NationStates Jolt Archive

I know, I'm getting soft. Anybody here write poetry or find any poetry they like?

"What fires burn within my heart and force me to contend
With the perils that await me at this tragic journey's end?

I have walked the roads that lead to hell, I have challenged all but fate.
I have fought and bled and carried on just to reach this final gate.
And now the task before my looms, this dire deed undone;
I shall make my stand against the Three until the battle's won.

What fear or wound could ever still this last defiant cry,
As I stand against the Shadow 'neath the endless burning sky?"
-Vincent C. Metzen

My own was so:

"It was a quiet evening,
Another night so well,
As the tavern man was singing
Of another tale to tell.
Outside the wooden hood
Outside a place so swell,
That a grisly stand still stood,
That two bodies were to dwell.
Of a little boy of stature,
Barely anymore than ten,
Found his calling in pure nature,
His heart so pure back then.
His friend however,
Was something to commend,
He stayed in his endeavours,
Stayed strong right to the end.
They both grew up as brothers,
Of parents of separate name,
Every day they spent together,
Was worth all the times the same.
And then the south it came,
A smoke so unperturbed,
Past silver clouds the game,
Of war the undisturbed.
The boy was less than a man – but he grew of virtue’s heart,
He was a faithful soul,
Loyal from the start.
But to the other boy, his greatest friend,
To be his fiend,
To be his end,
To be an enemy, it seemed,
Something he no longer did commend.
And in this clash they found at ends,
They were both enemies, but once were friends,
With sorrow’s bitter gentle pain to soar,
They stayed apart, as foes throughout the war,
Until one day, one night like so,
One of them went down to sleep.
But in his camp, his captain roared,
That the enemy was here, the enemy behold,
In that single night, that blow,
Where blossom trees still grew,
Their subtle, supple kiss,
Of violence – through and through.
In the darkness, in his rage,
The older boy still slew,
His enemy’s broken, shattered cage,
From his blindness, death he drew.
And in the morning, in the light,
With a single glimpse he spied,
Upon the corpse, the familiar face in sight,
His only friend had died.
Within his pride, within his anger,
He could not help but cry,
That he killed his oldest friend,
That he called Death to make him die.
So aloft the tall oak tree,
His blood now left to dry,
A rope tied at the dawn past three,
His corpse then hanging by.
And so ends that tale, that quiet lore,
Of passion and sorrow’s sigh,
But one would ask – who saw nevermore?
Two brothers doomed to die."

Sorry if I'm not good at poetry - I try to do what I can.

Caravan of Wonders (http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2100963)

I do have some other poetry, but it sucks. So yer not getting it. Though maybe I should dig up that zombie limerick...

That's great. I loved it. A very good story and poem.

I love poetry. TS Eliot's The Wasteland is the ultimate poem. It pwns all others. I won't post any of my poetry, because it's really experimental, and most people don't get it.

Caravan of Wonders (http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2100963)

I do have some other poetry, but it sucks. So yer not getting it. Though maybe I should dig up that zombie limerick...

Pretty damn good - did you write that?

I wrote a lot of angsty poetry as a teenager, but despite its angsty-ness, some of it was alright - one piece even got published. Still, I'm not sharing it ;) I rarely write these days; my muse seems to have vanished over the past few years, which is something I regret.

Still, I love reading poetry. Sylvia Plath and Dylan Thomas are my favourites - Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night is probably my favourite ever poem.

"You're a poet and you didn't know it"; it's so poignant.

Here's a bit of my unmetered poetry.

There Are No Black People in China

O,
There is far off place on another continent
This may seem outlandish or impertinent
But there is a point to this description
It'll give you a detailed depiction
Of an ancient land in a place that we call Asia
With their silly sounding tongue
And their fried noodles and egg fu yung
They are a peticular little nation
With a miniscule concentration

You see,
Far off in the fields of eldest China
Compared to your native Carolina
There are very few
People who are common to
Our fellow countrymen, who
We refer to as African American
Basically, essentially
There are none at all
Not from Manchuria to Nepal
There are no black people in China

If one were to stroll down the street
One would see only tiny feet
No size tens or thirteens
Only twos, fours and inbetweens
It's rather plain there
The cities, entirely bare
Of any black people at all
Everyone is five feet tall
It's rather lonely place
Homogenous, boring
With only a single race
Without even a trace
Of those people whom we've come to adore
You've never seen a place like this, not ever before
There are more crested myna
In this strange exotic land
There are no black people in China

Step into any merchant's tent
One would see to a great extent
Only waves of friendly Chinese
And a few scattered Taiwanese
But one would never see
Is an African Ame-ri-can!
It's bare compared to Carolina
There are no black people
There are no black people
There are no black people..in....China

Just made this up on my mind.

