| Author |
Message |
    
L. A. B.
Senior Member
Username: leathab
Post Number: 1732
Registered: 12-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, December 07, 2004 - 8:32 pm: | 
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Walking in the land of the lonely
Pasted smiles on artificial faces
unable to reach, to touch, to feel.
Walking in the land of the mute
voices never lifted, pain never screamed
unable to sing, to speak, to pray.
Walking in the land of the lame
crippled souls wandering endless paths
dogged by evil, dogged by deceit, dogged by lies.
Walking still, perhaps that's hope
remain upright, lifting, still
stretch toward, running from, being. |
GabrielWarlockStrange
Senior Member
Username: warlockstrange
Post Number: 659
Registered: 5-2004
| | Posted on Saturday, December 11, 2004 - 3:36 am: |
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twisting pixie stix around my little finger until its so tight that my finger feels numb like icicles or going sledding too long so that when i stand on the register at home there are needles poking and sticking in my toes and burning the flesh with invisibel flames that leave no damage but the memory of pain and i sip my hot chocolate and remember the sting of the snow as i flew from my flyer and how the ice crystals looked like basketball diamonds as my eyes were closed by their sparkles and my ride ended face down in the other kids way and how my breath burned hufing grey frost clouds like horses nostril early in the morning as i pulled the rope to bring my sled up the hill for one more go and later the steam from my cup rises warming the scrape on my forehead so that it burns again with the hum of torn flesh that only announces the passing of innocence and
as i hold the pixie stix wrapper until i cannot stand the painful burn of lost circulation one more instant and quickly rush to unwind it before my finger gets gaingrene and falls off and my mother beats me and i feel good to know that i am alive |
susano
Senior Member
Username: susano
Post Number: 1693
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, December 11, 2004 - 4:26 am: |
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i yam what i yam
- popeye
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susano
Senior Member
Username: susano
Post Number: 1714
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, December 12, 2004 - 1:56 am: |
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that was awsome gabriel. like a little movie.
i yam what i yam
- popeye
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nomadrat
Senior Member
Username: nomadrat
Post Number: 1154
Registered: 2-2001
| | Posted on Sunday, December 12, 2004 - 5:12 pm: |
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hmmm..
I found it disturbing, sad, and now realize Gabe is carrying around A-LOT of pain...festering.
"How long till my soul gets it right? Can any human being ever reach that kind of light?
I call on the resting soul of Galileo. King of night vision. King of insight" -Indigo Girls
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susano
Senior Member
Username: susano
Post Number: 1731
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Monday, December 13, 2004 - 12:28 am: |
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interesting, nomie! i got the best feeling from gabriel's poem. now i want to hear what he was thinking. when my father was in college, he had a poetry class in which the class was supposed to interpret a poem by Robert Frost. they all handed in their papers after which the prof went on to explain how they were all wrong and what the poem really meant. the following year, Robert Frost himself was a guest instructor and my dad took the class. they all asked him about the poem they had to interpret. Frost said it meant nothing in particular, just something he whipped up! hehe, goes to show how we view any art through our own personal lens.
i yam what i yam
- popeye
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GabrielWarlockStrange
Senior Member
Username: warlockstrange
Post Number: 660
Registered: 5-2004
| | Posted on Monday, December 13, 2004 - 2:39 am: |
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i wrote that last thing on the spot as sort of an excercise in imagry and emotional tension
visual images of snow and diamond crystals
physical sensations of warmth and tearing and pain and numbness
sounds of huffing breaths
the taste of chocolate and although there are no actual smells between the steam of the hot chocolate and the breath of the horses from their nostrils i think i did a pretty good job of involving the olfactory sense in this piece
the emotional tension was first established by the twisting off of circulation
a sort of built in clock
the mixing of good and bad experiences in a narrative first person bring sthe reader even closer to the protagonist and the last tension of the finger being cut off is released in a gruesom description of gangrenous loss before slipping the mother beating in at the last instant
but giving the sense that the child has gained a feeling of some osort of control if not real control over the situation
and while i might disagree with the carrying and festering parts of your evaluation i would have to concede and admit to a great deal of expereince with pain of many and multiple types
i am a sort of connoisseur of pain
but i don't usually carry it around
but i don't think i ever lose the connection to the memory of the pain
i can access about any feeling i have ever had as clearly as the first time i had it
and more importantly i can empathize with others and identify with the pain others feel in ways that most cannot
i have felt many kinds of pain
and we are not all that different in that respect
so which part of it disturbed you the most?
that's the part i need to hone |
susano
Senior Member
Username: susano
Post Number: 1735
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Monday, December 13, 2004 - 2:43 am: |
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guess nomadrat got it better than i!
