NationStates Jolt Archive

Upon this thread your poems write,
Whether they be black as day, or warm as night,
And the meaning of this thread I decree,
Is to find the bst poet from all of thee.

Fall from Grace

There she stands,
So lonely and cold,
Not wanting much,
Just someone to hold.
And the people ignore her,
And cast disgrace,
Upon this fallen angels,
Ill gotten face.
But they feel just like her,
Bottle it up inside,
And rather than show it,
Choose to hide.
We are pitiful beings,
With one meaning to our name,
An impossible feat,
Which we cannot claim.
We'll never be fair,
We'll never be nice,
We'll fiddle our rage,
With hearts hot as ice.
And the rage then descends,
It consumes us whole,
We become unknown,
Faceless soul.
But the angels wings,
Will soon mend,
And her reuturn to grace,
To grace, does pend.
We seek not to harm,
But harm ourselves seeking that,
To complete life is death,
Others argue that;
To be human is wrong,
But to be inhuman is true,
For the nature of humans,
Will stick them a label with glue.
Now the angel has bloomed,
And like a white dove she soars,
Back into heaven,
Where she shall roar.
Roar for the hatred,
Roar for the demons,
Roar for the sin,
Roar for every man.
She tried to save our souls,
She tried to save our face,
But because of our nature,
We have fallen from Grace.

The gallows did sway in the cool morning breeze
As the sun seemed to rise from below,
Its bright yellow gaze broke out through the haze
To envelop the square in its glow.

Morning’s glory abounded ‘round that tranquil place,
Its splendor and stillness and peace,
But down in the square, all the townsfolk were there,
In lust of a violent release.

The people who gathered, all packed in the square,
Were waiting in anxious delight.
A shared jug of rum and the beat of the drum
Awaited the guilty man’s plight.

For today was the hanging, momentous event,
Where a man would receive his cruel fate.
Death was his bride, Grim Reaper astride,
And this was his grim wedding date.

As he clumsily marched down the cobblestone road
He was mocked and they spit in his face.
Though he had no guilt, no blood had he spilt,
He was taking a guilty man’s place.

He had walked several miles just this morning
Leaving his cell before dawn,
His chains dragged him down as he plod through the town,
Strength possessed had left him and gone.

His guards marched behind as he went down the track,
Gun and sword, merry fife and strict drum.
They poked and they beat and he fell on the street,
And the pain from their blows made him numb.

The party drew near to the loud raucous square
He knew all too well he would die.
He sighted the crowd, heard their voices so loud,
Impending doom was nigh.

He took in the sounds and the sights of the scene
Of the town and the people he passed.
Familiar faces, memorable places,
Knew he saw them for the last.

Then the noise was a roar and the sun filled the sky,
The party had entered the square.
People yelled and they swore and they cried out for gore,
And the doom-ed man mumbled a prayer.

“Oh God”, said the man as he was led on
“Let my death be quick to be done.
Forgive this rough crew; they know not what they do
In the final few words of your Son.”

Some people just gossiped or kept to themselves,
Other men pointed and stared.
A few went to hit and they scratched and they spit,
Most just silently glared.

Up he ascended, to the scaffold he went,
He felt trepidation and fear.
“May you perish in Hell, go with Satan to dwell!”
Was the cry that rang in his ear.

Hearing up there, the sounds of the fife,
He listened intently to hear
The heart lifting sound but it failed to resound,
Nor give him its light martial cheer.

Gazing into the crowd, he saw Anna May,
His girl and the love of his life.
The thought of his bride and the look as she cried
Brought a new wave of sadness and strife.

Looking quickly away, the sheriff he saw,
Grinning with toothy smile bared.
“How are you?” said he with palpable glee.
The man on the scaffold just stared.

Grabbing the noose and inspecting it once,
The hangman examined his tool.
He wrapped ‘round the mans neck, gave the knot one last check,
And prepared to do business most cruel.

A sermon was said, the verdict was read,
And the man was enclosed with a hood.
“Have you last words to say?” The man answered “Nay”
For he knew they would do him no good.

Drums pounded loud over top of the crowd,
Their echo in the air.
The soldiers stood as stiff as wood,
At attention in the square.