He was a shrivelled man, a broken soul,
A saint without a heart.
He was a soft-eyed beast, a tender foe,
A pity from the start.
But within his eyes, his broken face,
His sigh of chilly discontent,
His eyes still wept, his heart still broken,
He was seeking naught but cold lament.
For he was a king, of cloven gold,
A Lord above all others,
He was a master, not to be spat upon or sold,
The greatest of his brothers.
And once upon a time he sat,
Upon a silver laden throne,
With a cup of diamond, a man of wax,
And a childhood outgrown.
The Lord of all, the king of slaves,
The master of the world,
He did not know that blackened waves
Of discontent now swirled.
Upon his throne, upon his seat,
He did not know what showed,
Before he knew it, his body beat,
His humility now glowed.
And from his hoard, another sat,
With fingers equally in gold,
His pride as large, his form as fat,
Not to be spat upon or sold.
And so this man of heaven’s will,
He was to be now dead,
But driven was, his pride and soul,
An army now he led.
Where to? To hither, to the homeland of his soul,
Where usurpers claw and traitors drink, and feast without a toll.
To now he leads, his sable words,
His age untold, unknown.
He still showed pride, amongst steel swords,
His weaknesses unsown.
And in deft stone and broken heaps he made his mark to see,
That he would not betray his people, no,
To be compassionate is he.
~~ The Tyrant’s Revelation

Just read this in English today. Pretty interesting piece I think.

We Real Cool
Gwendolyn Brooks

THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

The lyrics to some of tull's songs:


Walking on velvet green. Scots pine growing.
Isn't it rare to be taking the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. Distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.
Won't you have my company, yes, take it in your hands.
Go down on velvet green, with a country man.
Who's a young girls fancy and an old maid's dream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.
One dusky half-hour's ride up to the north.
There lies your reputation and all that you're worth.
Where the scent of wild roses turns the milk to cream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.
And the long grass blows in the evening cool.
And August's rare delight may be April's fool.
But think not of that, my love,
I'm tight against the seam.
And I'm growing up to meet you down on velvet green.
Now I may tell you that it's love and not just lust.
And if we live the lie, let's lie in trust.
On golden daffodils, to catch the silver stream
that washes out the wild oat seed on velvet green.
We'll dream as lovers under the stars ---
of civilizations raging afar.
And the ragged dawn breaks on your battle scars.
As you walk home cold and alone upon velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. Scots pine growing.
Isn't it rare to be taking the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. Distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.


Imagine that set to an swesome tune.

Pretty damn good - did you write that?

I did indeed. Somehow. Rhyming and actually making sense is difficult. Which is probably why songs that rhyme are often full of nonsense.

I did indeed. Somehow. Rhyming and actually making sense is difficult. Which is probably why songs that rhyme are often full of nonsense.

Haha, true.

Here's my poem:
Death
So close, yet so far
loved and hated
liked and feared
as if it was the good and the bad
a force that just had-
but lost
lost in our love
lost in our hate
Is this what we call fate?
perhaps
perhaps not
All I know is that death-
it's the beginning and the end
the new and the old
the good and the bad
my sun and moon
my joy and pain
the answer and the question
Life's answer and question
what happens?
I know not
nor do you
Our bodies rot, but what of our mind?
Does it cease?
Does it think on?
Does it freeze or burn?
Can it still see-
What's what and who's who?
Questions yet answered
Questions yet answered

Questions
So many unanswered
The very subject of death burns my soul
yet heals it
hurts, yet heals
harms, yet helps
Perhaps fire is a better symbol than a skull
all-consuming flames
symbolizing two different concepts
salvation and damnation
life and death
Even from the safety of my room, the question burns-
with a pain like no other
My brain aches me at the subject
of the concept of death
itself a contradiction since no one dies
They move on
where?
I know not
When?
depends
depends on alot of things
On our culture and traditions
thoughts and styles
a never-ending journey
into the minds and souls
of us and everyone around us
A journey never ending
A journey never ending
--------------------------------------------------------
As you can see, I've written a poem today.

