Jump to content

Writers' Corner


Ruan Chun Xian

Recommended Posts

The talent within this (sub?) forum is spectacular! The poetry! The prose! The all of it!

I write some rythmical poetry, but it's more lyrical and entertaining than meaningful. For you die-hard poets out there, Ethan Canter is my favourite poet and I find him deep deep deep. No need for an encouraging reply, i simply hope you find value (not necessarily good, but something that provokes you? I dunno, what do poets look for, if for anything, in other poets?)

house as in house music? or the thing we live in? /offtpic

sorry couldn't help it :D

Link to post
Share on other sites

house as in house music? or the thing we live in? /offtpic

sorry couldn't help it :)

Music/ Gregory House, the most awesomest diagnostician to ever bear witness to. He's sadistic, brilliant, sarcastic and addicted to Vicadin, but he almost always cures his patients. Everyone hates him, well most people do, but he's my hero :D

/off topic (sorry)

Link to post
Share on other sites

  • 2 weeks later...

Good day,

Here is the third part of "In Essence Divided". Enjoy!! ^_^

Chapter 3 - Decades of Change

Bertha took it as a habit to visit her daughter’s room every day. She would sit on the couch beside Essence’s bed, turn on some classical music, read her a short story and water the plant. On the day Essence was born, Bertha planted an olive seed in a large bowl and placed it in the balcony beside Essence’s room. Days, weeks and eventually months have passed with Essence not moving at all.. Bertha felt that something was wrong and grew uncomfortable about it. The doctor had already talked to her about Essence’s condition, but a mother’s heart is never compared to anything else.. The daily habit shifted to a weekly habit, as the doctor persuaded Bertha to visit on weekends. The nurses would take care of Essence and the plant, and when Bertha visits, she would read the story and listen with her daughter to the soft music.

Months passed and the doctor did not say a word. He knew what was bothering Bertha, and Bertha in turn, knew that the doctor was concerned. He had never come across such a case in his life time. One Saturday, Bertha visited the doctor’s office in an attempt to find some answers to her bewildering questions. “What is the matter with Essence? Is she going to take that long to wake up.. Is she ever going to wake up?” The doctor, unfortunately, was not able to answer her questions. He was also worried about the whole situation..

Months turned into a year, two years, four years.. The children grew up, each with different interests. Andy joined a street gang which his mother had no idea about. They would drink and smoke on a daily basis and Andy would return back each day tired and sometimes nauseated, with total disobedience to anything his mother orders him to fulfill. Simon and Lisa, on the other hand, were more committed. They would accompany their mother every Sunday to church, and afterwards would go grab a cone of ice cream and spend the rest of their day in the neighborhood park. Lu took horse-riding lessons and became a professional.. She participated in many national competitions and always won the first place. She was detached and arrogant, spending most of the time in her room plotting for her next prize. No one knew were her prize money ever went.

Aunt Mary moved with the family.. Her husband passed away and she could not pay the rent anymore. The landlord had to resort to tough measures. She and Bertha went together to the hospital on weekends, Lisa and Simon would go too on separate occasions. After the olive seed became a tree, Bertha brought it home and planted it in the house garden beside Essence’s room. Every evening, Mary and Bertha sat in the garden, drank some coffee and wondered about Essence. “This tree is as old as Essence’s right now”, Bertha would eventually stare at the grass beside her as a tear slides by her pale cheeks.

* * *

Twenty years have passed since Essence was born. Everything changed since these two decades. Bertha and Aunt Mary were over half a century old, each year passed by with their hope deteriorating.. Andy supposedly graduated from law school and married a successful businesswoman. He grew up into a good-looking and striking figure, probably the main reason behind Asia’s attraction and eventual marriage. Simon graduated with a degree in mathematics, and never got married. He worked as a teacher in a local high school, and eventually transferred to Asia’s consulting company. Lu pursued her dream as a horse-rider, and became an international contestant with a famous name and numerous fans. She too did not get married. Lisa, however, married the son of Essence’s doctor. Erik was a highly-reputable pediatrician. Erik’s father, Hans, defied the hospital management as he prolonged Essence’s examination period and continued his work even though he finally retired.