The people soon grew quieter then,
Suspense was in the air.
Death was near and it was clear,
Its presence lingered there.

Suddenly a sickening swish,
A feeling of absolute dread,
A hasty drop, a rapid stop
An innocent man was dead.

We have fell from Grace.

Constructive:

We fell, or we have fallen.

Thanks for that. Did you write that poem? It was so beautiful, I just want to cry with happiness...

A Thoughtful Trilogy of Sonnets

Sandcastles

Living life isn't easy, isn't it grand?
The tide comes by day and by night
And it washes away our castles of sand
As we are distracted quite.

Once I sat on the shore, and made a castle,
With towers and windows, a sight to behold!
And as I worked, my mind was my vassal,
So together we made our castle of gold.

But soon the tides turned, the waves rolled in,
And I found myself drowning in sorrow and sin.
My mind was rebelling, no comfort I found,
And the castle I made... fell to the ground.

Let this be a warning to all those who dream;
Fantasia and truth aren't always a team.

Stonecastles

Of all that I've done, of all that I've known,
Just one thing remains- my castle of stone.
Stone castles aren't made with who or with where;
Stone castles are made with time and with care.

Thus my castle is a marvel of thought,
With patience extreme, the iron was wrought.
Thick layers without, thick carpets within,
work well to consume the external din.

But the ocean unyielding does her chore
and washes away the stones on the shore.
My own stone castle is mighty and tall,
but my stone castle will with me fall.

And now the lesson is finally learned,
one who trusts in stone will ere long be spurned.

Truecastles

"How is it so?" You wonder, "How can this be,
that every castle falls into the sea?"
But there is something that is stronger than stone,
the surest foundation that's ever been known.

So build your own castle with time and with care,
but keep in mind truth, which must always be there.
Proceed with caution, and make no assumption,
weakness wears a mask of innocent gumption.

The relentless ocean will try with her might,
to knock down your fortress, to make you despair,
but your layers of truth will prove watertight,
and your castle of truth will always stand fair.

The sea cannot destory that which is true,
so cling to the truth, in all that you do.

I am not a poet.

Poets are not writers, authors, artists
They are magicians:
Capturing wild words with humble ink and pen
In a way I can only dream of
As I scrawl my words harshly

My words are bland
Plain white nothings
Meaningless letters,
Vain attempts at embellishing
That which is beyond redemption
By my poor simplicity.

Poetry is extreme
Passionate and exotic
More striking than a roaring lion
Kindling for the fires of our soul
Never tamed or extinguished.

Lasting beyond they who transposed them
From the mind to the page
They are ethereal
Bridging the gap between the real and the surreal
An intangible legacy

Poets paint pictures of thoughts
With words
Dreams are their colors
The world is their pallet
They brush upon the canvas of life

They create magnificence
That which would fill only the most extravagant museum
But unconfined by walls, glass, or steel
Each stroke of the pen
A masterstroke upon the page

What sharp contrast!
To the crude figures I fashion
Failing as always
To capture their grace

I know not the feeling
Nor the strange magic
They possess
One thing is certain:
I am not a poet

Not a poet indeed

Hymn to a Resurrection

March forth! O, Savior true
Ranks lined against the Vulgar
Thy Soul, it beckons you
Ferry their fates, command their hearts

Brothers! Cast out your fear
March in strengthened unity
For victory is near
Our People sing in loving glory

March proudly! Sons of Lords
Children of the Elysian Plains
Raise a sabre against the hordes
Protect all Life, endure its pains

Absolve! Ancient sins
Conquer the mongrol hand
May the golden begin
A testament to our Motherland

Triumphantly! We stride
Across the conquered field
A Land reborn with pride
Joyful of our fruitful yield

March now! In humble praise
Past the endless skies
To the Heavens we shall gaze
Righteous hearts seen in our eyes

Eternal! Is the flame
Bearer of posterity
The healer of the lame
Rid us of imparity

I win :p

A Cruel God

Boldly boldly riding onwards,
Shining knights in their crusade,
God is with them, oh the glory!
Tremble they who resist their God.

Boldly boldly marching onwards,
Rugged soldiers in their crusade,
Shouldered weapons, bullet flying,
Flying downwards death from above.