As you can see, I've written a poem today.

Indeed, you have.

And because I'm bored, here's the rest of my poetry assignment of varying degrees of quality:

First one-

He is a rock, within a river of flesh.
The people part about him,
Flow around to rejoin on the other side.
They glance, question silently,
but none stop, none talk,
For they sense that he is different.

A wolf among the sheep,
He wades through the flock, seeking prey.
He spots target, draws weapon.
The flock panics, scatters, screams.
And thunder crack once, twice,
and life is stolen.
In the panic, like a shadow,
he slips away.


Second one-

-Cut for not formatting properly-


And finally... zombies!

He was far too stubborn to die,
Unwilling to, in his crypt, lie.
He came back a zombie,
And ate up Joe Plomby,
In a sandwich of lettuce and rye.

Well, his neighbours all thought he was mean,
Because he craved fresh human spleen,
So they cut him a deal,
To find non-human meals,
And he found he quite liked Soylent Green.

The second verse annoys me, because the 3rd and 4th line don't rhyme properly.

Aedh Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

by William Butler Yeats.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.



As in the inspiring writing thread, I just love this poem, just gives me the chills.

We need to vote for the top ten to be placed in a poll for all to vote. No voting for self. Those won't get counted.

We need to vote for the top ten to be placed in a poll for all to vote. No voting for self. Those won't get counted.

Who chooses the top ten? It would get confusing for people to vote for the top ten upon which they're going to vote. Heh.

Who chooses the top ten? It would get confusing for people to vote for the top ten upon which they're going to vote. Heh.
We'll have a vote. Maybe we'll just choose ten from this thread.

I recently bought a CD of poets reading their own poetry, and the first one was a copy of a wax cylinder from the 1890s of Walt Whitman reading a short poem of his called America. This knocked my socks off! His accent and voice are amazing: something between midwestern, Virginian, and old New York (FDR + Jackie Onassis). Here's the poem:

America
*
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear'd, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love,
A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother,
Chair'd in the adamant of Time.

some of mine (the few finished ones) (http://www.hlj.me.uk/mywriting.htm)

and before someone calls them "angsty", most of them are from year 1 of my 2 year run-in with clinical depression. not much fun reading them again now... i can very much remember writing each one... especially the Haiku - remember that so very vividly...


think this one (http://www.hlj.me.uk/Docs/Lost.htm) sums things up pretty well

Temple Resurgent

Amidst ancient fields, scarred by battle long forlorn
Land scorched by wrath of vengeful Furies
In yonder distance, against crimson canvas
It stands erect, in ruins, barely alive

Temple abandoned by its own gods
Its altar empty, yet sacred and pure
Resonating silence eternally its sermons
Last rays of harsh winter sun illuminating glass tainted and stained

Defying the Furies, hearkening to the silence that reigns
The Pilgrim approaches, concealed, enrobed
He enters the ruins, trenching through garden of thorns
To Altar he goes, pious, unswerving

Robes he casts aside, chest baring, eyes burning with fervour
Upon Altar he places his beating heart, vibrant, powerful
Temple resurgent, Temple alive
Forevermore, Temple and Pilgrim are One

This temple, my body, once more holy and revived…


One I wrote a few months ago...not that into poetry.

Temple Resurgent

Amidst ancient fields, scarred by battle long forlorn
Land scorched by wrath of vengeful Furies
In yonder distance, against crimson canvas
It stands erect, in ruins, barely alive

Temple abandoned by its own gods
Its altar empty, yet sacred and pure
Resonating silence eternally its sermons
Last rays of harsh winter sun illuminating glass tainted and stained

Defying the Furies, hearkening to the silence that reigns
The Pilgrim approaches, concealed, enrobed
He enters the ruins, trenching through garden of thorns
To Altar he goes, pious, unswerving

Robes he casts aside, chest baring, eyes burning with fervour
Upon Altar he places his beating heart, vibrant, powerful
Temple resurgent, Temple alive
Forevermore, Temple and Pilgrim are One

This temple, my body, once more holy and revived…


One I wrote a few months ago...not that into poetry.
i like that a lot - very powerful wording and good strong, dark subjet-matter :)
and interesting pentameter... keeps you interested (though the lines which go "Resonating silence eternally its sermons
Last rays of harsh winter sun illuminating glass tainted and stained" don't read all that easily - just mho)

i like that a lot - very powerful wording and good strong, dark subjet-matter :)
and interesting pentameter... keeps you interested (though the lines which go "Resonating silence eternally its sermons
Last rays of harsh winter sun illuminating glass tainted and stained" don't read all that easily - just mho)
Thanks. Like I said though I'm not really into poetry, so I don't know much about its more technical aspects (like how well it would read).

