ 17:03

144-thanks!
new version, edited

What is darkness without light?
What is have without have not?
What is silence without noise?
What is creation without destruction?
What is birth without death?
What is knowledge without ignorance?
What are answers without questions?
What is balance if the scales are broken?

i don’t really like “What is creation without destruction?”, creation and destruction both end ‘tion’, does some one have different words that say the same thing?

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146

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in September 5th, 2006 @ 17:24

145- check a thesaurus. You might find something that really works. Again, I really like your poem. I like the edited version better than the original. Keep writing! ^_^

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147

Jadestone

in September 6th, 2006 @ 21:47

I like. I’ll put one in as soon as I have time, and critique too. Mom’s yelling at me now, though.

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148

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in September 7th, 2006 @ 16:38

Divided

one foot in a well of tears
the other soaring with the birds
I sit in the grove of rotting crab apples
and cry
but my tears are not all from sadness
some are from joy

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149

Rosy-Fingered Dawn (Taiwan Hippo Fan)

in September 8th, 2006 @ 16:02

143 – I like capital letters. But if I’m trying to get a particular effect, and it will work better without all the capital letters, then I won’t do them. As for the relationship, I did see that, in a way. I think it’s cool.

145 – I can tell you what a question is without an answer: 42. Speaking of 42, I just recently realized that my birthday is the closest you will get to that number in birthdays. April 2nd, 04/02.

146 – I agree.

148 – This isn’t very nice, but I’m going to say it anyway. The poem doesn’t sound like something that would bring me somewhere else, like lots of good poetry does when I read it. It just seems like it’s there, but just sort of plopped down without it knowing what it’s talking about. You know what I mean? I like the first two lines, though.

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150

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in September 8th, 2006 @ 16:22

149- thank you for your criticism. I’m not really looking for nice-ness. I’m just looking for your thoughts. I understand your point, too. The first two lines are more striking than the last two.

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151

evildude131

in September 8th, 2006 @ 16:42

I like poetry
But this really creeps me out
So i’m going to leave

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152

kiki_the_great

in September 8th, 2006 @ 17:39

Hey guys

Watch the apples falling
one by one they drop
brightly shining
glowing and happy
spinning
but wait:
spots appear on the apples
dark bruises of doom
and despair
no more pureness
no more peace
they are just waiting to lure others
into the darkness.

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153

Kuai Zi Angel Pentatonikk

in September 8th, 2006 @ 21:28

151(ed13)- Why does it creep you out? Good writers give reasons, even if they’re not explicitly stated. Are you worried that we’re all depressed? Or that we’re Vogons? I can assure you, the first from our work on the rest of the blog and the second from the quality of what we write, that neither is the case.

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154

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in September 8th, 2006 @ 22:37

alone
but not afraid
I sit
waiting
for the birds to come

flying
but not soaring
they come
waiting
for the rain to fall

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155

Axa

in September 9th, 2006 @ 00:08

(151) Eh?

Creative back log because of school. Coming at ya.

Could use some editing, but I NEED to get something out now, so…yeah. As always, concrit is loved and fed cookies.

I had a particular thought in mind
Walking determinedly, she tells herself
No point in thinking these
lofty
thoughts, accept, accept what you’ve been given
It keeps you sane

Maybe I’m a fool
The jester sighs, belled cap jingling softly to the tune of his laments
But isn’t it the maybe
That keeps us alive?

(He walks past, the same as beofre
And yet not, she sees this in his gait, lighter
Though still the same practiced elegance and forced confidence she herself
Exudes)

Perhaps it too is true
That all this, all these dreams
Like thin silver stars caught by a memory
Will eventually blow away like the dry sand that they are

In any case
I can’t let go

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156

The Skipper Nancy

in September 9th, 2006 @ 12:45

(155) The way break the lines makes the flow of ideas nice and clear.
Wow, I just read it again. That’s really good, especially the line about the belled cap jingling to the toon of his laments.
I’m sorry, I know this isn’t very helpful. I’m trying to find some cronstructed critiscm to give, but I like it a lot and my brain isn’t functioning so well.
Is it about dreaming of things, and wondering if your a fool to want them, but still wanting them anyway?

I wrote this in my head while I was trying to fall asleep, but then I got up to write it down so I wouldn’t forget it. When I looked at in the morning, I didn’t really even remember it.