What a caring, all loving God,
Needing, calling for my blood,
Commandments meant for just us men,
But hey; rules are made to be broken…

Apart.
And who is He to command me?
What does He know of love and hate,
Of the honour and glory he so craves.

You sit upon your golden throne,
Thou art the lord to be sure,
Calling for us to “keep our end up”,
Give it a rest, I know your game.

Your nothing more than a spectre, a spook,
Worth nothing more than the whistle of wind,
Through the bullet hole in my thigh.

The Future

In the future, it is said,
That by machines we shall soon be lead,
And under their parental gaze,
Navigate life’s eternal maze.

In the future, we shall be,
Living together, in harmony,
Kind to animals, courteous and fair,
Treating each other with due care.

In the future, I have been told,
Drugs and booze will not be sold,
And to those who search for a ‘high’,
Society will wave a heartfelt goodbye.

But sometimes the stories that I hear,
Deal not with the destruction of drugs and beer,
They speak not of mankind’s friendship, and love,
Nor of machines ruling from above.

They speak of guns, tanks, and of pain,
Blood falls like autumn rain,
Of ancient evil now unleashed,
Without safety able to be reached.

And so, not knowing what the future may be,
Do you not think it better to just wait and see?

True Love?

I feel as if I have known you all my life,
Standing together through all the strife,
Two bodies huddled together against the cold,
When I’m with you I feel so bold.

Three years ago we met today,
I’d never felt this way
Before, but you were done we me,
Even as you open my eyes to see.

That night was magical, I know,
But it only seemed to end in woe,
You left me cold, all alone,
Listening to your answering tone.

One year later, I hadn’t forgotten,
My heart felt shrivelled and rotten,
There was nothing I could do,
But wait and hope to see you.

This morning you returned,
But I was angry, my heart you’d spurned.
You begged forgiveness; you wanted a second chance,
And I let you in because…

As we lie together, side by side
I listen to the sound of your breathing-
And I smile; you may want nothing of me
But a place to stay, and sex for free,
But I don’t care because…

I love you.




What do you think? :)

Upon this thread your poems write,
Whether they be black as day, or warm as night,
And the meaning of this thread I decree,
Is to find the bst poet from all of thee.

Fall from Grace

There she stands,
So lonely and cold,
Not wanting much,
Just someone to hold.
And the people ignore her,
And cast disgrace,
Upon this fallen angels,
Ill gotten face.

[snip

She tried to save our souls,
She tried to save our face,
But because of our nature,
We have fallen from Grace.

I like the beginning and the ending portions of this poem especially. But I kind of got lost in the middle. 6.5/10


[snip]

I loved your first poem, especially the condemned man's prayer.
9/10

The second poem impressed me, especially in the 3rd stanza, with the way the 5th line unifies the two metaphors. But some of the lines seem overly long compared to the others (such as the 2nd line of stanza 6). 8/10

And it goes without saying that you are actually a poet indeed.


[snip]

Sometimes, it seemed like the Exclamation! that started each stanza was awkward... I like the feeling of repitition and rhythm it gives the piece, but at this point, it detracts from the quality of the work in places.

I liked the final stanza the most. Very nice! 7/10

[snip]

In the first poem, I love the way you have the end of stanza 3 run into stanza 4, and that is also a well-ordered turning point in the tone of your poem, putting God into a different, darker light than at the beginning.

In some areas, the reading didn't flow as smoothly as I like.
7.5/10


In the second poem, I notice the same sort of shift, in the same place. Nice effect, escpecailly the way the shift gets rid of the repitition of the "in the future" phrase.

I always appreciate rhyme schemes, especially when they work fluidly, like yours did in this poem. The concluding couplet gets the point of the poem across memorably (I'm a fan of that kind of thing, in case you haven't noticed. I think it helps to summarize the poem and makes it more accessible, as well as easier to remember.
8.2/10


It is a small thing, but when you speak of "Two bodies huddled together against the cold,", and then of feeling bold, it sends conflicting mental images, cancelling one another out as opposed to building off one another. You might consider revising the first stanza.