Thanks. Like I said though I'm not really into poetry, so I don't know much about its more technical aspects (like how well it would read).
well i say you did a good job there. i'm not up on technical bits either (just what i remember from english class) so, technically, i'm not the best judge, but i still liked it :)


though while we're on poetry and things: http://website.lineone.net/~nusquam/wpbywar.htm

Yeats has always been my favourite.
This one in particular:

An Irish Airman Foresees his Death

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.


Simple, but touching.

The first poem is to my girlfriend, mostly just me calling myself stupid for not realising that she liked me....

BLIND


All this time I thought I could see,
But I sat here blind to what was in front of me.
All this time wasted, being blind,
The love I searched for was easy to find.

I always thought myself smart,
But I did not know what was inside my heart,
You showed me what love could be,
There is no longer any fear in me.

Thank you for showing me,
This life that I could never see.
All these thoughts within my mind,
I have wasted so much time.

You taught me finally about love,
And with your help, I rose above.
I have finally lost all my fear,
And my mind has never been more clear.

I love you with a burning desire,
My soul feels like it’s on fire.
This is when my life truly begins,
Because I love you, Megan.

This one is before I knew she liked me..... so it's considerably..erm.. darker....lol.
LOVE

What is love?
What is life with it?
A romantic’s painful hell.
What is life without it?
A dark and lonely shell.
Life without love,
Is it truly life?
Or is it all just in our heads?

Emotion of sin, poison and lust,
Love resides within all,
Something all should not trust.
A swirling pool of lies and truths,
Where nobody’s life is spared,
Some feel the feelings, a stomach full of lead,
While others close themselves, and hate until they’re dead.

Love, to me, is nothing.
I feel not the feelings of lesser men.
And hollowness is my home.
I feel that feelings, when brought to an end,
Usually end at the foot of a tomb.
I am a person, with beating heart inside of me,
But my heart is, I fear, my most terrible enemy.

I think of life and feel it’s pain,
Throbbing in my hollow chest,
Driving me insane.

So what is love, I ask again?
A teeming pit, full of sin.
This pit sits where my heart should be,
It is my soul, my enemy……..

....yeah... I was scared of love.:headbang:

I did indeed. Somehow. Rhyming and actually making sense is difficult. Which is probably why songs that rhyme are often full of nonsense.

Of all the fish that swin the seas
Id rather be the bass
Id climb to the top of the seaweed trees
And slide down on my
Hands and knees

~Unknown~ at least unknown by me.

*clears throat*
First one from Robert Frost:
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

To See A World In A Grain Of Sand
William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

I think two shall suffice for now. More later.

These are my favorite poems:

Augeries of Innocence-William Blake
September, 1939-W.H. Auden
Dreams-Langston Hughes
Annabel Lee-Edgar Allan Poe
Sonnet 18-William Shakespeare
How Do I Love Thee?-Elizabeth Barrett Browning
She Walks in Beauty-Lord Byron
Ode on a Grecian Urn-John Keats

I write poetry all the time, here is one free-verse and one made up of rhyming couplets. I could probably find better ones in each genre, but i have to leave in a few minutes.

No Apologies

I'm not going to apologize
For stating how i feel
I refuse to compromise
What it is i stand for
I will never abandon my ideals
In order to placate the masses
Or silence myself
Because you disagree
My opinions are my own
And need no validation from the world
I will not be blindly led
Lik a lamb to the slaughter
Because my thoughts are not for sale

Fallen Angel

Somewhere there's an angel with broken wings
Who's forgotten the song his heart used to sing
His halo is bent and has lost its shine
He's been forgotten and is falling behind

Somehow he's fallen from God's good grace
And now feels out of time and place
He doesn't understand mankind
And stumbles around as if he's blind

I wrote a lot of angsty poetry as a teenager, but despite its angsty-ness, some of it was alright - one piece even got published. Still, I'm not sharing it ;) I rarely write these days; my muse seems to have vanished over the past few years, which is something I regret.