Essence grew into a beautiful girl. Her body was completely developed though her mind stayed the same. The mystery of this being brought public attention, and many local newspapers took the responsibility of tracking her story – her “Lifeline” as they called it. Bertha grew hopeless day by day, and the hospital management was pressurizing now more than ever. It was a crucial decision to make; should she pull the plug or not?

Dr. Hans had always been against the idea of pulling the plug. He was never pro-euthanasia, and always refused to talk to the media. He knew that Bertha was becoming desperate.. Twenty years are more than enough. However, he liked Bertha and never wanted her, or Essence, to get hurt. The manager informed him that it was time to take some action. Bertha was summoned to the hospital and was told about the situation at hand.

- “Mrs. Loft” said the manager cold-bloodedly, “We called you up hear because you have a serious decision to make. It is a matter of life and death.. For twenty years, your daughter, I believe Ms..” he took a second to read the name off the pile of papers he was holding from the beginning of the day, “oh yes, Ms Essence Loft, has been under a coma. Her body has always been under the mercy of machinery – “

- “Under the mercy of God, sir” interrupted Bertha, who was growing uncomfortable each second. “The machines are only tools, but God is keeping her under His mercy..”

- “Oh yes Mrs. Loft. That’s what I intended to say..” A sly smile was drawn on his face as he continued, “Anyway, you are kindly requested to sign these papers right here.” He handed her a pile of papers. “Please read all points carefully and make up your mind. Mind you, if you still decide to continue the process, we will triple the charge. It is a necessary process; the administrative board made a majority vote on this.. Dr Hans will no longer be available to continue the work.” He took a quick stare at Dr Hans, who in turn, took a deep breath and did not comment.

- “I was always in favor of the minority, sir. Dr Hans has done a lot for us.. It’s time that he takes a break.”

- “So I’m guessing you’re in favor of pulling the plug Mrs. Loft?” asked the man enthusiastically.

- “I’ll notify you first thing in the morning. It will be the final decision.”

- “Make up your mind tonight and we’ll call you tomorrow morning. Whatever your decision is, don’t forget to send us the papers signed and checked.” Bertha left the room immediately and headed home.

That evening, the family had dinner together and Bertha and Mary went to church later. It was Thursday, and a decision was to be made the next day. The church was empty.. No one was there except for the priest, who had known Bertha too well and had always trusted her actions and intentions. Both women lit a candle, read some prayers and sat down with awe and reverence. “Oh God.. Have mercy on us. An important decision must be made at once, and I have no power to decide. God be with me and that innocent girl. Be with us and help us.” She cried as she prayed. Her maternal instinct prevailed and she leaned her head onto her sister’s chest crying with warmth. It was a tough decision to make that day. The priest passed by and smiled at Bertha. He could not speak at that moment as he knew what was going on her mind. Though he did not know the matter or the decision to be made, he knew that God and her intuition would never let her down.

* * *

Bertha had not slept all night. She thought of everything many times, assessing all aspects of the subject. The sun rose and Bertha eventually went to sleep. It was a few moments then until the hospital called the house and Bertha picked up. “I have made my mind.” She said straight ahead. “I have decided to-”

- “Mrs. Loft, we have some serious news regarding the subject matter discussed yesterday.” It was Dr Hans, whose voice comforted Bertha in a strange way.. “Essence, your daughter, has finally opened her eyes.”

To be continued...

Edited by BIO-AQUA
Link to post
Share on other sites

  • 1 month later...
Guest iber2468
Have any of you done NaNoWriMo?? I completed it in 11 days.

Caitlin that's incredible! I have writer's block way more often than I write so I didn't even attempt it.

Oddly enough I never write poetry... this thread is inspiring me however! *gets out pen and paper*

Link to post
Share on other sites

  • 1 year later...

This thread had been dead for far too long. Incredibly enough I went back to TSR today to not laugh at the H&R forum (don't ask, probably only Elsa and Aboo would understand what I'm talking about) but to look at the Writer's Soc instead and I suddenly remember this thread. :(

Anyway, a poem I wrote about August-ish last year, after...well, maybe you can get an idea from the poem.