The rhyme scheme was a little shakier in this poem (such as lines 2-3 of stanza 2), but I do like the way the rhyming stopped as the narrative went into "real time" at stanza 5. Excellent effect.

Another interesting side note: this poem focuses on time-related themes throughout (the beginning of each stanza is a temporal reference), and that conveys the idea of everlasting love very well.

Stanza 5 had serious flow issues... although it was somewhat appropriate, considering it was narrating an uncertain moment (will you let her back in? Won't you?)

I think a nice effect would have been to somehow have the end of stanza 6 lead into a slightly revised version of stanza one, to give the poem a more circular feel and add to the "eternal" them, by having a cyclic pattern.
8.5/10

Open Your Eyes

Open your eyes
To see the beauty that surrounds you
The rolling fields of green
The crushing waves of the ocean
The black beating wings of the crows
The crescent blue moon hanging in the air
Magic is everywhere.

Open your eyes
To see what you’ve done to it
Filled with monotonous square buildings
Jammed with little moving domes to isolate us
Packed with factories to produce more
Stuffed with toxic fumes for a cancerous generation
Darkness is everywhere.

Open your eyes
To see what mankind has become
Ultimatums floating around for personal gain
Paranoia crammed into every cell in our body
Alienation of ourselves on the faceless streets
Loss of identity, just to gain more convenience
Emptiness is everywhere.

Open your eyes
To see what we will become
Watch as we write our own death sentence
Watch as we try harder to kill our own kind
Watch as we make more weapons of mass destruction
Watch as we turn our Earth into a grave yard
Deaths is everywhere

A nuclear holocaust will be everywhere.


Society

Be a part of our society
Come join out lives of misery
Leave your land of blasphemy
For our sense of rationality

Let the guilt devour you
Let the fear consume you
Become one of the Chosen Few
Give up your soul to enjoy the view

Don’t you like our identical looks?
Don’t you like our censored books?
Don’t you enjoy the food Mother cooks?
Are you stuck yet on our hooks?

We promise you will remain whole
We promise you will have a role
We promise you will have control
As long as you head for our goal.


Star

Little girl, strum your guitar;
Little girl, stare off afar.
You are the world’s superstar;
Your soul, no one can mar.
You don’t need a fancy car,
To see the world is so bizarre.
Little girl, cover your scars;
Little girl, go away far,
Away from society’s bar,
Away from it’s toxic cigar,
Become what you really are—
Heaven’s beloved lost star.


basically the rantings and raving of a mad person. :D

Heres my two latest. Tell me whatcha think.

How many?
How many people sent to die under weak or false pretenses?
How many families doomed to cry for lack of better defences?
How many lives will it take to slake the thirst of their greed?
And how many lies will it take to get the lives they need?
How many years will it take to end all enmity,
To end all bigotry,
Abolish hatred and realize we're ALL humanity?


Untitled
My love it is a blood red rose
That glows by light of moon
In poisoned soil is where it grows
Atop a lonely dune
But through this des'late land I know
Somebody passed one day
Gone from the spot where the moon glows
My rose has gone away
I want to find the angel who
Came passing through this land
And so I start to follow you
Through footprints in the sand
My love it is a blood red rose
That glows with light so true
I know just who the flower chose
Because you're glowing too

Sometimes, it seemed like the Exclamation! that started each stanza was awkward... I like the feeling of repitition and rhythm it gives the piece, but at this point, it detracts from the quality of the work in places.

I liked the final stanza the most. Very nice! 7/10
Why thank you. I tried the ! to keep the repetition, but I do see how it could disrupt the flow. Out of of curiosity, what do you think the poem is about? Most people think it's about Christ.

Out of of curiosity, what do you think the poem is about? Most people think it's about Christ.

It reminds me of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, although I don't think it's about the American Civil War...

It reminds me of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, although I don't think it's about the American Civil War...
It's part of a dystopian short story I wrote about the rise of a fourth reich. The resurrection of nationalism and a madman to build it. I showed to others to demonstrate how empty words can be filled to mean anything.

It's part of a dystopian short story I wrote about the rise of a fourth reich. The resurrection of nationalism and a madman to build it. I showed to others to demonstrate how empty words can be filled to mean anything.