*feels stupid*
i yam what i yam
- popeye
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nomadrat
Senior Member
Username: nomadrat
Post Number: 1172
Registered: 2-2001
| | Posted on Monday, December 13, 2004 - 4:52 am: |
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The poem reminded me of a self mutilator.
Like those kids in high school that like to cut themselves or carve words into their arm with a blade.
This happens to poeple who have been through some kind of abuse (on a regular bases) that got so bad they have disassociated to the point that they have a hard time feeling emotions.
It just feels like they are going through the motions.
It's not quite a borderline personality disorder..but it's close.
It varies in degrees of how bad it can get.
I know about it because I'm pretty sure I have a milder case of it.
I was never a self mutilator (as such) but I do know that feeling of emptiness.
Like it's hard to feel real emotions sometimes..like I'm faking it.
I got that from the poem because of the whole cutting off the circulation to the the finger thing..to see how it felt..to see if it made you feel something..I've actually done something like that, but I did it with my hair, a string of my hair.
also the visons of pain. I actually had a bad expereince with a sleddign accident myself as a kid, the poem brought that back for me (I had to laugh) I was goign too fast and lost control fo the sled, Instead of hittign another kid I slammed into a fence at the bottom of the hill. Gawd, it was horrible..lol
I had to brave it in fornt of the othe rkids like it didn't really hurt, but I thought I was gonna pass out. Just had to shrug it off.
I thoguht the poem was moreabout ways of dealing with pain.
Winter reminded you of the sled accident, you were experiencing the pain experiemnt with the pixie stick, then your memory of your beating from your mom.
Oh, those happy carefree days of childhood, huh?
"How long till my soul gets it right? Can any human being ever reach that kind of light?
I call on the resting soul of Galileo. King of night vision. King of insight" -Indigo Girls
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susano
Senior Member
Username: susano
Post Number: 1740
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Monday, December 13, 2004 - 6:53 pm: |
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gabriel that description of what you set out to do with that little piece was really interesting. i don't know anything about writing and it never would have occurred to me that that intention was behind it. what a good writer you are. i felt like i was that kid. it made me think back on being in junior high school, when i lived near some lakes and would go snowmobiling with my friends until we were so cold it hurt. specifically, the thawing out process when the numbness started to become feeling again and my friends dog would jump up on us and the scratching of his claws on our skin would send us into a momentary agony. especially the time i decided to wear shorts when we went for our ride in the forest.
i yam what i yam
- popeye
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GabrielWarlockStrange
Senior Member
Username: warlockstrange
Post Number: 661
Registered: 5-2004
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 15, 2004 - 1:20 am: |
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i never tied a pixie stick around my finger and my mom didn't beat me
my mom tended more toward benign neglect
she provided food and shelter but never saw us as "real people with real feelings and thoughts"
her words not mine
there was more an emotional neglect and she was never what could be called physically abusive
we had to drive her crazy for days before she would even spank us at all
but the cutters are definitely part of the personality that i was reaching for
the wounded that do things to get in trouble just so someone will pay attention to them
ones that hurt themselves so that others will give them esteem
and the ones who are so numb and cut off they will do anything to feel human
so it seems i accomlished my goal almost a little too well |
Southern Cross
Advanced Member
Username: jolinda
Post Number: 304
Registered: 1-2004
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 15, 2004 - 2:37 am: |
|
I tossed our diamond to the sea
and watched it skip across the sandy shore
until time's waters carried it from me
to hide it deep forever more.
Yet still I sit upon that beach
and contemplate the beauty that was mine.
I imagine it within my reach.
God! Bring it back just one more time.
Just one more time, and I would toss it out again - back to some secret place where it might rest at last.
