[Baverel]

Lather;199403 said:

The Coat In The Boat


For years I went wearing a coat that I borrowed
and would not return it for fear of exposing
that no one could see me, made out like a bandit,
disguised and intriguing, I lay where I landed,

but, now and again I would listen for something,
a fin in the wake of a boat I remembered,
and sank like a shadow whenever it neared me,
clear and distinctive, like a name I was given,

sewn into the collar, hemmed into the lining,
and time was deceiving, the coat growing thinner,
I entered the mainstream without ever knowing
there were rats in the galley and no one was rowing,
there were rats in the galley and no one was rowing.

For years I belonged to that moth-eaten stranger,
my hair full of tangles and no comb to pull
through the fury that gnawed at the crumbs I let fall
from the cake I was eating and kept on repeating
there’s a vessel afloat underneath all this coat!
there’s a vessel afloat underneath all this coat!

And this as well, Lather. (I don't mean 'as well' in the second-best-sense. It's good. And I know this is way too late as well but I can't do anything about that NOW can I )

[Elan Morin Tedronai]

Inspired by SE, the part in BH where Torahaval remembers her brother Quick Ben having nightmares as a kid.

Forgotten

I can see you, wandering around
Died and buried, but walking still
Clinging to life for an unknown reason
As if there was something left to fulfill

Why havent you moved on, I ask
And you answer in a voice, so rotten
sending a shiver down my spine
"What? What have I forgotten?"

Forever striding the mortal world
Searching for something you forgot
Unable to remember, whatever you do
All your efforts are for naught

With that question on your ghastly lips
Your curse is to wander, forever alone
Delivering it to every single person
But the answer will always be unknown

For I know what you are looking for
and it's something none living can give
Because, just like every other ghost
you have forgotten how to live

[Lather]

Shryval;217915 said:

For me, by far the best and most enjoyable poem of the last dozen or so pages of this thread that I've read.

Brilliant work, Lather.

Baverel;221640 said:

And this as well, Lather. (I don't mean 'as well' in the second-best-sense. It's good. And I know this is way too late as well but I can't do anything about that NOW can I )

wow!! thanks to you both Shryval and Baverel!!

[Called-by-the-Voices]

A PISS

Where am I?
Where's youthful sky?
Am I really studdering?
Or was I only dreaming?

Feeling old in this torn up world
Is like pissing in the wind:

You can try and try and try,
But you'll never be dry....

[Gimli's love child]

I only really like to write songs however I came across this in a James Joyce book and it really struck a chord, what you think?

Are you not weary of ardent ways,
Lure of the fallen seraphim?
Tell no more of enchanted days.
Your eyes have set man's heart ablaze
And you have had your will of him.
Are you not weary of ardent ways?

Above the flame the smoke of praise
Goes up from ocean rim to rim.
Tell no more of enchanted days.

Our broken cries and mournful lays
Rise in one eucharistic hymn.
Are you not weary of ardent ways?

While sacrificing hands upraise
The chalice flowing to the brim,
Tell no more of enchanted days.

And still you hold our longing gaze
With languorous look and lavish limb!
Are you not weary of ardent ways?
Tell no more of enchanted days.

And just for a laugh I thought I'd throw one o me songs up too:

Watch the wind

Just one step at a time I wait
Ten thousand years gone by
Still me and you dance all night

(Chorus)
And I sing,
To see what tomorrow brings,
And I sing,
To see what the wind blows in,

Hearts racing, I’m chasing
You anywhere I run,
Seeing you smile warms me
More than the sun, what will be?

(Chorus)

Got craving, sustaining,
Me through each day without you
And still I will show, I strive,
With you I’m alive, love too?