Sun and Sky (2008)

 

The hill stretches up up up

As far as my eye can see.

The sun had sunk down down down

Beyond that hill; I can no longer see it.

There was only a faint yellow glow in the west,

The new crescent moon was barely visible,

The sky looked lonely and bleak,

Without the warm heart of fire.

The chill set in; it was colder.

My heart was colder too,

And as empty as the sky now,

The warmth of you and me taken away,

Only leaving you to resent me,

And I to regret for you, and for us.

 

But this sky is my palace,

Not your playground to manipulate,

Nor am I yours to play for a fool.

I can remember a time when the sky

Was full of white clouds, and I smile.

Were you the first of black clouds

That I could not recognise?

 

I am sorry if I hurt you,

But I must melt away those impending storms,

Before they cover my sky and take away the joy,

Because this sky is my kingdom,

For me to shine, to warm, to keep,

And I would not set on it,

To leave the coldness to settle in.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Nice. This is a pretty awesome thread.

Anyway, here's a piece of work that I sort of vomited onto a page a few months ago. When I was feeling a bit angsty. :irene: Yep. By some stroke of providence, I had this published in our school's literary magazine...and I must admit, I'm quite satisfied with my minor accomplishment. And pride is not something I sense too frequently. Heh. So...yes. Here it is, in all of its melancholy glory.

Reconstructing Everything

Eulogize joy

Head in cold hands

Forget to fall forward and supply their demands

Feign an excuse

Go over my lines

Stare at the ceiling, my daily confines

Defy the bright light

Arise to the din

Of pleasure externally, letdown within

Smear on a smile

Refine my disguise

My words beating senselessly upon my life’s lies

Morning makes sense

Until it begins

A meaningless battle where neither side wins

Sweep up my bliss

Ignore my dull pleas

Kneel down beside my bed on weary knees

Easily said

But painfully sung

A list of requests that were aimlessly flung

Disregard pain

Rise up from my stance

Thrust aside yearning with one final glance

We’d all like much more

In days far past due

But we’ll make love to tedium, in greyish-black hue

We’d all love to sense

That habit is home

But thin walls don’t mask each raw, yearning moan

Please hear me plead

Or give me a sign

That I might contend to a different design

Build a new base

On which I can bloom

And flout every memory of monotonous doom

Get rid of my mask

Reveal my bleak scars

Chip off the paint, and wish on the stars.

At least it concludes with a glimmer of optimism. :D

Link to post
Share on other sites

Lots of teenage first-personing going on hyar!

I like the rhythm, DeStijl (and the rhyme comes across very well, without contrivance, too!), and for some reason especially "we'll make love to tedium", although I'm not sure that 'contend' makes sense in context (even with poetic licence for flexibility :D )

Link to post
Share on other sites

Nice. This is a pretty awesome thread.

Anyway, here's a piece of work that I sort of vomited onto a page a few months ago. When I was feeling a bit angsty. :dead: Yep. By some stroke of providence, I had this published in our school's literary magazine...and I must admit, I'm quite satisfied with my minor accomplishment. And pride is not something I sense too frequently. Heh. So...yes. Here it is, in all of its melancholy glory.

Reconstructing Everything

Eulogize joy

Head in cold hands

Forget to fall forward and supply their demands

Feign an excuse

Go over my lines

Stare at the ceiling, my daily confines

Defy the bright light

Arise to the din

Of pleasure externally, letdown within

Smear on a smile

Refine my disguise

My words beating senselessly upon my life’s lies

Morning makes sense

Until it begins

A meaningless battle where neither side wins

Sweep up my bliss

Ignore my dull pleas

Kneel down beside my bed on weary knees

Easily said

But painfully sung

A list of requests that were aimlessly flung

Disregard pain

Rise up from my stance

Thrust aside yearning with one final glance

We’d all like much more

In days far past due

But we’ll make love to tedium, in greyish-black hue

We’d all love to sense

That habit is home

But thin walls don’t mask each raw, yearning moan

Please hear me plead

Or give me a sign

That I might contend to a different design

Build a new base

On which I can bloom

And flout every memory of monotonous doom

Get rid of my mask

Reveal my bleak scars

Chip off the paint, and wish on the stars.