But I'd remember every facet held within
and burn its brilliant memory in my past. |
nomadrat
Senior Member
Username: nomadrat
Post Number: 1199
Registered: 2-2001
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 15, 2004 - 4:29 am: |
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GWS..
uh-huh
"Tear down the wall!"
"How long till my soul gets it right? Can any human being ever reach that kind of light?
I call on the resting soul of Galileo. King of night vision. King of insight" -Indigo Girls
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nomadrat
Senior Member
Username: nomadrat
Post Number: 1202
Registered: 2-2001
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 15, 2004 - 5:21 am: |
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I wish I had a poem
that was good enough to share
Something that was cool and deep
and worthy of posting here
But that's not me
it's not my way to bare my soul like that
Usually I get online
just to have a social chat
Yeah, I know I have my moments
Sometimes I cut to the core
But usually my philosophy
is pretty much 'less is more'
I wrote this little ditty
to help get some poems back
I know I have a tendency
to take some threads off track
You may think me egocentric
and yeah that's probably true
But often when I read this board
I think the same of you
Here we group together
to share many a story
I find this site a pleasure
and all of you a glory
Magic people seem to flock here
to this little place
Be they mean, or nice, or just complex
they're all in God's good grace
"How long till my soul gets it right? Can any human being ever reach that kind of light?
I call on the resting soul of Galileo. King of night vision. King of insight" -Indigo Girls
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susano
Senior Member
Username: susano
Post Number: 1756
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 15, 2004 - 10:13 am: |
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yes, nomie!!! thank you for that. very nice (and funny too).
and YOU are magic
i yam what i yam
- popeye
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wtalex378
New member
Username: wtalex378
Post Number: 1
Registered: 3-2004
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 15, 2004 - 7:35 pm: |
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Darkness
Waiting, hoping
Moving slowly
Step the archway into clarity of night
Dreams don’t penetrate my star filled sky
I open my hands to receive the shining you
I wish I could be darkness to truly realize your light
To hold you in adoration
And envy what I cannot be
I will wait in my darkness and think of you. |
susano
Senior Member
Username: susano
Post Number: 1774
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 15, 2004 - 8:35 pm: |
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welcome, 378 . beautiful thoughts.
i yam what i yam
- popeye
|
Southern Cross
Advanced Member
Username: jolinda
Post Number: 310
Registered: 1-2004
| | Posted on Thursday, December 16, 2004 - 2:22 am: |
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Nomie,
You DO write well. I think it's more difficult to write the kind of poem that you wrote, because maybe you had to think about it. All my poems seem to drop into my head as a completed thought packet, and I am simply scribe. Maybe some discarnate spirit liked to write and found me an easy chanel. It's really windy tonight at Lake Arrowhead, and the stars are so clear I can almost touch them. I thought about mentioning the stars on the last really clear night. I think you said that you were in L.A. too. Are you closer to the coast or inland? My office is in Upland. |
nomadrat
Senior Member
Username: nomadrat
Post Number: 1226
Registered: 2-2001
| | Posted on Thursday, December 16, 2004 - 2:29 am: |
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I live between Riverside and Temecula, right off the 215.
Hey, is there snow up there right now?
I was thinking of taking my boy up the mountain either this weekend or the one after Christmas so he can play in the snow.
I see snow on the mountain just past Hemet from where I live.
So I was thinking up by Lake Arrowhead you guys probably have some snow on the ground, too?
I'm trying to remember where Upland is, the name is very familiar to me.
"How long till my soul gets it right? Can any human being ever reach that kind of light?
I call on the resting soul of Galileo. King of night vision. King of insight" -Indigo Girls
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susano
Senior Member
Username: susano
Post Number: 1779
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, December 16, 2004 - 2:46 am: |
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SC, i meant to say, that poem was beautiful. you haven't posted much on this thread (if at all?) and i really liked what you shared.
you & nomie should hook up. wish i'd known you guys when i was in long beach. i was so lonely there.
i yam what i yam
- popeye
|
Southern Cross
Advanced Member
Username: jolinda
Post Number: 311
Registered: 1-2004
| | Posted on Thursday, December 16, 2004 - 2:53 am: |
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Hi Nomie,
Upland is right off the 10 freeway east of Ontario. We are right nest to Claremont, of the Claremont Colleges.