One day
this sun’s ray
fell into a place
where the sun had not yet
shone it’s cool and shining face
(and where it had before
now was only dark and empty space)
it streamed
a trickle of glacier melt
and made anew
the blue and colorless earth

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157

The Skipper Nancy

in September 9th, 2006 @ 12:46

*constructive critiscm
not cronstructed
sorry

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158

Rosy-Fingered Dawn (THF)

in September 9th, 2006 @ 13:43

152 – I don’t really like shiny apples. I don’t like bruised apples either. But if it’s only a small bruise it can sometimes taste better than if it’s not bruised at all. I know that had nothing to do with the poem.

155 – It almost sounds like literature instead of a poem. Like very well-written paragraph thingys. It would sound better that way, if you changed a few words to make it work as just a short list of ideas but in full sentences. Sort of. It’s great. Completely different from my style.

I love how none of these poems rhyme. Or most of them don’t, anyway.

Can we put writing and not just poetry into this thread?

She races across the gym floor
Hoping to get what she wants
But of course not getting it

She manages to scuff the floor twice and be the only one
Why does she work so hard?
It only slows her down.

She tries again.

I know that is nothing like I’ve ever written, a completely different style. I don’t like it. I think it’s okay, but I’m going to stick with my regular style.

I don’t have anything else to put down, but I probably will later.

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159

Rosy-Fingered Dawn (THF)

in September 9th, 2006 @ 16:09

here’s a story that I’ve been working on. I havent’ worked out the details, and this is just the beginning of the story. It isn’t poetry, though. It’s a story.

Here ’tis:

I also want the girl to be kind of a loser, and have her be the girl mentioned in my poem in the Poems and Songs thread on MB:

Rosie trudged along, not caring where she was going. She had a system for almost everything, but none of it was something that people wanted her to do. She would always scuff up her shoes on the dirt and cement on her way to the bus stop. The only thing that other people noticed from what she was doing was that she made her shoes wear out faster. But they didn’t notice how she had patterns in her steps, that she was doing her own kind of tap-dancing that made a pattern in the dirt as well as with the sound. They just didn’t notice. But she did.
School was another problem. No one talked to her. Everyone thought she was something that she wasn’t. Her mom always told her that she was just as good as all of them, that she just showed her thoughts differently. Ha ha. That’s just what she thought. Her mother didn’t understand any better than the rest of them. She was different. She used to love herself, have lots of friends. But then something happened, and she became quiet. Everything in her mind changed. She saw so many patterns, knew how to orginize, but still didn’t get good grades. She just didn’t understand anything like that.
She didn’t think anything could change. Until she found the box.

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160

elassÃ«~adael (merle)

in September 9th, 2006 @ 17:57

158 & 159- There is a writing thread for writing! Just search for Writing in the search box.

155- I really like the symbolism of the star in the last stanza. I really like that poem. It’s a little confusing, though.

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161

Rosy-Fingered Dawn (THF)

in September 9th, 2006 @ 19:05

60 – Thanks.

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162

Jadestone

in September 17th, 2006 @ 19:45

-edited version of 116-

the dusty grey moth
flapes it’s battered wings
flying drunkenly through
the shimmering blades of grass
that dance with the light
of the nearby fire
as it draws ever closer
in the flickering night
a beacon, reflecting the light of the stars
and it draws even closer
and closer still
untill it’s wings grow hot
and it’s antenna curl
yet continues on
towards this sun, this star
becoming one, at last, with it’s desire
into the dark of Dreams
into the light of Life
the flame crackles
a shower of sparks light the night
illuminating the smokey air
the moth is gone
burned up in Bliss

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163

Jadestone

in September 17th, 2006 @ 20:23

Oh dear. *gnaws nails* People are changing their names. Oh my… well, if you do end up changing you’re name just remember that if i ever do post the (un)Complete Collection of Museblog Poems you may be under two names. I am not going to go back and change more…*gulp* Word is already giing me enough trouble as is with the spacing. I wish it would just let me post them how they apear here. It’s staring to really irk me.

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164

Jadestone

in September 17th, 2006 @ 20:24

On a lighter note, I’ve finished copieing this thread. Now all I have to do is finish the origanal one and the new one… we are on page 62.

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165

Axa

in September 25th, 2006 @ 23:31

Yay Jadestone! -worships- You have so much dedication, it’s wonderful *-*

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166

The Skipper Nancy

in September 27th, 2006 @ 23:31

I like your revised version, JS!

I sang a canto, sweet and short
silly litlle thing
the morning air was clear and fair
my voice was thin, like string
a morning-child, lovely lark
laughs a little at my ditty
twitty little twitterer,
I’ll show you how to sing
And calls out, flute-throated
free, fresh as fruit in the morning air

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