At least it concludes with a glimmer of optimism. :)

I'm in love with this poem!! :P It's really good....kinda morose, but hey, "at least it ends with a glimmer of optimism" :P

and your pretty talented as well aussi :)

Link to post
Share on other sites

I'm in love with this poem!! :) It's really good....kinda morose, but hey, "at least it ends with a glimmer of optimism" :dead:

and your pretty talented as well aussi :P

Hey all....the previous posters inspired me to pick up a pen after months and months of "writer's block". It's a bit dark...very angry and frustrated, but it was my current mood at the moment.

Forgive it :P

Fathomless 'I'

Shallow 'Her'

Come, safety awaits...

Wash your soiled hands

In the cerulean baptism

Of my uncongealed naivete

Flowing like a liquid deity

To the altar of Contrition

....and sacrifice

To the God of Atonement.

So easy to lay blame, like

A pavement of reprimand

On the one who allows you

I concede victory, so bask in the spoils.

But tell me,

With the omniscient perception

You bear, like a martyr

And wear, like a mantle 'round your pride,

Through your self-gratifying tirades

And never-ending quests to mete out scorching commentary

Do you really stop to look and ponder?

Contemplation on what's beneath

Surging, swelling, murmuring...

Bitter bile brews and billows in the sails of impulse.

I am much too young to be a cynic

So I ask, seeking validation,

A testimony to my flaws

You must know, sacrilege if otherwise!

Sardonic smiles and absinthian lies are the epitome of your answers

You vilify my every breath - past, present and yet to be breathed

I hate you for this

And hate, in it's sickening way

Festers and putrifies

Oozes it's way to the back of my throat

Thick and abstruse and foul

The scowl and fever of my brow

Tongue delirious with rage

Desperate

To conduct the orchestra of my malevolence

A piece from a reputable composer

Called "Enough"

It is delivered

With a venom so vile

So repulsively acrid

....it's harmless

Never reaching your veins

Impervious ****!

An amber flood washes my face

I breathe a breath that wishes you death

Choked from lungs belabored and sore from silence

I wish to see you rot

But I get the feeling that even in your death

I would not find repreive

As I am much too sanguine for such

A privelege

Come, safety awaits...

Wash your soiled hands

Charon will be pleased

And I will be quiet

26/March/09

*To be revised...big time :)

**Charon- Ferried souls across the River Styx

...i dunno *shrugs* it's for all those who could never get a word in sometimes...

Link to post
Share on other sites

Guest shitson D:

In avoidance to much homework and not enough space and time. Here I am. All the writing here was beautiful, and I loved it.

Made the day nicer. Myself, when I was little I thought I was born only to write and create. I keep a diary, that I've written in most days since I was seven. :dead: Its funny to see the way the mind changes.

Anyway, here's something I wrote a while ago.

It has a high ring of sadness to it, but its important.

I wrote it in a state of mind where I can't even remember writing it...

But, I found it recently.

Hope you like it.

Summer

Today, I can't save you.

Or keep you as safe as I wish I could right now.

I wish that you were old enough,

and no one would could ever hurt you,

or push you around.

I could tell you everything,

and hope you understand.

But, I know its too early.

And you'd just turn around.

I hope you can handle it,

though you should not have to.

I know its not right.

And that this is all wrong.

Its made be begin to wonder,

if its been this way all along.

These are the years that will impact you the most.

Not as I pictured them, not as I hoped.

I never want to leave you alone,

but soon you'll be on your own.

Another crack, sizzle, rushed.

Poured down your throat,

inhaled through your eyes.

Another wave of terror,

shoots up and down my spine.

You should not have to hear this,

you should not have to cry.

I'm sorry about watching you

being carried away.

About every new thunder that travels

the walls to where you lay.

I've seen it all before,

feel what breaks in your eyes.

When you laugh,

carry your feet to the beat.

Create your own music,

I hear the words you can't yet speak.

I can't save you now.

That power is not in my hands.

But, when that day comes,

my energy will be in helping you stand.

You'll never have to worry about the fears

you once carried.