And we sing,
To see what tomorrow brings,
And we sing,
To see what the wind blows in,

[Slum]

Since we're posting the work of others, I like this one:


Cain got a milk-eyed mule from the auction
Abel got a telephone
And even the last of the blue-eyed babies know
That the burning man is the color of the end of day
And how every tongue that gets bit always has another word to say

Cain bought a blade from some witch at the window
Abel bought a bag of weed
And even the last of the brown-eyed babies see
That the cartoon king has a tattoo of a bleeding heart
There ain’t a penthouse Christian wants the pain of the scab, but they all want the scar
How every mouth sings of what it’s without so we all sing of love
And how it ain’t one dog who’s good at fucking and denying who he’s thinking of

Cain heard a cat tumble limp off the rooftop
Abel heard his papa pray
And even the last of the black-eyed babies say
That every saint has a chair you can borrow and a church to sell
That the wind blows cold across the back of the master and the kitchen help
There’s a big pile of innocent bones still holding up the garden wall
And it was always the broken hand we learned to lean on after all
How God knows if Christ came back he would find us in a poker game
After finding out the drugs were all free but they won't let you out the door again

[Orfantal]

Baverel;221633 said:

I know this was ages ago, but this is good, Orfantal.

Aww thanks Bavvy

[Baverel]

you're welcome.

[K'orladis]

Just something i found lying around uselessly on my computer, i thought i could use some critisism on my poetry anywyas...

...It's called Keenest Blind Eye



Shadowy taverns on a sunken pier
Bleakly outline for only the keenest blind eye
A creation of passion and the excitement of love
And the whispering sensation of a lengthening pride

Drunkards dance with an emotional fervour
As lovers flow in and out of useless dreams
Hope is lost as silk dresses dance
Dreams are crushed as polished shoes trot

We are being danced upon

Look up into the chandelier and be ridiculed
The light will only keep you in the dark
Let not the ‘tender set his cursed gaze on you
Only fools and puppets laugh for him

We are being danced upon

Shouts fill the air as the walls are coming down
In a revolutionized performance the floor pushes up
It rises still, gnawing on perfumed ankles
Until one being becomes indistinguishable from the next

We are rising

The music begins again, anew in its terror
Our ear drums are ringing, power surging through them
Involuntary movements and a memorisable tune
Sensations unknown bewilder and confuse

We are dancing

[Wordmerchant]

Shape Changers
"Between the retina and the higher centers of the cortex,the innocence of vision is irretrievably lost..." Arthur Koestler; The Act of Creation

Now comes the wild hunt, fearsome in its eyes,
their flesh formed of necessity and the earth.
Living in the storm between certainty and change
they raise their arms to ward the thunder.

To one whose touch calls fathered scars
no gods outweigh the mirror's view.
On the narrow lane between eye and brain
lies the grave of innocent vision.

[Leoman]

So I wrote my first piece of poetry that I feel is at least half decent, and decided to ressurect the thread!
Any honest feedback would be much appreciated.

I saw a tiny ant today
it crawled across my hand.
A long, arduous journey
for my undaunted friend.

It reminded me of perception
and the way we see the world.
it reminded me of the beauty
of very simple things.

[Wordmerchant]

Leoman, on Mar 1 2009, 04:19 AM, said:

So I wrote my first piece of poetry that I feel is at least half decent, and decided to ressurect the thread!
Any honest feedback would be much appreciated.

I saw a tiny ant today
it crawled across my hand.
A long, arduous journey
for my undaunted friend.

It reminded me of perception
and the way we see the world.
it reminded me of the beauty
of very simple things.

This works very well as what it is - A simple poem about a simple thing. What sets it above most poems of this ilk is its extension of consciousness from the simple to the complex. Well played.

My initial reaction was to be put off by the change in S2;L1 from what was essentially an iambic structure, but the more I looked at it, the more this variant calls attention to this particular line and increases its importance. Again, well played.

As it stands I consider it complete and would probably leave it alone.

[Leoman]

Thanks very much, now I must go google waht iambic structure is

[Grimjust Bearegular]

I'll post one of my favourite poems:

The Windhover
By Gerard manley Hopkins

I caught this morning morning's minion, king -
dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, - the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!


Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!


No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.





Carrion Comfort
By Gerard Manley Hopkins


Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist--slack they may be--these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee
and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? The hero whose heaven-handling flung me,
fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night,
that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

This post has been edited by Grimhilde: 12 March 2009 - 12:29 PM

[Tarcanus]

This is great, a poetry thread!

