~Lc~ Posted October 12, 2007 Report Share Posted October 12, 2007 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 Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest House Posted October 13, 2007 Report Share Posted October 13, 2007 house as in house music? or the thing we live in? /offtpicsorry 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 /off topic (sorry) Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ruan Chun Xian Posted October 13, 2007 Author Report Share Posted October 13, 2007 Oh I like the poem. I really do. I like the personification. And I love the juxtaposition with "Why does it cost so much to be so poor?" It's a great poem! oh and btw this is neither a forum or a subforum. This is called a thread. Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
BIO-AQUA Posted October 25, 2007 Report Share Posted October 25, 2007 (edited) 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 October 25, 2007 by BIO-AQUA Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ruan Chun Xian Posted November 2, 2007 Author Report Share Posted November 2, 2007 Bio-aqua: I guess the story isnt meant to be realistic? Haha intriguing. Can't imagine where you're going with this but interestig. NaNoWriMo this month! Anyone up to it? I'd do it if it wasn't freaking NOVEMBER. Life is hectic for me in November. Sigh. Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
BIO-AQUA Posted November 3, 2007 Report Share Posted November 3, 2007 Well actually it is realistic.. Just wait for it a bit. :innocent: As for the hectic time, I hope you'll manage! Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest iber2468 Posted December 18, 2007 Report Share Posted December 18, 2007 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* Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ruan Chun Xian Posted March 24, 2009 Author Report Share Posted March 24, 2009 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 upAs far as my eye can see.The sun had sunk down down downBeyond 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 skyWas full of white clouds, and I smile.Were you the first of black cloudsThat 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. Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
becca_mae57 Posted March 24, 2009 Report Share Posted March 24, 2009 Hey, is anybody here going to do script frenzy? It is like NaNoWriMo, but instead of writing a 50,000 word novel in November, you write a 100 page script in April. http://www.scriptfrenzy.org/ Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
DeStijl Posted March 25, 2009 Report Share Posted March 25, 2009 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. 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 EverythingEulogize joyHead in cold handsForget to fall forward and supply their demandsFeign an excuseGo over my linesStare at the ceiling, my daily confinesDefy the bright lightArise to the dinOf pleasure externally, letdown withinSmear on a smileRefine my disguiseMy words beating senselessly upon my life’s liesMorning makes senseUntil it beginsA meaningless battle where neither side winsSweep up my blissIgnore my dull pleasKneel down beside my bed on weary kneesEasily saidBut painfully sungA list of requests that were aimlessly flungDisregard painRise up from my stanceThrust aside yearning with one final glanceWe’d all like much moreIn days far past dueBut we’ll make love to tedium, in greyish-black hueWe’d all love to senseThat habit is homeBut thin walls don’t mask each raw, yearning moanPlease hear me pleadOr give me a signThat I might contend to a different designBuild a new baseOn which I can bloomAnd flout every memory of monotonous doomGet rid of my maskReveal my bleak scarsChip off the paint, and wish on the stars.At least it concludes with a glimmer of optimism. Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sandwich Posted March 25, 2009 Report Share Posted March 25, 2009 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 ) Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jaden3459 Posted March 27, 2009 Report Share Posted March 27, 2009 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. 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 EverythingEulogize joyHead in cold handsForget to fall forward and supply their demandsFeign an excuseGo over my linesStare at the ceiling, my daily confinesDefy the bright lightArise to the dinOf pleasure externally, letdown withinSmear on a smileRefine my disguiseMy words beating senselessly upon my life’s liesMorning makes senseUntil it beginsA meaningless battle where neither side winsSweep up my blissIgnore my dull pleasKneel down beside my bed on weary kneesEasily saidBut painfully sungA list of requests that were aimlessly flungDisregard painRise up from my stanceThrust aside yearning with one final glanceWe’d all like much moreIn days far past dueBut we’ll make love to tedium, in greyish-black hueWe’d all love to senseThat habit is homeBut thin walls don’t mask each raw, yearning moanPlease hear me pleadOr give me a signThat I might contend to a different designBuild a new baseOn which I can bloomAnd flout every memory of monotonous doomGet rid of my maskReveal my bleak scarsChip off the paint, and wish on the stars.At least it concludes with a glimmer of optimism. I'm in love with this poem!! It's really good....kinda morose, but hey, "at least it ends with a glimmer of optimism" and your pretty talented as well aussi Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Jaden3459 Posted March 27, 2009 Report Share Posted March 27, 2009 I'm in love with this poem!! It's really good....kinda morose, but hey, "at least it ends with a glimmer of optimism" and your pretty talented as well aussi 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 Fathomless 'I'Shallow 'Her'Come, safety awaits...Wash your soiled handsIn the cerulean baptismOf my uncongealed naiveteFlowing like a liquid deityTo the altar of Contrition....and sacrificeTo the God of Atonement.So easy to lay blame, likeA pavement of reprimandOn the one who allows youI concede victory, so bask in the spoils.But tell me,With the omniscient perceptionYou bear, like a martyr And wear, like a mantle 'round your pride,Through your self-gratifying tiradesAnd never-ending quests to mete out