Those shadows,

For you I will barry.

No longer will the ringing in your ears,

be ones to wake you ,

but ones to save you.

Grief will not be company a you bear,

but a beautiful soul to honor,

a beautiful soul to share.

I love you,

I hope that's good enough for now.

I love you,

One day my words will be yours,

instead of syllables in clouds.

And then, this one.

You have a way of finding me,

when I tell you to leave me alone.

I've never really meant it,

so I guess I'm thankful for what you've chose.

If only I could stand still,

and there be a waking to your eyes.

I'd become stone statue,

just to support your tries.

A rope lay silent,

so close to your torn hand.

A bottle of pills sits fully,

and in your throat it lands.

I wish there were some way to put it,

write it all in simple words.

To let you know the reason why,

I care about people in this world.

Its hurts to fight the process,

to demand hate to break away.

But, if someone doesn't give it a shot,

then what would be the point to our existence these days?

Its not always about what's right for you,

about the easier way to get your desires.

There may be risk in the outcome,

to let go and let be.

But, I think it would be for the better,

to accept and just see.

I hear you've got talent.

I see that you're more than what;s told.

You never had to sell me out,

I was already sold.

I know, I know.

Depressing. I'm really one of the most optimistic people in the world,

but the sad pieces of writings always seem to come out best.

Link to post
Share on other sites

Summer

Today, I can't save you.

Or keep you as safe as I wish I could right now.

I wish that you were old enough,

and no one would could ever hurt you,

or push you around.

I could tell you everything,

and hope you understand.

But, I know its too early.

And you'd just turn around.

I hope you can handle it,

though you should not have to.

I know its not right.

And that this is all wrong.

Its made be begin to wonder,

if its been this way all along.

These are the years that will impact you the most.

Not as I pictured them, not as I hoped.

I never want to leave you alone,

but soon you'll be on your own.

Another crack, sizzle, rushed.

Poured down your throat,

inhaled through your eyes.

Another wave of terror,

shoots up and down my spine.

You should not have to hear this,

you should not have to cry.

I'm sorry about watching you

being carried away.

About every new thunder that travels

the walls to where you lay.

I've seen it all before,

feel what breaks in your eyes.

When you laugh,

carry your feet to the beat.

Create your own music,

I hear the words you can't yet speak.

I can't save you now.

That power is not in my hands.

But, when that day comes,

my energy will be in helping you stand.

You'll never have to worry about the fears

you once carried.

Those shadows,

For you I will barry.

No longer will the ringing in your ears,

be ones to wake you ,

but ones to save you.

Grief will not be company a you bear,

but a beautiful soul to honor,

a beautiful soul to share.

I love you,

I hope that's good enough for now.

I love you,

One day my words will be yours,

instead of syllables in clouds.

And then, this one.

You have a way of finding me,

when I tell you to leave me alone.

I've never really meant it,

so I guess I'm thankful for what you've chose.

If only I could stand still,

and there be a waking to your eyes.

I'd become stone statue,

just to support your tries.

A rope lay silent,

so close to your torn hand.

A bottle of pills sits fully,

and in your throat it lands.

I wish there were some way to put it,

write it all in simple words.

To let you know the reason why,

I care about people in this world.

Its hurts to fight the process,

to demand hate to break away.

But, if someone doesn't give it a shot,

then what would be the point to our existence these days?

Its not always about what's right for you,

about the easier way to get your desires.

There may be risk in the outcome,

to let go and let be.

But, I think it would be for the better,

to accept and just see.

I hear you've got talent.

I see that you're more than what;s told.

You never had to sell me out,

I was already sold.

Wow... this is really good... I love the imagery...

"Another crack, sizzle, rushed.

Poured down your throat,

inhaled through your eyes."

It's really well written and the rhythm just helps emphasize it...

Transcendent ramblings

I walked down a broken road,

A road that costs the

World to tread.

A cat slinking around

An open pond of lily leaves

And scattered dreams.

A snowflake in a sea

Of sand. A treasure held

Within my hand.

A journey sweet

As every word.

A soul split in two.

A wrinkled time

of neurotic fear.