You missed the snow at Arrowhead, but I hear they are making lots at the ski resorts, which are higher and closer to Big Bear. A Couple of weeks ago I got snowed out of my house. Three feet dumped and I live off an access road that wasn't plowed. I live at 6000 feet, which is at the top of Arrowhead. Sometimes it only snows the last three hundred feet to my house. I'll be happy to give you snow reports when ever you want them. But none here, so try the winter slides at the resorts. When we do get snow, there's a heck of a sliding hill a mile and a half from my house.
I must pass your way all the time, because I spend a lot of time in Ensenada (hour and a half south of T.J, but clean and beautiful.) Did you do O.K. in the fires? The night we got evacuated it was burning all the way to Ensenada. Nothing was touched at the house, thank God. Cool. We're almost neighbors, L.A. style. Has your son ever built a snow person? (Note the political correctness.) |
nomadrat
Senior Member
Username: nomadrat
Post Number: 1229
Registered: 2-2001
| | Posted on Thursday, December 16, 2004 - 3:06 am: |
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I love Lake arrowhead. I didn't realize you lived up there (for some reaosn I thought you live dup near Patricia, near San Fran)
You know, Busby lives up your way somehwere.
The only thing we got from the fires is smoke, bad air, and ash. It was bad up there, though, where you are.
Scary.
Yeah, we shoudl meet up sometime or somehting.
That'd be cool.
I'm just the board social butterfly of late.
Wanting to meet everybody.
See, I'm getting the thread off track again...lol
"How long till my soul gets it right? Can any human being ever reach that kind of light?
I call on the resting soul of Galileo. King of night vision. King of insight" -Indigo Girls
|
Southern Cross
Advanced Member
Username: jolinda
Post Number: 313
Registered: 1-2004
| | Posted on Thursday, December 16, 2004 - 5:22 pm: |
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Yup Nomie,
Your intuition is working well as usual. I lived near San Francisco from 1979-1994. I just get up to S.F. fairly often to see friends. I hadn't heard that busby was close by. I wonder if we could get a mini reunion going? |
youngsoul
New member
Username: youngsoul
Post Number: 4
Registered: 10-2004
| | Posted on Wednesday, December 22, 2004 - 7:36 pm: |
|
DOOM
My bleeding eyes
My ringing ears
The burning touch
Of all my fears
One moment I live
The next I die
And only in the passing
Do I ask, why?
Does it matter now?
Here at the end
That I feel the truth
Of a wasted youth
The dissent of my soul
Is a just response to nothing new
I do now sense
The price for all my sin is coming due
I’m trapped forever now
In a hell I helped create
There is no escape
I’m on my way and I won’t be late
I do not like it
Now that I know
My destiny is lost
My fate I do now sow
My fall is complete
So now and forevermore I weep upon bended knee
No longer able to stand on my own two feat
It’s time creation to recycle me. |
tigermom
Advanced Member
Username: three9s
Post Number: 359
Registered: 12-2004
| | Posted on Friday, January 14, 2005 - 3:58 pm: |
|
Ridiculous charade.
The machine poised, mouth a mess of shards.
Burlesque's parade:
Mr Schmarmer, teacher extrodinaire,
with nasal drawl and megalomonic flair,
lets loose the snare:
Earlier that morning our young prince had woke
to dreams of adventure.
A west bound bus went east,
an old friend to tensure.
After two years apart, a legend was marked,
when the prince tackled the Bulldozer.
A reign in the game ended by tiny prince A.W.O.L.
Glories never known to the school where the prince has not shown.
Mr. Schmarmer neglects to reveal the prince's absence, when he calls to sniff around.
Decrys his true ambition is not the prince's welfare, but his Throne.
A flurry of follies and the prince's mother finally knows..,
"Oh it must be that the Prince is Evil,
Stupid, Lazy, Evil"...,
Cries Mr. Schmarmer, in his throes.
"He is stupid, lazy, evil, grind him down
beneath my toes."
"Oh shut-up", says Tigermama,
as she sends her carrion crows. |
tigger
Advanced Member
Username: three9s
Post Number: 386
Registered: 12-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, January 25, 2005 - 11:36 pm: |
|
To the members of my city who have eschewed discernment and participated in the psychopath's swath of filth.