Still, I love reading poetry. Sylvia Plath and Dylan Thomas are my favourites - Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night is probably my favourite ever poem.
Very good piece. I have a copy of it nearby if you should like me to post it.

I did indeed. Somehow. Rhyming and actually making sense is difficult. Which is probably why songs that rhyme are often full of nonsense.
I think that rhyming altogether is not very important. Sometimes it adds to the feeling, making the text a little bit like a fairytale, but generally, even in poetry, I dislike it a lot.

For those of us who like Shakespeare so much, my favorite Sonnet 106:

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights;
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have exprest
Ev'n such a beauty as you master now.
so all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all, you prefiguring.
And for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

I think that rhyming altogether is not very important. Sometimes it adds to the feeling, making the text a little bit like a fairytale, but generally, even in poetry, I dislike it a lot.
It's entirely a matter of style, which prompts me to post some of my own poetry now.

Queen of Athens
by Fascist Dominion (TG me if you want my real name and I'll consider it)

Ephemeral shades of you emanate from hollow corridors
Harrowed with beast-crested columns.
I, in your wind-swept tomb,
Shackled by memories of you
In your great-walled city,
Pacing through shattered golden rays
Splashed across eroded stone,
My immortal chains made fast to
Moirai threads and Moira’s visions:
Bronze-capped shaft two lovers’ hearts transfixed.
Yours bled dry, speeding to Hades’ Gates,
Mine pinned to mortal coil, forever damned, soul despoiled.
Ne’er, though, did sword arm falter
In its bladed dance,
Nor fail assassin’s flesh to pierce,
The bronzed length become passion’s lance.
Defer thy wanton gaze from my malignant state.
Oh, pallid cheek belying Athena’s grace,
With tender breath this place depart,
Forsaking my embrace.

Jesse the Vamyress
By Fascist Dominion

My name is Jesse;
That of an ordinary girl.
Not one so special
As my tale will unfurl.

Once was I Jesse;
At any rate.
Now am I the Vampyress,
Called so by Fate.

My practice is Wiccan.
To many, witchery most foul.
It is to me
A dark healing pow’r.

I’m the first to admit
Life isn’t a ball.
My name is Jesse;
Not ordinary after all.

Jesse and This Guy
By Fascist Dominion

Today I met this guy.
I don’t remember his name yet,
But that’s to be expected
When using the Net.

He wants to listen.
That’s just fine.
What caught his attention?
My strange tag line.

“The Moon is my Sun,
The Night is my Day.
Blood is my Life,
You are my Prey!”

I know him
Still not very well.
He can’t be too bad
To share in my Hell.

At the Heavens I gaze,
Never long to stay.
Broken and withered;
I’ve lost my way.

He carved a path out before me,
Taught me never to fret.
I owe my life to
This guy that I met.

Jesse and her Boyfriend
By Fascist Dominion

I have a boyfriend,
Had one at least.
He betrayed me
Like some crazed beast.

By both friend and foe;
He is well-liked.
Those who hate him
Want his head on a pike.

Nothing lasts forever
They made me see.
I wanted to believe,
No longer for me.

As he well new;
I madly loved him.
As it turns out,
He’s best as a friend.

Jesse and the Psychiatrist
By Fascist Dominion

I wasn’t feeling too bad,
Just a little depressed.
Not really sure why
Life seemed as a mess.

Saw a Psychiatrist.
He had much to say,
Talk to these people
Then be on your way.

Of course, I replied,
As you desire.
Guarantee you;
Can’t quench my fire.

My name is Jane.
My name is Osirus.
I said unto them,
Call me the Vampyress.

What’s wrong with you?
Questioned the group.
Seemed so important
To stay in the loop.

I had naturally
One thing to say.
What do you care?
I’m not gonna stay.


See? It's a matter of style. Rhyming can make a world of difference with poetry. Everything changes the nature of the poem.

It's entirely a matter of style, which prompts me to post some of my own poetry now.

Queen of Athens
by Fascist Dominion (TG me if you want my real name and I'll consider it)

Ephemeral shades of you emanate from hollow corridors
Harrowed with beast-crested columns.
I, in your wind-swept tomb,
Shackled by memories of you
In your great-walled city,
Pacing through shattered golden rays
Splashed across eroded stone,
My immortal chains made fast to
Moirai threads and Moira’s visions:
Bronze-capped shaft two lovers’ hearts transfixed.
Yours bled dry, speeding to Hades’ Gates,
Mine pinned to mortal coil, forever damned, soul despoiled.
Ne’er, though, did sword arm falter
In its bladed dance,
Nor fail assassin’s flesh to pierce,
The bronzed length become passion’s lance.
Defer thy wanton gaze from my malignant state.
Oh, pallid cheek belying Athena’s grace,
With tender breath this place depart,
Forsaking my embrace.