Hearts held in a bowl.

A yellow smile,

Upon a fire

That burns deep in my brain.

A road of dirt,

And dusky grains.

Making such a sound.

An angel walked upon

The road. Peering,

As if missed

An angel made the road For me.

On that day we kissed.

Quite cliched I know... I wrote it a couple of years ago...

Link to post
Share on other sites

In avoidance to much homework and not enough space and time. Here I am. All the writing here was beautiful, and I loved it.

Made the day nicer. Myself, when I was little I thought I was born only to write and create. I keep a diary, that I've written in most days since I was seven. Its funny to see the way the mind changes.

Anyway, here's something I wrote a while ago.

It has a high ring of sadness to it, but its important.

I wrote it in a state of mind where I can't even remember writing it...

But, I found it recently.

Hope you like it.

Summer

Today, I can't save you.

Or keep you as safe as I wish I could right now.

I wish that you were old enough,

and no one would could ever hurt you,

or push you around.

I could tell you everything,

and hope you understand.

But, I know its too early.

And you'd just turn around.

I hope you can handle it,

though you should not have to.

I know its not right.

And that this is all wrong.

Its made be begin to wonder,

if its been this way all along.

These are the years that will impact you the most.

Not as I pictured them, not as I hoped.

I never want to leave you alone,

but soon you'll be on your own.

Another crack, sizzle, rushed.

Poured down your throat,

inhaled through your eyes.

Another wave of terror,

shoots up and down my spine.

You should not have to hear this,

you should not have to cry.

I'm sorry about watching you

being carried away.

About every new thunder that travels

the walls to where you lay.

I've seen it all before,

feel what breaks in your eyes.

When you laugh,

carry your feet to the beat.

Create your own music,

I hear the words you can't yet speak.

I can't save you now.

That power is not in my hands.

But, when that day comes,

my energy will be in helping you stand.

You'll never have to worry about the fears

you once carried.

Those shadows,

For you I will barry.

No longer will the ringing in your ears,

be ones to wake you ,

but ones to save you.

Grief will not be company a you bear,

but a beautiful soul to honor,

a beautiful soul to share.

I love you,

I hope that's good enough for now.

I love you,

One day my words will be yours,

instead of syllables in clouds.

And then, this one.

You have a way of finding me,

when I tell you to leave me alone.

I've never really meant it,

so I guess I'm thankful for what you've chose.

If only I could stand still,

and there be a waking to your eyes.

I'd become stone statue,

just to support your tries.

A rope lay silent,

so close to your torn hand.

A bottle of pills sits fully,

and in your throat it lands.

I wish there were some way to put it,

write it all in simple words.

To let you know the reason why,

I care about people in this world.

Its hurts to fight the process,

to demand hate to break away.

But, if someone doesn't give it a shot,

then what would be the point to our existence these days?

Its not always about what's right for you,

about the easier way to get your desires.

There may be risk in the outcome,

to let go and let be.

But, I think it would be for the better,

to accept and just see.

I hear you've got talent.

I see that you're more than what;s told.

You never had to sell me out,

I was already sold.

Oh wow, I love this!!! It's amazing!!! I love both poems!

The first kind of applies to a situation i was in, EXCELLENT!

I like depressing peoms as well..they sink in better than the optimistic ones.

Link to post
Share on other sites

  • 1 month later...

I thought I would contribute something to this :P It's really quite random, but I did enjoy writing it! I'm afraid I'm no good at Haikus. Or rhyming! So it's a bit blank when it comes to those things. Oh and it appears I nicked the title from Ted Hughes, although I must've done it quite subconsciously. One day I'd like to go back and edit it I think, so it's a bit less jerky in places, but all in all I'm quite proud of it.

Thought Fox

Smoked out of its foxhole

By the baying of the silence

Clawing desperate from the deep earth:

Glum recesses and stunted echoes

Pawned for the light of escape, hurling

To the foaming terror of the chase

With whiplash steps of frantic freedom.

It was velvet-nosed and trembling,

Shivering with knowledge of things,

Hesitating at the doorway.

The graceful arch of indecision

Traced fraught senses through damp air;

Set in the hollow of the neck,

A fragile fluttered pulse.