Hooray for empty words!

And the fact that many, as you said, liken it to Christ now has very interesting implications... ;)

blah... poems... here. (http://www.hlj.me.uk/mywriting.htm)

too tired to read other people's right now. though i do need to come up with a sonnet to a nose in about 10 days now... *thinks*

I wrote this to comemmorate 100 years of the IWW. It's my most recent poem.:

The First Hundred Years Have Been Great, Here's To a Hundred More

It was a hundred years ago, and things were different then.
The problems that people faced were magnified by ten.
The world spun around on an axis made of gold.
The rich open their hands to see how much they could hold.
But in Chicago, in 1905, thoughts began to form.
People convened for seven days and their ideas began to storm.
They realized the struggle for the workers would be a lengthy one,
But that doesn't mean the fight couldn't be a lot of fun.

So to my fellow workers in the mines dug in the hills,
And to my sister workers toiling away in the mills,
The centenary's here and reminds us what we're fighting for.
The first hundred years have been great, here's to a hundred more.

It was a hundred years ago, and things began to change.
The bosses could feel it take form, and they felt weak and strange,
Because the fight was on, workers knew the power they held.
With their collective might, they fought, and some of their visions gelled.
No more would they be divided up like cattle in pens.
They'd agitate, protest, picket, and do it over again.
They could feel the energy in their actions, and so can we.
We will make the world anything that we want it to be.

So to my brothers in the fight against the greedy bosses,
And to my sisters helping us all to cut our losses,
I've enjoyed the time I've spent organizing in this class war.
The first hundred years have been great, here's to a hundred more.

It's been a hundred years, and oh how many lessons we've learned.
So many picket lines marched, and false divisions burned.
The repression they faced was many times worse than it is today,
But they fought back against it, in new and exciting ways.
So come on my friends, sisters, brothers, it's gonna take you all,
But together we'll make the ivory towers of the elite fall.
I can already see the foundations beginning to crack.
With all of us united together, nothing will hold us back.

So to my friends with the same great visions in their eyes,
I'm enjoying this struggle with you to make them realized.
It's time well spent with you, shaking the earth to its core.
The first hundred years have been great, here's to a hundred more.

Because this thread needs less serious poetry :p

Caravan of Wonders

When from the North a cold wind blows,
Sets out the little man.
From up the ice an army grows,
To guard his caravan.

He brings his wonders far from home,
On two-score fresh snow mares.
Wee villages within a dome,
And clockwork dancing bears.

Down from the lofty mountain crowns,
They cross the frozen lake,
To visit all the little towns,
And leave joy in their wake.

Upon the caravan they spied,
Such wicked men of ire.
“To stop this spread of joy,” they cried,
“We’ll put it all to fire!”

From ‘hind the craggy rocks they flood,
And out of darkest holes,
With jagged swords that reek of blood,
And eyes that burn like coals.

The icemen into battle go,
Their blades of rime in hand.
They match the dark men blow for blow,
And fight them ‘cross the land.

The sounds of fighting pierce the air.
Clash swords and cry out death.
The icemen warring on with flair,
Till no dark man draws breath.

The people shout out “victory!”
And praise the little man.
For having such a fine army,
To guard his caravan.

From up the south a warm wind flies,
And melts the mares of snow.
The people say their fond goodbyes,
The little man must go.

Back o’er the frozen lake he goes,
Ice army melting fast.
And up he climbs the mountain’s nose,
Until he’s home at last.

When blows again the cold wind down,
He’ll come, the little man,
To visit ev’ry waiting town,
With wondrous caravan.


I don't like rhyming for long periods of time. It makes my brain hurt.

I really liked both of tweedlesbergs myself.
As to Grand Maritolls I like the ideas behind them, but (though Im not sure why) I didnt really click with the style. Not that it wasn't well written, more that my brain just locks on to certain patterns and styles that it really likes, be it in poetry, music, prose, etc.
And I also liked Moto the Wises The Future alot.
The other poems I have to stick with what i said about GMs... I liked them and they were well written for the most part, they just didnt really click for me as a whole (some verses though I did quite like)

This was up until Pure Metal...

blah... poems... here. (http://www.hlj.me.uk/mywriting.htm)

too tired to read other people's right now. though i do need to come up with a sonnet to a nose in about 10 days now... *thinks*

A nose, eh?