I love this one... *poetry freak*

I guess I should give up one of my own.

“The Unbeliever’s Tale”

Confounded by the world
Constantly moving
Turning, changing.
Why must it be so?
How did this come to be so?
When did this come to be so?
What made this come to be so?
Ah, I see it.
It is something I cannot control.
It is something I know nothing of.
Because of this
Let me consider it to be higher than myself.
Let me pray
Let me grovel
And let my fellow man take advantage of me
All in the name of this wonderful dream.

~because I am a bitter person.

Untitled

There stands the beauteous rose
Forever in an elegant pose
Acting the blood-red fool
Destined to achieve the state of ghoul
As chalked as bone
Petals now un-sown
She refuses to relent
And will never be content
To surrender
So is bound to ever act the pretender.

There is a ton more, because when I am bored in class, I write poetry. I suck at doodling, so...

BTW: fav Shakespearean sonnet is #68.

Find it yourself.

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.

(written because I got tired of people treating the earth like a multipurpose garbage can.)

I love this one... *poetry freak*
It's my latest. My pride and joy. :fluffle:
Wait, you a poetry freak, or me?:confused:
*shrugs* Prolly both.

It's my latest. My pride and joy. :fluffle:
Wait, you a poetry freak, or me?:confused:
*shrugs* Prolly both.

:fluffle:

Both of us, indeed. :D

I guess I should give up one of my own.

Untitled

There stands the beauteous rose
Forever in an elegant pose
Acting the blood-red fool
Destined to achieve the state of ghoul
As chalked as bone
Petals now un-sown
She refuses to relent
And will never be content
To surrender
So is bound to ever act the pretender.

There is a ton more, because when I am bored in class, I write poetry. I suck at doodling, so...
This one is rather good. Need help with the title?
I do the same in class. I wrote another decent one during my TA period, but I'll have to find it.
*rummages through old school papers*

:fluffle:

Both of us, indeed. :D
I thought as much.:fluffle:
I hope BritSter sees all these fluffles.:p

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.

(written because I got tired of people treating the earth like a multipurpose garbage can.)
A Sioux once wrote something to the effect of this:
When the last tree is cut down,
When the last river dries up,
When the last fish is caught,
Only then will you realize money cannot be eaten.

A Sioux once wrote something to the effect of this:
When the last tree is cut down,
When the last river dries up,
When the last fish is caught,
Only then will you realize money cannot be eaten.

That shall be going up in the locker next year...

I think I have tone things down a little next year, so far as putting things in my locker goes...

I mean, people have pictures of themselves half-naked, but I get told off for putting anti-religious things up...no, not "anarcy baby" (far too lame). But the poem aforeposted. And other things, things mocking Stockwell Day...and a comic of an agnostic cemetary....instead of crosses, there are question marks...:D

That shall be going up in the locker next year...

I think I have tone things down a little next year, so far as putting things in my locker goes...

I mean, people have pictures of themselves half-naked, but I get told off for putting anti-religious things up...no, not "anarcy baby" (far too lame). But the poem aforeposted. And other things, things mocking Stockwell Day...and a comic of an agnostic cemetary....instead of crosses, there are question marks...:D
Hey, I have a picture of a wooden cross being burned from camping last year. Do you want to borrow it? :D

Hey, I have a picture of a wooden cross being burned from camping last year. Do you want to borrow it? :D

I may be kicked out of school for it...wait a minute...GIMMIE GIMMIE!

*thread successfully spammed*

I may be kicked out of school for it...wait a minute...GIMMIE GIMMIE!

*thread successfully spammed*
It's saved on my dad's office computer. I'll have to bug him constantly to get the picture.

mwahahahahaha. The two of us together is unstoppable! *high fives Tweety*

It's saved on my dad's office computer. I'll have to bug him constantly to get the picture.

mwahahahahaha. The two of us together is unstoppable! *high fives Tweety*

*low-five's the Lady*

*low-five's the Lady*
btw, your post count seems to have increased significantly. *nods* :D

btw, your post count seems to have increased significantly. *nods* :D

I am following in your footsteps Lady...