Slow time sketched a golden haze,

Damp silk clinging to the hills,

Sweet honey smothering rich brows

And pooling in cocoons of shade.

Utopian snatches of life in brilliance

Splintered rare and sharp,

Drawing delicate drops of memory

With each slicing edge.

Clamorous, relentless silence bludgeoned

Its paper-ears, curled whispered thoughts

To grey threads of ash.

The elegant form tore,

Ripped by the onslaught

Its hollowed heart fingering for beats

As though blind.

Escape had passed.

Yet in the shallows of the light

Those noble eyes held still for all time,

Curving worlds through degrees

Monstrous as the sprayed waves

Crashing to the ocean floor in spinning sand;

Gentle as the blade of grass

Leaning to a sweet breeze in summer.

Turning battered flank to the world,

The thought-fox receded,

Smoky tail flickering into shadow,

Engulfed by quiet iron earth,

Taking steps into the gloom.

Sometimes, deep in darkened combs

Encased in stone stirs a draught:

For a moment

Golden wind traces reddish fur,

Fragrances trickle over icy streams

And cast silver leaf by moonlight.

A soft eye twinkles, and in the shadow

Of remembered time, once more refuses death

And is alive again.

Edited by Sandwich
  • Like 4
Link to post
Share on other sites

Guest syrianstar

Wow Sandwich, I really like this poem! It's got great sensory and aural imagery ('relentless silence bludgeoned' -> that seriously made me wince...the word 'bludgeoned' is really powerful). It makes me imagine a cold, dark night with a bright moon, perfect for a fox to go out hunting. Don't know if that's what you were aiming for, but well done nonetheless.

I must say, I love the ending! That twinkling eye gives me the shivers :P

A soft eye twinkles, and in the shadow

Of remembered time, once more refuses death

And is alive again.

I was debating with myself whether to submit one of my own poems, because I know that it will never compare to what I have already seen in this thread. I'll post it anyway - the constructive criticism will definitely do it good.Let me know what you guys think will improve it :P

The Illusion Of Freedom

Here I lie, bound up in a prison

Closed and

Confined

With my arms agonisingly chained to my

Suppressed

Soul

Tears silently stream down my cheeks, a river of

Desolation and

Despair

And my lungs collapse for I

Can't breathe

Cant breathe.

***

Can you hear the death march,

Far,

Far away?

Feel its powerful walk against the earth that is

Shuddering and

Shaking?

Smell the stench of lethal death in the air

Smothering,

Suffocating?

Or is this terrifying display only for me?

***

Why is it that I can't free myself from these

Cuffs and

Chains?

Why must I be the one to bear the

Ache and

Anguish?

As you arrogantly stand up high

Pompous and

Proud

Forcing me ever deeper into this

Devastating

Despair.

***

What makes you so different from me,

When we both stand there breathing,

Why am I denied the right of being free,

If I - like you- am a human being?

Edited by syrianstar
  • Like 1
Link to post
Share on other sites

Thank you very much :wtf:

Tears silently stream down my cheeks, a river of

Desolation and

Despair

I like the words you use and your choice of language :P But for a little bit of constructive crit, as you asked for it (and feel free to disregard anything I say if you don't agree with it, obviously!) I think the word order could perhaps be altered a little.

For instance, if you said out loud "Tears silently stream down my cheeks" you'll notice that the emphasis falls on 'silently' because it's a triple syllable word and so will always have at least two points of emphasis, even if one of them is partial rather than whole (as is the case here). If you swap the word round to "Tears stream silently down my cheeks" and say THAT out loud, what you'll hopefully notice is that you have composed a balanced sentence. The number of syllables before the word silently is roughly equal to the number after, and as a result the reader can give total consideration and pace to the sentence as a whole, as opposed to being caught up on the word 'silently'. Of course it depends if you did it for emphasis or not, but as the line continues, it seems that perhaps the meaning of the streaming is the more important part than the lack of noise.

