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poetry

#581 User is offline   Wanderer 

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Posted 04 May 2012 - 11:23 PM

Fantastic Imagery in the last one bliss. Very emphatic (?).

Link to my Blog of poetry because it won't copy! Too Many Words Against a Dictionary
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#582 User is offline   Lady Bliss 

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Posted 05 May 2012 - 04:49 AM

View PostWanderer, on 04 May 2012 - 11:23 PM, said:

Fantastic Imagery in the last one bliss. Very emphatic (?).

Link to my Blog of poetry because it won't copy! Too Many Words Against a Dictionary


Thanks Wanderer! I'm really enjoying your blog!.
"If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?" - Shylock
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#583 User is offline   Use Of Weapons 

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Posted 05 May 2012 - 03:35 PM

I wrote a poem, inspired by idiots. It's a bit bleak.

Dread

Dread, that I can find no voice to speak.
And dread that they,
whose thoughts fly quick
make sounds that ring undeep.

Dread, that could I but only pierce.
And dread that they,
whose weapons fierce
prick only to bring sleep.

Dread, that rage within may see no light.
And dread that they,
whose fury bright
is spent on dust andsilence.

Dread, that life's end gives no meaning.
And dread that they,
who refuse weaning
will turn at last to violence.

Dread, that quenched impulse to know.
And dread for they,
who in their thirst to sow
reap ignorance, and grow.

This post has been edited by UseOfWeapons: 05 May 2012 - 03:38 PM

It is perfectly monstrous the way people go about nowadays saying things against one, behind one's back, that are absolutely and entirely true.
-- Oscar Wilde
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#584 User is offline   Gothos 

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Posted 30 May 2012 - 09:32 PM

Aight, Studley prodded me forward to share this. My first one ever. So yeah.

Also, it's untitled, couldn't think of a suitable title yet.

Iíve met a girl once, by ridiculous chance
Neither one was supposed to be there
We were both smitten at the very first glance
Feelings, folks, just donít play fair

She shone brighter than the light of day
Gentle, loving, caring and kind
Was it that her soul decayed
Or was the change in my own mind?

It all seemed harmless, at least at the start
That life just means different things for us
But in the end, it was anything but
Of our understanding remained only dust

Love and ambition withered and died
Resentment and guilt conquered their place
When it was over, neither one cried
But neither could look it the other oneís face

As time went by, all magic was gone
No hurt or hate, just growing disdain
Itís certainly high time for me to move on
To fall for the same trap somewhere again
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
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#585 User is offline   Tehol's Trousers 

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Posted 08 August 2012 - 06:25 PM

Kallor's Regret.




a thin priest crests the hopeful hills of my waning imagination flying his pale standard in the unforgiving winds of a world bent to indifference like a mason forging shoes for footless horses galloping over the embers of a flameless fire dying from neglect, no more tender boughs to feed its fury.





A thin and bony girl bearing a sheaf of sour flowers shuffles like a smear along the hollow streets strewn with filth and bones as though some wicked pall-bearer at the inevitable wedding of crossroads sick with the affliction of indecision, eyes bulging and yellow like a chimera obscura casting inverse pictures of a dank and blurred sepia idea upon reluctant screens groaning under the weight of its own slow demise.





She whispers metaphors spent and withered by the greedy tongues of those who screamed before.





Emerging wild-eyed, wet, and new from within an old and rotting sepulture and searching for some valid symbol among the seething and steaming wreckage of dizzying maybes, casting her gory abode upon the footprints of travellers long since vanished behind the curtains of this strange travelling carnival that retreats evermore like a coy horizon promising comfort yet we soldiers find no beds and no respite from this eternal war save the inevitable fevered sleep that follows the long fight. lodged within the annals of time twisted and mute like a savvy stillborn swaddled cozy among the promises of another surge from the trenches against the line that death holds fast.





Mute sirens singing ships to destinies unheard above the constant crash of timeless waves beating like dry drums against the shores of these restless seas animated by some prime mover cowering behind the curtains and playing like a fool in its own filth, drawing worlds in its steaming feces and calling names into the void.





I'll carve my name into your wayward flesh, I'll fashion a crude clock from your slippery organs, and use these fading and long expired stars to guide me to this hollow and rotting trunk where I count the rings humbled slowly by a blind and driven infinity galloping in a ceaseless loop along the untraceable tracks it left before.

I'll find comfort in this humble headstone from the cosmic bleating of so many myopic lambs clinging desperate to the leeward side of oblivion

time and space and being devoured in the belly of some prime mover squatting to excrete again.


"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world" - Oscar Wilde
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#586 User is offline   CowboyYojimbo 

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Posted 07 January 2014 - 04:12 AM

Of Dust and Dreams
By: Geordi Ferguson


Strolling through the lower quarter
I picked you a flower of vibrant colour.
Cerulean swirls over marble white,
and a shape that defied common image.

It was in that distance between you and I,
It did rot.
It faded, and twisted and shrunk,
Before my very eyes until,
It was left unrecognizable.

Flowers speak of love,
but it is only now years later,
I see how astute that claim is,
Sitting in ashes and dust,
From a dream once picked.

This post has been edited by CowboyYojimbo: 07 January 2014 - 04:13 AM

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#587 User is offline   Ain't_It_Just_ 

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Posted 08 January 2014 - 01:42 AM

View PostCowboyYojimbo, on 07 January 2014 - 04:12 AM, said:

Of Dust and Dreams
By: Geordi Ferguson


Strolling through the lower quarter
I picked you a flower of vibrant colour.
Cerulean swirls over marble white,
and a shape that defied common image.

