NationStates Jolt Archive

I remember
when the poet once held forth
and remembered their hearts.

And wrote that others might see
The self
And love
beauty

Where one might even cry.

jim

guess this one will die. oh well.

Jim

I like.

Somewhere lost in the night
An angel goes bump
An angel long thought dead
Still he hears
The long lost
Trhead.

Thanks.

Okay, here's one of mine.

Plotted Points

And so, this solitary argument,
this hushed plot around which are built
the conclusions of negligent men,
this clotted cream of disjointed idea
comes circle, an eclosion emerging
from this broken shell, vestigial home
to wrath and unbleached intention.
It wonders about the nature of detention,
of détenté, as if the hush
will excuse the sentiment, the desire
for a new mythos to swallow the old.

Do not excuse. Move beyond.
Resurrect the tales. Let Arthur rise,
ride with El Cid, Ogier the Dane,
Thorstein and the Seven Samurai,
Rooster Cogburn and the King of Siam
and the Chairman of the Board.
Avoid the temptation, the creeping desire
to pick at scabs. Enough.

Terrible silence
Falls upon your ears;

But a smile comes
To wash away the fears.

and there is nothing left

Left.

Nothing left

Tears.

Black Diamonds

I need to see
What I never wanted to have seen.
Left there
For unprotected innocence to hold.

Pushed away from your senses...
Cursed with dumb still untouched lips,
Deadened nerves
With the powers of Lightning.

So average that you can't expect
You weren't born with luck on your side.
My own flesh and blood,
You used yourself to my unturned eyes.

Walk away, it's too late to run now.
Damage you caused would murder me gently,
I screamed to you but silenced myself
From your evil side.

k all ur poems r really gud so heres my terrible Irish poem

Mo Chat

Tusa mo chara is fearr liom,
Tugann tú athas an domhain dom,
Ta fionnadh donn agus dubh ort,
Is eireaball fada agus chatach ort,
Is fíor go bhfuil scath na gcat agam!

i no its not half as gud as all urs but i think its ok :oops:

k all ur poems r really gud so heres my terrible Irish poem

Mo Chat

Tusa mo chara is fearr liom,
Tugann tú athas an domhain dom,
Ta fionnadh donn agus dubh ort,
Is eireaball fada agus chatach ort,
Is fíor go bhfuil scath na gcat agam!

i no its not half as gud as all urs but i think its ok :oops:

O.K., I'll play. Translation please.

http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=53288

Jim:

too much talent.

jim

Locked thread :(

Locked thread :(

No Kidding. I just wanted to keep the tradition alive.

For no other reason than I can:


http://www.angelfire.com/tx6/jimp/images/jim1004a.jpg
Ave Satanis!
Rege Satanis!
Hail Satan!

Big Jim P!
SC!

http://www.magickalshadow.com/daca/

http://www.shelterfordarkness.com/dadv/index.html

4 ne1 wonderin my poem means
My Cat
you are the friend i prefer(or you are my best friend),
you give me happiness of the world(or you make me so happy),
you have brown and black fur,
you have a long curly tail,
its true i have te best of cats(or ive just got the best cat)!

u c it sounds much better in irish; less simple
hope that helps ne1 who was confused :)

4 ne1 wonderin my poem means
My Cat
you are the friend i prefer(or you are my best friend),
you give me happiness of the world(or you make me so happy),
you have brown and black fur,
you have a long curly tail,
its true i have te best of cats(or ive just got the best cat)!

u c it sounds much better in irish; less simple
hope that helps ne1 who was confused :)

Innocent By-Stander

a child sits
hands over ears
shutting out bombs
holding in fears.
too young to grasp
what its all for
too young to live with
the horrors of war.
too young to distinguish
good and right
from hate and oppression
too full of fright
to even begin contemplation
of what we adults call
justification.
all that he knows
is panic and terror,
the cut of the uniform
is what marks the wearer
as friend or foe,
savior or demon.
the issue at war
to him has no meaning.
Patriotism,
to the children of war
is the Whateverism
that Daddy died for.

savialeigh/rla/1991

forgive me for adding a war poem. This was written during the Gulf War. It's hard to look at a three year old, and with the very direct war coverage we had, and not imagine what a war zone is like to a child actually living in one.