Your structure is also perhaps something I'd perhaps review why you did what you did. The rhetorical devices are, meaning absolutely no offence by this, often a part of 'faux' (fake) poetry. Often people choose to make a lot of sentences rhetorical as it evokes some deeper feeling by personalising the poem which can, of course, be extremely effective, however people also mistake it for adding atmosphere, impact and effect when actually it simply can't do that all the time. With every device in a poem (except for rhythm and rhyme!) you need to have downlines to accentuate the uplines. You can have one extremely impactful and effective rhetorical rhetorical, for instance, but unless a reasonable portion of the poem directly after and directly before are not rhetorical questions, you lose the pace and meaning of the poem, and it becomes a list of questions. Of course you can have a tremendous number of semi-rhetorical questions still sounding absolutely fabulous, if you balance then out properly. One of the best poems (ever, in my opinion! :) ) is Tyger by William Blake, and it's a superb example of rhetorical questions being expertly balanced out by rhythm. The questions there are a paceful challenge, rather than a sort-of lament or deep question. So, despite everything, they work! They just have to be used very carefully.

Still with the structure, the decision to split every last line into two, sometimes repeated words is perhaps, I would suggest, not advantageous in terms of getting the impact. Stuff like "Suppressed / Soul" put on separate lines puts a huge weight on each word, but you perhaps don't get that much out of it except for something of a melodramatic moment of over-acting! I don't mean to be unpleasant or anything, but I really think that the effect of putting the words apart doesn't quite work for the simple reason that you just get two very heavy words and again nothing to balance them. I don't know, I guess it's probably up to personal taste and how you want it to come across on this one! :)

One final point, and this is very much random and throwaway, but had you considered writing in the third person? Managing the first person without overdoing it and making it "me me me me" or "I I I I" is very challenging. You've really got to dilute it (again this is just my opinion!) to make it work. One example of it being diluted absolutely brilliantly is Snake by D. H. Lawrence, where he introduces the snake and although it's also about him, he manages to make it about the moment, rather than about himself. Poems written too heavily in the first person often are not only hard to connect with, but they can even appear a little puerile in that they often appear 'emo' or rantish. :X I dunno. Again it's how you personally feel about poetry, and it's not really for me to say. It's just a comment, really, that writing in the third person often allows a much greater depth and ability to explore without appearing like the superego! A thought (:

Link to post
Share on other sites

Not my poem but it's pretty.

Ode to the Black Panther

Thirty-one years ago,

I haven't forgotten,

in Singapore, rain

warm as blood

was falling

upon

ancient white walls

worm-eaten

by the humidity that left in them

leprous kisses.

The dark multitude

would be lit up

suddenly by a flash

of teeth

or eyes,

with the iron sun up above

like

an implacable spear.

I wandered through the streets flooded

with betel, the red nuts

rising

over

beds of fragrant leaves,

and the dorian fruit

rotting in the muggy siesta.

Suddenly I was

in front of a gaze,

from a cage in the

middle of the street

two circles

of coldness,

two magnets,

two hostile electricities,

two eyes

that entered into mine

nailing me

to the ground

and to the leprous wall.

I saw then

the body that undulated

and was

a velvet shadow,

a flexible perfection,

pure night.

Under the black pelt,

making a subtle rainbow,

were powderlike

topaz rhomboids

or hexagons of gold,

I couldn't tell which,

that sparkled

as

the lean

presence

moved.

The panther

thinking

and palpitating

was

a

wild

queen

in a cage

in the middle of

the miserable

street.

Of the lost jungle

of deceit,

of stolen space,

of the sweet-and-sour smell of

human beings

and dusty houses

she

with mineral

eyes

only expressed

her scorn, her burning

anger,

and her eyes were

two

impenetrable

seals that

closed

till eternity

a wild door.

She walked

like fire, and, like smoke,

when she closed her eyes

she became the invisible, unencompassable night.

~Pablo Neruda (translation by Stephen Mitchell)

This is in perhaps in response to Alice's post about structure; to provide a bit of contrast between 'conventional' forms and Pablo Neruda's weird but free-flowing and unrestricted style.

Edit: Alice, your poem seems like something that would pop up on a commentary. Well done. :)

Edited by Irene
Link to post
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Paste as plain text instead

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

×
×
  • Create New...