I am following in your footsteps Lady...
*nods*

You have learned well, young grasshopper.

*nods*

You have learned well, young grasshopper.
I'm a poet. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=11068625&postcount=476)

That shall be going up in the locker next year...

I think I have tone things down a little next year, so far as putting things in my locker goes...

I mean, people have pictures of themselves half-naked, but I get told off for putting anti-religious things up...no, not "anarcy baby" (far too lame). But the poem aforeposted. And other things, things mocking Stockwell Day...and a comic of an agnostic cemetary....instead of crosses, there are question marks...:D
LOL That's great. People have no sense of humor these days. "One minute it's all 'please and thank you,' the next they'll kick you in the teeth."

*nods*

You have learned well, young grasshopper.

Only well?

I guess it has not ended yet, has it Master Lady?

Only well?

I guess it has not ended yet, has it Master Lady?
Of course not. You still have much more gruesome training to go through.

Of course not. You still have much more gruesome training to go through.

Curses.

Of course not. You still have much more gruesome training to go through.
*coughcough*
I'm not interupting anything here, am I ladies?

*coughcough*
I'm not interupting anything here, am I ladies?
Nope. Would you like me to train you in the ways of spam as well? :p

*coughcough*
I'm not interupting anything here, am I ladies?

Of course not!

I must say I'm a fan of modernist poetry myself.

So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow
glazed with rainwater
beside the white chickens

-William Carlos Williams

I have stayed up many nights pondering the meaning of this beautiful poem. At times I imagine the red wheelbarrow to represent true communism, and the white chickens to be the capitalist oppressors, and the rainwater to be the human spirit. Other times I imagine the wheelbarrow to be George Bush, and the chickens to be Kim Jong Il and Osama Bin Laden. The rainwater, of course, is pretzels, his most deadly foe.

Nope. Would you like me to train you in the ways of spam as well? :p

*cries*

I thought I was your only one! You promised!

*cries*

Nope. Would you like me to train you in the ways of spam as well? :p
No thanks. I seem to be doing well enough on my own. Turns out, I've always spammed conversations IRL, so it's working out really well here.:D

*cries*

I thought I was your only one! You promised!

*cries*
(hug)

You're still the only one. FD turned down my offer anyway. Don't cry. You'll always be special. :(

*cries*

I thought I was your only one! You promised!

*cries*
Gah! More crying! Stop that! :fluffle:

(hug)

You're still the only one. FD turned down my offer anyway. Don't cry. You'll always be special. :(

*sniff sniff*

You promise?

Gah! More crying! Stop that! :fluffle:

:fluffle:

Fluffles for all!

*sniff sniff*

You promise?
cross my heart, hope to die; stick a needle in my eye.

cross my heart, hope to die; stick a needle in my eye.

*sticks needle into Lady's eye*

:fluffle:

Fluffles for all!
Thank the gods she stopped crying.I mean, yay fluffles!:fluffle:

*sticks needle into Lady's eye*
Ow! MY EYE! *cries*

Ow! MY EYE! *cries*

:fluffle:?

Thank the gods she stopped crying.I mean, yay fluffles!:fluffle:

:D

Ow! MY EYE! *cries*
Aww, not another one!
*scowls at Tweety*

The Fluffle is grand
but alas, they are no more
because eye got poked

The Fluffle is grand
but alas, they are no more
because eye got poked
Just for that:

Singe with fire the flesh,
Sacrifice to the Goddess.
Immolate the rest.

:fluffle:?
Fluffles to you too
but this isn't the Haiku thread
so what's going on?

:D
Thought you'd like that.:cool:

Aww, not another one!
*scowls at Tweety*

*cries*

Please don't scold! I didn't mean it! She told me to!

Fluffles to you too
but this isn't the Haiku thread
so what's going on?

What is your point
haikus are everywhere around us
open eyes, venus

*cries*

Please don't scold! I didn't mean it! She told me to!
Then please get the shotgun. I want you to remove the upper portion of my cranium before the crying makes me do it myself.

What is your point
haikus are everywhere around us
open eyes, venus

Venus?

I beg to differ.
And no, that was not a haiku.
Nor is this. At all.

Then please get the shotgun. I want you to remove the upper portion of my cranium before the crying makes me do it myself.