scorching commentaryDo you really stop to look and ponder?Contemplation on what's beneathSurging, swelling, murmuring...Bitter bile brews and billows in the sails of impulse.I am much too young to be a cynicSo I ask, seeking validation,A testimony to my flawsYou must know, sacrilege if otherwise!Sardonic smiles and absinthian lies are the epitome of your answersYou vilify my every breath - past, present and yet to be breathedI hate you for thisAnd hate, in it's sickening wayFesters and putrifiesOozes it's way to the back of my throatThick and abstruse and foulThe scowl and fever of my browTongue delirious with rageDesperateTo conduct the orchestra of my malevolenceA piece from a reputable composerCalled "Enough"It is deliveredWith a venom so vileSo repulsively acrid....it's harmlessNever reaching your veinsImpervious ****!An amber flood washes my faceI breathe a breath that wishes you deathChoked from lungs belabored and sore from silenceI wish to see you rotBut I get the feeling that even in your deathI would not find repreiveAs I am much too sanguine for suchA privelegeCome, safety awaits...Wash your soiled handsCharon will be pleasedAnd I will be quiet26/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... Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest shitson D: Posted March 28, 2009 Report Share Posted March 28, 2009 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.SummerToday, 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 youbeing carried away.About every new thunder that travelsthe 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 fearsyou 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. Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
AaronChamberlain91 Posted April 2, 2009 Report Share Posted April 2, 2009 SummerToday, 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 youbeing carried away.About every new thunder that travelsthe 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 fearsyou 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 ramblingsI walked down a broken road,A road that costs the World to tread.A cat slinking aroundAn open pond of lily leaves And scattered dreams.A snowflake in a seaOf sand. A treasure heldWithin my hand. A journey sweetAs every word. A soul split in two.A wrinkled time of neurotic fear.Hearts held in a bowl.A yellow smile,Upon a fireThat burns deep in my brain.A road of dirt,And dusky grains.Making such a sound.An angel walked uponThe road. Peering,As if missedAn angel made the road For me.On that day we kissed.Quite cliched I know... I wrote it a couple of years ago... Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mahuta ♥ Posted April 3, 2009 Report Share Posted April 3, 2009 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.SummerToday, 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 youbeing carried away.About every new thunder that travelsthe 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 fearsyou 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. Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sandwich Posted May 14, 2009 Report Share Posted May 14, 2009 (edited) I thought I would contribute something to this 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 FoxSmoked out of its foxholeBy the baying of the silenceClawing desperate from the deep earth:Glum recesses and stunted echoesPawned for the light of escape, hurlingTo the foaming terror of the chaseWith whiplash steps of frantic freedom.It was velvet-nosed and trembling,Shivering with knowledge of things,Hesitating at the doorway.The graceful arch of indecisionTraced 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 browsAnd pooling in cocoons of shade.Utopian snatches of life in brillianceSplintered rare and sharp,Drawing delicate drops of memoryWith each slicing edge.Clamorous, relentless silence bludgeonedIts paper-ears, curled whispered thoughtsTo grey threads of ash.The elegant form tore,Ripped by the onslaughtIts hollowed heart fingering for beatsAs though blind.Escape had passed.Yet in the shallows of the lightThose noble eyes held still for all time,Curving worlds through degreesMonstrous as the sprayed wavesCrashing to the ocean floor in spinning sand;Gentle as the blade of grassLeaning 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 combsEncased in stone stirs a draught:For a momentGolden wind traces reddish fur,Fragrances trickle over icy streamsAnd cast silver leaf by moonlight.A soft eye twinkles, and in the shadowOf remembered time, once more refuses deathAnd is alive again. Edited May 14, 2009 by Sandwich 4 Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest syrianstar Posted May 14, 2009 Report Share Posted May 14, 2009 (edited) 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 A soft eye twinkles, and in the shadowOf remembered time, once more refuses deathAnd 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 The Illusion Of Freedom Here I lie, bound up in a prisonClosed and ConfinedWith my arms agonisingly chained to mySuppressed SoulTears silently stream down my cheeks, a river ofDesolation andDespairAnd my lungs collapse for ICan't breathe Cant breathe.***Can you hear the death march,Far,Far away?Feel its powerful walk against the earth that isShuddering andShaking?Smell the stench of lethal death in the airSmothering,Suffocating?Or is this terrifying display only for me?***Why is it that I can't free myself from theseCuffs andChains?Why must I be the one to bear theAche andAnguish?As you arrogantly stand up high Pompous and ProudForcing me ever deeper into this DevastatingDespair.***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 May 14, 2009 by syrianstar 1 Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sandwich Posted May 15, 2009 Report Share Posted May 15, 2009 Thank you very much Tears silently stream down my cheeks, a river ofDesolation andDespairI like the words you use and your choice of language 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 (: Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
moneyfaery Posted May 15, 2009 Report Share Posted May 15, 2009 (edited) 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 May 15, 2009 by Irene Reply Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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