Cold eyes and frozen face, flesh all draped in skin.
How I hate
your secret pieties of sin.
Totter or loom, your machinations,
have you hen-pecked from within.
Sharks smell blood and swim.
Zealots when your decent,
so that is your reward, then.
What muscle charity,
petty megalomaniacs begin,
from their beggars.
Rapt audience of fools,
play by copycat rules,
to a chorus of slanderous hymns.
Goddess have mercy on your petty, provincial,
pig-farming, filth-loving souls.
I do like pigs and farmers.
___________________________________________________
Spirit's the gift you get when you give it away. |
susi t learn
Senior Member
Username: etsi
Post Number: 5123
Registered: 4-2003
| | Posted on Sunday, January 30, 2005 - 11:38 am: |
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you doing ok, tigger? |
agnes maria
Advanced Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 449
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 29, 2005 - 5:44 am: |
|
Just found this thread when Susano mentioned it. I'm gonna post something that could conceivably mention black holes 
Surrender
Oblivion perches softly amid vacant, star-laden space;
forward lunging reversion into encompassing movement;
unawares into the snare, unloosening and of jagged bite;
to be guided away into completion by such inspiring energy.
Dwelt deception here before and imprinted her innate lies;
slow traumas while the simmering heart is raided;
brutality stealing the strength to drain and tear love;
so vulnerable in trust, through the sharing of the unbitten soul.
Farcic illusory drama overturning century and strife;
to plunge within unlighted class and linear dogma;
to die and know such death complete of the spirit;
synthetically can no meaning be created.
Twisted with inky tools onto limited manifestation;
thought transcends and greedy interference disrupts;
flow twice, once flown, and thrice again afar to reach;
and deeper each delve, forth-coming into watered sight.
Into such unraveled truth to fall and become lost;
to not superficial acceptance fling inhibitions;
the necessity of doubt is drawn from miles of fatigue;
Oblivion winces silent curse and flame into her blade.
Agnieszka [Agnes] Maria Sroczynski
CopyLeft 1999
(Message edited by anonarchista on March 29, 2005) |
irony brat
Intermediate Member
Username: bops
Post Number: 190
Registered: 3-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 29, 2005 - 8:52 am: |
|
such talent here. praise all around.
"the softest light i know"
our firefly hearts
rise up at dusk's calling
softlit green splash
illuminates our words
here
then darkness again
as we fall back
to the meadow of our mystery
and wait. . . |
Patricia Davis
Senior Member
Username: patricia
Post Number: 5192
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 29, 2005 - 1:32 pm: |
|
Wow, what great writers we have here--! I haven't read this thread for ages and only came by because agnes mentioned in another thread that she was posting something.
Isn't it odd that it's called the Prose place, when it's actually poetry...? |
kathy decker
Advanced Member
Username: kat
Post Number: 359
Registered: 1-2004
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 29, 2005 - 2:04 pm: |
|
Yes I thought the same thing.A little fridge poetry here-
Picture eternity like a woman
Gorgeous above a stormy sea
Hair smooth flood water
Diamond ships elaborate her gown
Men swim together beneath her heaving breast
Worshipping,dreaming,with music
Symphonies of shadow and light
A thousand winds whisper honeyed languages
From this essential goddess of life. |
Sheila Na Gig
Intermediate Member
Username: wimminsknickers
Post Number: 184
Registered: 7-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, March 29, 2005 - 6:25 pm: |
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The Quest
I looked for you in the silence of stones
I looked for you in the deepness of water
I looked for you in the stillness of green mountains
I looked for you
I looked for you in rolling storms through the cracked light
I searched the vast deserts with sand-encrusted eyes
I prostrated myself before the altars of the old Gods
And did not find you there
I carried the seeds of centuries
In my ripped and torn-out heart
And watched as they sprouted one by one
From it's still beating warmth
In the cupped hands of some ancient warrior
Raised up to the sun
His cry of victory echoing across the eons
As I watch my blood streaming down his arms
And I am a river and then an ocean
I tasted the salt upon my lips and remembered again
That I must find you
I tore my way through the crevices of earth
And thundered ceaselessly against sand and rock
And still you eluded me
Slipping quietly in and out of my dreaming
Always out of reach of my fever and my madness
Yet I sensed you just a hair's breath away
And your voice was like bells
And waking all at once
I glimpsed a sliver of golden light
And dragging my pounding bruised body
Across continents of ashes and thorns
I finally laid myself down
At the end of all crossings
And reaching out my hand
With one last strength of hoping
Touched my fingers to the stars.