These are more prose than poetry, I think, but let me know what you think.


Moon
The moon is waning and I’ve only seen it like this once before.
The ground is littered with the pale shadows of a fading body.
Fading is more a phase of existence than an action.
It’s an image distancing itself in a fog.
Invisible, but not gone.
Once before, the orb fell.
It fell in a silent wail written in the rippling rhythms of its shine.
I was the only one to see, others being blinded.
The surrounding desert, its individual grains crying out as if to repel the falling one with their voices,
Trembled in ecstasy as it pierced the wavering heat haze on the horizon.
I screamed as well, seeing an believing the import.
A sunrise is a waning moon, its dying tears liquid fire signaling a fading.

Firefly Garden

I was in the sky and saw the destruction.
Below lay a firefly garden.
Each flickers out of tune with my expectations
Into and out of sight.
Some-drawn with vigorous power-must have jumped canvas.
I have lost sight of my path to here.
Never lost is the firefly garden.
An outstretched hand is a perch and I squint to see.
All is not well and all cannot be forgotten.
I have never seen such destruction-not knowingly.
Tonight, I know and see.
Fireflies alight on trees and the tree questions its presence.
“We are new and we can see to the further from now,” they reply.
“What do you see?” the trees question.
“More.”
I see less of what matters.
More ignorance.
Looking to forever I see nothing.
And no ignorance.

Iron Buildings

Future is an iron building of constituent parts
One without another weakens
As a whole, I die.
Steel girders of steel will-sheer will.
Block the repair crew and blind the rat-race from decomposition.
The composition of what is threatened is everything of who I am
See the rainforest and cry.
Weep for the loss of self and loneliness of those who remain
Send seeds to repopulate – grasp for meaning – grope for companionship
No. No. Not physically.
But watch the vessels yearn for everything it can’t want
And will always have.

Butterfly

Today I mourned the loss of a butterfly.
I saw it before my car hit it, and it was struggling to go higher - out of the way.
There was no body or wings when I looked for it when I got home.
I buried it beneath a sapling in my front yard that died during the summer heat.
Lacking the butterfly, I buried my thoughts among the dry roots of the sapling.
Often, I admit to being able to kill.
A goat.
A cow.
A chicken.
Yet I become maudlin over an insect.
I once held a firefly in my upheld palm and watched it pulse its healthy beat.
My thoughts focused on how I would have more trouble killing the firefly than the cow.
Perhaps I mourn the loss of an innocent life.
The cow was destined for death.
The butterfly was a testament to life.
I eat one and hit the other.
What does that say about me?

[Grimjust Bearegular]

You've got some nice stuff here, Tarcanus. My favourite is the Firefly Garden, it really struck a chord.

But you should watch some of your "breaks". Some of the words look like they're hyphenated.

Some-drawn with vigorous power-must have jumped canvas.

I have never seen such destruction-not knowingly.

Steel girders of steel will-sheer will.

[Infernikus]

Tis just a small thing i wrote up last night

The air , silent and eerie
The bright day still unable to cloak the morbid event
I stare onimously towards the bay
Take possibly my last breath
Grab my bayonet for what will be
My last duty

Spurred on by your lies I once believed
Words fading away the long they're left
Revealing the real definition
Your deception no suprise

We storm the beach
Hoping for the best, Hoping for victory
A victory that very much seems unattainable

The silence is shattered
My fears confirmed
My guard falls, a moment of weakness...
They got me.
Reluctantly i fight a losing battle now knowing
each breath could very well be my last

I fall to my knees
rest my head on the gravel floor
I've accepted my defeat, my eyes begin to shut

The words once uttered not so long ago
have withered and died, just like the fallen today.
Your false words revealed to be what we all knew
A face we all saw, A reality we all foresaw

Opinions?

[Grimjust Bearegular]

A poem inspired by Toll the Hounds...


A Moon Not Rising

The Lord of my child is dead, my child drowned
in darkness unyielding.
I have been murdered, my gardens gone.