What is the sonnet for?

A nose, eh?

What is the sonnet for?
for fun :P
its a running joke between myself and my girlfriend, so i said i'd write her an ode to her nose for her birthday in 10 days time :)

(please don't post suggestions or whatever... much as i'd appreciate help i do want the thing to be entirely my own work for her :fluffle: )

Modern Day Cain and Abel

As cold and grey as a Rupert rain
I feel the touch of your human stain
I can't wash the smell of you off my skin
Or claw my way through this living sin

You are my weakness, my cross to bear
Burdening me with your empty prayers
Your very existence is my bane
I the Abel to your Cain

Rupert is Prince Rupert, the city i live in. It rains a lot, and it's usually cold and miserable.

(please don't post suggestions or whatever... )

Drat, you read my mind :D

I'm going to write a sonnet about a nose anyway, but I promise I won't share it here until April.

Untitled #5
We buy furniture
To express our love
But fight over the scratches
Etched in the wood

PS Why are all these other ones so monstrously long?

PS Why are all these other ones so monstrously long?
Well, the first one I posted was narrative poetry which tends to run long. The other one was a lyric poem (I think) which can also go on for quite a while.

Because this thread needs less serious poetry :p

Tale of the Urine Thief

Gather round children
I'll banish your grief
It's time for the tale
Of the great urine thief

Back in the year of two thousand and six,
The government was up to its usual tricks
They came round the city, and gathered our pee
There was no more of urine, for you or for me

Each bladder they purged
Every drop took with care
The toilets were empty
And restrooms were bare

Then one man had a plan
To get back our waste
Not at all did he dally
He hurried with haste

"I'll sneak in the prison"
He said with a grin
"And bring back our urine,
They won't know I've been in"

He silently snuck
Till he sighted the pee
Bags upon bags
Were all he could see

He snatched them all up
Just as quick as before
He would give them all back
From the rich to the poor

The pee was returned
We shouted with glee
" God Bless you Pee Thief!
A great man is ye!"

So now when you go
To piss, whiz, and pee
Remember the Pee Thief
A great man was he

I wrote this as a joke based on a news article I saw here on NS

Eh, maybe later.

PS Why are all these other ones so monstrously long?

My excuse: Sonnets are required to be 14 lines.

I
suppose
I
could
have
written
a
sonnet
like
this,
it
would
be
short.

CARS

I had a dog once,
A big black dog.
Smokey was the name I gave my dog.
But where's Smokey now?
A carcass on the road side,
And Ford's dream rolls on.

FAME

It's a long dance to grab the sun,
And you'll never do it unless it is fun.
You must go it alone,
Can't have a companion,
Nor fall in the ditch
Of reckless abandon.
Your innermost secrets must never be told,
Lest your very soul,
On tabloids is sold.

I MISS HER SOMETIMES

I ran into an old girlfriend the other day.
Then I backed up and ran into her again.
I miss her sometimes.

I MISS HER SOMETIMES

I ran into an old girlfriend the other day.
Then I backed up and ran into her again.
I miss her sometimes.

One of the greats!

There needs to be a thumbs up smilie, because the closest thing we have is rather negative... but think of it as a thumbs up, that's what it's meant as!

:upyours:

One of the greats!

There needs to be a thumbs up smilie, because the closest thing we have is rather negative... but think of it as a thumbs up, that's what it's meant as!

:upyours:

Thanks, glad you liked it.

Here's a sonnet thrown together in about 10 minutes after midnight. I know I'm going to hate myself in the morning for making this crap public...

Scientia Est Potentia

A young man said to an old man,
“Give to me your years.
I’ll make you young and strong and tan,
For you fear death as it nears.”

The old man said to the young man,
“Stop, fiend, go away,
My life is like a moon most wan,
But I’ll be born anew someday.”

The childish, devilish demon fled
And the old man knew he was safe,
Though the devil had placed a price on his head,
He would never cede to the lying wraith.

The tasks of life are many; the reprieves of life are few,
But I’ll never sell a penny of my ken away. Will you?