M.T.H. (a.k.a.) Sheila Na Gig Copyright 1992
(Message edited by wimminsknickers on March 29, 2005)
Non illigitum carburundum est.
|
agnes maria
Senior Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 539
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Friday, April 01, 2005 - 1:41 am: |
|
~a poem~
expressionless expressionless, are you my friend expressionless?
Dreaming so expressionlesss, dancing so expressionless...
minding yer own mind, are ye? ye lie to me! ye like to me!
for i know ye in yer mind, ye be chaos and undefined!
Living so expressionless, thriving so expressionless...
Why subject to torment, while ye see
that truthfully...
perfection ye be, and corruption be entombing thee.
Lie no longer to yourself.
Why subject to torment...
Lie no longer.
CopyLeft 2002 by the "Anarchy Agnes Actionhero" [one of street names] |
irony brat
Intermediate Member
Username: bops
Post Number: 192
Registered: 3-2004
| | Posted on Sunday, April 03, 2005 - 3:43 pm: |
|
first the winter's taste grows chill
then the soul's repressed, until
melting snow, baked on the hill
flutters to my reckless will
first the melt reveals the loam
then the whip-poor-will comes home
when the beach returns from grey
in some other yesterday
first the things i left to chance
then the whirl of happenstance
when the weight of summer's lean
on the mountain's upswept green
first the things remembered, past
then the pause, released at last
when the morning sings, alive
summons spring at half past five
i have waited, long and hard
for the brown to leave my yard
for the green to seep with skill
worms for that old whip-poor-will |
wender
Senior Member
Username: wender
Post Number: 1078
Registered: 9-2004
| | Posted on Sunday, April 03, 2005 - 10:01 pm: |
|
my very first poem, voiced at age 3
roses are red, voilets are blue
i like peanut butter
can you swim? |
agnes maria
Senior Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 609
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 06, 2005 - 2:04 am: |
|
Two of my poems from when I was 13. I was into Faery Magic *_*!
Of Old [Published]
In the ancient lands beyond the sea,
I view upon the ancient tree,
Of old, I hear it's gentle plea,
In the tangled lands beyond the sea.
I stoop to pick a stone, so rare,
I feel the old tree's watchful stare,
Whispered voices begin to scare,
By the ancient sea of old, so fair.
Knowledged with wisdom that has no end,
The flower faery's flowers bend,
To the soft tune the wind did send,
Upon incensed air of mystic blend.
Timeless magic, beauties unknown,
Chants of old about the land are blown,
Of the ancient tongue to the world unshown,
In the forgotten lands of green and stone.
Eternal beyond the sea of old,
Where starry nights of magic foretold,
The ancient tree, tales of ages doth hold,
Air strewn with light as faerys' wings unfold.
In the ancient ways of the ancient days,
The water faery upon the spring plays,
Under the moon, changing with it's delicate phase,
The tree rich woodland forms the intricate maze.
I stand before the ancient Faery mound,
The daylight Faeries' voices resound,
Beneath the land, beneath the ground,
In a unison chorus with voices together bound.
1997
The Woodland
Beneath the sky over the enchanted woodland,
Stand tangled trees over moss grown sand.
Whistling winds sing their ballad of dreams,
And waters in dance, chant down the streams.
The spirits of old forgotten times,
Sing a chorus of endlessly winding rhymes.
Rising then falling, the stars and the moon,
Inscriptions in stone, carved in tongues of rune.
Voices of soft chants, passing unheard,
An endless abyss of night, undisturbed.
A realm of mystic sleep and light,
The warrior's sword-tip enemies shall smite.
The peril of greed rings true through each plane,
It is the dark power, everyone's bane.
All that is magical, to the enemy not lost,
Lives with the trees, entwined and crossed.