As long as I can say that Courtney Love did it...

*clears throat*
First one from Robert Frost:
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.



Here's a recording of Robert Frost reciting Fire and ice

http://www.freeinfosociety.com/sounds/robertfrost-fireandice.mp3

Then please get the shotgun. I want you to remove the upper portion of my cranium before the crying makes me do it myself.
Don't you dare hurt my Tweety. *grabs FD by the collar and puts her dagger against his throat*

As long as I can say that Courtney Love did it...
Never mind. Things seem to be improving a bit. I wouldn't want to miss out on any of your pleasant company, after all.

Don't you dare hurt my Tweety. *grabs FD by the collar and puts her dagger against his throat*

*claps hand excitedly*

A most wonderful show, my dear people!
Wilt thou not make a fair duel of it lass?

Here's a recording of Robert Frost reciting Fire and ice

http://www.freeinfosociety.com/sounds/robertfrost-fireandice.mp3
Thanks, guy.

Don't you dare hurt my Tweety. *grabs FD by the collar and puts her dagger against his throat*
I wasn't going to hurt her; I was going to have her hurt me.:rolleyes:
*evaporates in black flames, searing the Lady*
*rematerializes behind her*
It isn't wise to unjustly accuse the Darkness Flame...er, Fascist Dominion.

*claps hand excitedly*

A most wonderful show, my dear people!
Wilt thou not make a fair duel of it lass?
Hey! How can you take sides like that!? I was trying to do us all a favor, but NO, we wouldn't want that would we!?:mad:
*lapses into seizures and foams at the mouth*

Thanks, guy.

Da nada

I wasn't going to hurt her; I was going to have her hurt me.:rolleyes:
*evaporates in black flames, searing the Lady*
*rematerializes behind her*
It isn't wise to unjustly accuse the Darkness Flame...er, Fascist Dominion.
Your little trick won't work on me.
*turns into a bee and starts stinging FD*

Da nada
Wie du es willst.

Hey! How can you take sides like that!? I was trying to do us all a favor, but NO, we wouldn't want that would we!?:mad:
*lapses into seizures and foams at the mouth*

But..I told her to make a fair fight of it! :(

Your little trick won't work on me.
*turns into a bee and starts stinging FD*
Ha! This is nothing compared to being stung in the eye as a child!
*catches the Lady bee in a peanut butter crackers wrapper*
Just like the good old days. *sighs with nostalgia*
Now, if I let you go, do you promise to be your abnormal, spamming self?

But..I told her to make a fair fight of it! :(
You can't consider sending a Lady to fight me fair! No one can beat me! They all get tired of my whining first....

Ha! This is nothing compared to being stung in the eye as a child!
*catches the Lady bee in a peanut butter crackers wrapper*
Just like the good old days. *sighs with nostalgia*
Now, if I let you go, do you promise to be your abnormal, spamming self?
*turns into a wolf and bites FD's leg*

You can't consider sending a Lady to fight me fair! No one can beat me! They all get tired of my whining first....

NOTE: The Lady is a WOMAN. SHe can out-whine you from here till Dooms Day.

*turns into a wolf and bites FD's leg*
Hope you enjoyed a mouthful of FIRE! Weren't you paying attention? Oh well.
*morphs into namesake: wolf with shield*
Two can play at this game, upstart weakling.

NOTE: The Lady is a WOMAN. SHe can out-whine you from here till Dooms Day.
Wrong! I've lived with nothing but women for most of my life AND have a Jew for a friend. I'm pretty sure I can whine myself to a position of world dominion.

Wrong! I've lived with nothing but women for most of my life AND have a Jew for a friend. I'm pretty sure I can whine myself to a position of world dominion.

Huh?

Huh?
What?

What?

Never mind.

Ah, sweet sweet haikus
poetry of mind and soul
Let it free your mind

Never mind.
Never mind what? It's a lot easier to not mind something if I know what it is I'm not minding.

Never mind what? It's a lot easier to not mind something if I know what it is I'm not minding.

Oooh, nice logic. But really, I am starting to get confused meself (not a typo).

Oooh, nice logic. But really, I am starting to get confused meself (not a typo).
Then you'd better explain yourself before I confuse the both of us.:D

Then you'd better explain yourself before I confuse the both of us.:D

I believe no explanation is neccessary for such situations.

I believe no explanation is neccessary for such situations.
Prolly not. Hasn't mattered since my response....