My body trembles.
Gasping for air I don’t (even) breathe.
Virulent waves of power shreds my skin.
I bleed dust,
my screams unheard, my pain unfelt.

Power ever draws power.
This time, too much was drawn.
Flesh falls from me in chunks,
hurtling down on my shadow’s smooth skin,
not pitted and gouged like mine.
I rain, like my child rained, blood
and destruction upon you.
Unwillingly, I set your world on fire.
One by one, I watch your gardens die.
I smile, knowing that in dying
I am not alone.
As I fall, dying,
I know I’m not alone.

But whom will I pray my soul to take?
At what gates will I arrive?
I saw Death walk your mortal streets,
blue fire shone in his pits.
What fools gods are, to meddle with mortal men.
I can see him no longer.

I have seen it.
My end is not the end,
merely the beginning.
And when my sister rises, you must prepare yourselves.
War is coming.

[Darkwatch]

I found myself reflecting on space. It's in French, and I'm not translating it, even though the title is in English.


Out to the Black

Ammène moi loin
Au delà de l'atmosphère.
Jusqu'à la Lune,
Jusque qu'au bout de l'existence.
Laisser moi dancer sur une piste galactique,
avec étoiles, planètes et trous noirs.

Laisser moi donc saisir le vide
Que je regarde le noir profond
Que je me perd dans l'immensité.
Je veux voir de mes yeux les nuées
Les berceaux stellaires, la voute céleste.

Que le froid spatial m'enveloppe
Que je vois des mondes avec l'oeil d'un dieu.
Je veux fouler le sol extraterrestre de mes pieds,
Voir des panoramas étranges et merveilleux.
Que je me perdre dans les courants solaire.

Je veux être guidé par les pulsars
Propulsé par mes rêves.
Ne me laisser pas ici bas
A regarder le ciel,
En étant coler au sol.
Affranchisez moi donc de la Terre.

Je veux errer le cosmos,
Comme une comète, connaître
Tout ce que l'univers nous réserve
Au delà des horizons.

This post has been edited by Darkwatch: 17 April 2011 - 04:34 PM

[King-of-Chains]

All That Lies Bare

Cruel winter wind you seek me out in jest
If only, in joy, to tear horendously into my mortal coil
Ah...how the bite of your teeth do sting
Driving all thought and feeling from my flesh.
Leaving naught but the numb sensation of defeat.
Rendering me a vesel of mere dumb mumbling.
Deaf and mute to all passions save the pain you drive into me
And you would call this a masterpiece of achievement.
This you would call your sole purpose.
Fie on purpose! Fie on your self interested ways
That leave nothing but ashes and dust behind.
Bare bones stripped of all warmth from their living shells.
Oh cruel you are indeed; minion of Friil.

All the while you stalk the north ceaselessly.
Lying the homesteads bare and burnt by your dread chill.
Dust only to be swept cleanly away by your unsubtle hand.
In turn it leaves a frightening subtlety in it's wake.
And this I shall cannot abide. Nor, I suspect, shall others.
For to abide such a thing is to accept it as truth.
And how can a man accept that which he does not understand?
Understanding is meant for those above such mortality.
Frail though we are.

But it is with us that gods play their games.
Tripping men within wired webs,
Only so that men may stumble heedlessly onward.
Delluded in his belief that it is he that chooses the path walked.
Not the unseen hand that lacks all sympathy. While men
Lack all comprehension. Such a sad world in which we live.
In which men are naught but the tools of cruel masters
Who regard us as naught but livestock. Meanwhile
Fire rages against the winters bitter chill!
The fires of war that bring naught but death to the land.
Kings and Emperors flock to the call. Moths to a flame!
Ah twisted comparison that is so apt for the two. So apt indeed!

But, lo! There is a glimmer upon which I would rest
All hope that I, out of misplaced conceit, have left to my heart.
That these words be read, and, read true. For they do impart
A most bitter truth: That all machinations of gods and men
Lie bare upon the tip of a sword, or ink filled pen.

*A poem based off of the novel I am currently working on