Beings of spring, of daylight and moon,
Elves of the woods, and dwarves emerging soon.
Sprites of the darkness crossing paths through the skies,
And gnomes of the night element, a people most wise.
Under the light, under the night,
The spirit faeries take to flight.
Bringing forth their wisdom to share it,
With those whom their words shall inherit.
Eternal flames, no end to their fire,
Drop low and rise high, hear their thunderous choir.
Protection from darkness, from the evils and pains,
And gentle solace until the night wanes.
Seek ye and inevitably within find,
Answers to pondered questions of the mind.
Amongst the tangles of branches and leaves,
Beneath the sky, o'er the woodland that weaves.
1997
Agnes Sroczynski [CopyLeft]
Einstein did not believe in black holes but unfortunately could not articulate why.
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agnes maria
Senior Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 610
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 06, 2005 - 2:08 am: |
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Oh cool, there's one more in the folder! [Song/Chant thingie. Yes, yes, so it's really girly. Better than the I hate society poetry I write now! Thought I'd take a break from the extreme seriousness with a little Faery Tale ;) Then I'll post something really harsh] ...
Ternaliesen [published]
Ternaliesen parted from the rock-strewn shore,
Sped he down passages in those days of yore,
Lighted without fire the sky's celestial floor,
Spinning among the sylvan folk with the flames afore.
Honor without question, pain bred by pride,
Apprentice mage, warrior bard, by his kinfolk's side,
Light upon you, darkness take you, never can you hide,
Twilight mists, eerie twists, baffling e'en the guide,
Ternaliesen's legacy, ranger of the sky,
Ever standing, never changing, neither fade nor die,
Beyond the shouted essence of the battle enraged cry,
Wizardry amid powerful hands, forthcomings they scry,
Ternaliesen viewed upon the water's rock-strewn shore,
Sat he on stone ridged meres in those days of yore,
Looking beyond the visions to the celestial floor,
Dancing with the elven folk with the flames afore.
1997
Me[CL]
(Message edited by anonarchista on April 06, 2005)
Einstein did not believe in black holes but unfortunately could not articulate why.
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agnes maria
Senior Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 611
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 06, 2005 - 2:18 am: |
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My apologies to anyone not wishing to read my poetry but doing so out of politeness. I am going through a "feel like posting my poetry" moment.
Vendui. [Light Upon You in the TSR Dark Elf language, LOL, from my higher self I suppose]
Fruitful is the light that penetrates the darkness,
and in need of the light is the darkness,
which the light does penetrate.
And so forth do I weave, so forth do I travel;
Only to uncover the truth that the mysticism that I seek
is what I am, what I have, what is truly there,
and no illusion!
Oh elation, elation!
We are well and we are thriving;
To experience we are yearning!
Every facet, every minor, worthy facet!
Oh to love, and to embrace! To sing
the song of Elves! For we are Elves!
Elves and Faeries, upon the realms and
traveling ... devoid of the external,
devoid of binding and of possession!
We live in Spirit, and in the Earth!
As beings therein, without the ails of body;
As beings therein, creating what we want!
Having all that we do want!
And our creativity so expressed!
So truly, kindly, perfectly expressed!
We are without technological impairment!
And so we weave, forever dancing into eternity;
In spirals about the fire,
In ecstasy beneath the moon.
In perfect understanding, in perfect trust;
In our own power! In our own selves!
Oh to heal the Earth! To heal those who still believe in pain!
I shall sojourn here... I shall sojourn there...
So that I might create such healing!
Because such is my desire;
Of compassionately wrought lack of judgment...
You who do not know love...
How unfortunate you are right now.
And oh I yearn
To return
But I am not yet finished in this place
I am not yet finished here with you
And Oh! how I do yearn to return!
But not until
No, not until!
Not until I can bring you with me.
January 2000
Einstein did not believe in black holes but unfortunately could not articulate why.