It was in that distance between you and I,
It did rot.
It faded, and twisted and shrunk,
Before my very eyes until,
It was left unrecognizable.

Flowers speak of love,
but it is only now years later,
I see how astute that claim is,
Sitting in ashes and dust,
From a dream once picked.



Wow! This was really well done! I feel a little sad now :harhar:

I wrote this about 2 weeks ago, some people seemed to like it.

Mightier

I'm staring at this pencil and
I'm wondering what I could do
What I should do, what I can do
I'm holding it in my dominant hand

Does that make me an artist?
I'm not sure if I should be doing this
Kerouac probably held it differently
Hemingway probably gnawed the end

I know that I should just put it down
but the feeling is intoxicating, building
And off I go now, running ribbons
Down the walls and still wondering

What life might spring forth? I picture
Endless gardens of words, and images
Conjured by something as simple as
my college graduate spelling

People will be lining up around the corner
Yearning for a glimpse, a taste, an aperitif
I'll sit by the window all day, drawing what comes
In all its infinite colour and ugliness and sin

Yes, that's the way it should be
There are enough peddlers of dreck
Winding their way through the irradiated wastes
Of the English language, what right have they?

Making spirals, as it's making sense
Setting the walls on fire with brilliance
A sprawl of scrawl, that's the goal
That will be my one true paradise

People will say that it began with a pencil
And then they'll howl and curse, first me
then my great works, but then themselves
For not having the sense to do it for themselves

You really shouldn't leave your pencils lying around.
Suck it Errant!


"It's time to kick ass and chew bubblegum...and I'm all out of gum."

QUOTE (KeithF @ Jun 30 2009, 09:49 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
It has been proven beyond all reasonable doubt that the most powerful force on Wu is a bunch of messed-up Malazans with Moranth munitions.


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#588 User is offline   CowboyYojimbo 

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Posted 09 January 2014 - 01:49 AM

Ain't_It_Just
-- Thank you very much! That means a lot to me.
It makes me sad too haha.

Great work yourself on Mightier. It's definitely relateable - that need to create, the doubt that can go with it and the need for others or just someone to glimpse it and understand.
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#589 User is offline   worry 

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Posted 09 January 2014 - 02:02 AM

I humbly submit a pizza poem I wrote some time last year:

cheese shift

sometimes it happens
a big red spot of exposed sauce
looks like the storm on Jupiter
the mozzarella must have fled
elsewhere
now itís impassive, immovable
frozen solid
it wonít ever go back to that
bright
blushing
wound
so just cover it up with shredded parmesan and eat it

They came with white hands and left with red hands.
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#590 User is offline   Karven 

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Posted 19 August 2015 - 01:08 PM

A haiku about the battle of Pale:

The moon ceased its spin

And Pale's sky became like a
Midnight afternoon

*Note: the expression "midnight afternoon" was used by Erikson in the introduction to Gardens of the Moon. "And sometimes, on midnight afternoons, I ask myself..." I had never heard this saying before. I humbly dedicate this haiku to this expression.
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#591 User is offline   Macros 

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Posted 18 August 2016 - 06:45 AM

A little help from the creative minds of the empire required.

Sisters wedding next weekend. Macros asked to do a reading, and to pick the other reading for the church.
So, the traditional wedding reading (in ireland anyway) is pauls letter about love being kind and not jealous that one.
So if Im stuck I'll fall back on pauls letter for the second reading and I'll go for the Apache Wedding vows from Blood Brothers by Elliot Arnold.

However I decided to try and write a poem for my reading.
Terez gave me a few pointers and suggestions as I was putting it together but it needs, well, critiqued and edited by a larger group as I'll be reading to to 250 people.

I decided (originally) to go for a villanelle scheme, then changed it slightly as I didn't like the continuous refrain.
Then Terez suggested changing the rhyme scheme entirely but keep the overall form the same. So there's two options at the minute, both need work but this is where Im at, at the minute:

True love is wondrous and all so rare
Something that few are so lucky to find
A true love that sees all and does not care

It's the joining of souls, into a pair
Hand in hand together, fates intertwined
True love is wondrous and all so rare

Sometimes it arrives with a great fanfare
Other times it will creep up from behind
And like a thief, catches you unaware

Loves consumes all it leaves nothing to spare
It takes over your heart, body, soul and your mind
A union for all time, your lives to share

Love recalls no slights, has no grudge to bear,
dwells not on the past, has no axe to grind,
Faced with adversity does not despair

Love sees all our problems, our flaws laid bear
Because it is not deaf, not dumb nor blind
True love is wondrous and all so rare
For true love sees all and It does not care


There's a few lines I don't like, and one stanza I dint like, will highlight in bold when I get to the laptop this evening.

Second option is:

True love is wondrous and is all so rare,
Something that few are so lucky to find,
A true love that see's all and does not care.

Love takes over your body, soul and your mind,
it consumes and leaves nothing to spare
Something that few are so lucky to find

Sometimes it arrives with a great fanfare
other times it can creep up from behind
And like a thief, catches you unaware

Hand in hand together, fates intertwined
it's the joining of souls into a pair
love is limitless, boundless, unconfined

Love dwells on no slights, has no grudge to bear
lives not in the past, has no axe to grind
Faced with adversity, it does not despair

Love takes all our problems, our flaws laid bare
Because it is not deaf, not dumb, nor blind
True love is wondrous, and is all so rare
For true love see's all and it does not care.


Again, a stanza and a few lines I don't like. Considering chopping an entire stanza out and reworking one so it runs ABA,baB,aba,bab,abAA.

Thoughts? Positives? Negatives?
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