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agnes maria
Senior Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 612
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 06, 2005 - 2:20 am: |
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From my lower self?? {Warning! You've been warned...}
address to the servile, contempted multitude [mainly the "evilite"]
oh dishonourable multitude
disperse your flagrant stagnation
bereaved for rotted empires
whose lucullan vulgarity slackened
and weighted your strength
down to squirming, swarming throngs
of soft, salivating sh*t-mongers,
the contents of whose volatile bowels
sludge along the streams that feed us
oh dishonourable multitude
disperse your flagrant stagnation
bereaved for decaying order
that wangled your lewd despair
and has dulled your purpose down
to that of parasitic, ruinous gluttons,
feeding from the sh*t-hole
that plunders your reason for being
into rudderless usance
oh dishonourable multitude
disperse your flagrant stagnation
bereaved for falling regimes
at whose whim you are maintained
and from whose meaningless traditions
you have derived your contemptible
wagging tongues of griping lust
and rapacious countenance,
smeared with inglorious velleity
SAVE YOURSELF FROM THEIR DOOM
december 10 2003
Einstein did not believe in black holes but unfortunately could not articulate why.
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agnes maria
Senior Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 613
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 06, 2005 - 2:23 am: |
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I think we should post some prose. I'm not showing off, I just talk a lot and hide nothing.
Einstein did not believe in black holes but unfortunately could not articulate why.
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agnes maria
Senior Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 614
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 06, 2005 - 2:31 am: |
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Clearing
We are wrought of great fleeting moments about intuitive treason and totally incomparable forwardness of motion. Our breath chill through great hours of running into right and moral trials of the heart and soul and body and mind until, weary, we are faced with finally comparable opposition. Through such final trials are determined the extent of our strength and of our courage.
Situated unbearably low into the life force of existence are greatly evil manifestations of irrefutably vulgar disregard for sacredness. Without the truth to guide us, we are lost, with our power stolen, to lowest pains and fears, for within illusion - which is the state without truth - we are deceived by the intolerable selfishness of the dark world. Until we come into ourselves and embrace life as a species united, we will be in darkness.
Einstein did not believe in black holes but unfortunately could not articulate why.
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agnes maria
Senior Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 615
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 06, 2005 - 2:35 am: |
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Just one more, I promise!
May 1st, 1999
Foreword
Twixt beguiling mesmers brought is hypnotic and believing. So that Beltane may spring anew for washing the amissing. And breathe reality into perfection. Flight portrayed as children and love as the Force herself. To maleness weightlessly begotten and masculinity worked against. To bring down the wise power for the greedy. And courage becomes lost so that forgotten balance remains so hidden. As to life, death is, so too shall all be to nothing. Frequent disruptions and the arrogance flourishes. On the blood of her love and the pain of her femininity, as so torn and broken is her body left. By the side of your things. And the pain of his loss only unfolds out of such negligence. To free and let go so as to become lost within such enlightenment. Fluid in its constancy and motion. Be derived of the gods to be wrought in their forest, of limestone and sea. Sun and space. They are embers who have become troubled and seek to be burning again when they slip downward. And the struggle is a race. To the deadline that we shall fail in meeting if this stasis is in our agenda.
(Message edited by anonarchista on April 06, 2005)
Einstein did not believe in black holes but unfortunately could not articulate why.
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irony brat
Intermediate Member
Username: bops
Post Number: 193
Registered: 3-2004
| | Posted on Wednesday, April 06, 2005 - 9:45 am: |
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the recurring dream.
there was a sound of some mental pyrotechnical display. suddenly i was awake. i think the lingering serendipity is merging with the deep toxins of abuse. something is going on here. the fear lurks in the darker corners ready to pounce. i can't find the scenery of this passing moment. all that slips by is a dark, featureless night.
i get up, crack a window. summer's promise sifts in on a chilling breeze, innocently trying to escape its own night-ness for the safety of this dark room. my eyes follow it in. i see my dog. ears perk at the sudden attention. is something else here? i'm still. only my eyes are moving. do things that go bump in the night actually go bump in the night? whisper "there is no place on earth to hide." did i just say that?
here, there is a room, bound only by the limits imposed by plaster and wood and me. here, this magic eight-ball of consciousness begins to show its porocity. its organic, fluxlike pulse, from one moment to the next, reveals a high degree of susceptibility as the scantily clad photons desperately attempt to illuminate. i move toward the light switch. the sludge of dreams slows my pace to a crawl. i can see my hand longing for the switch. it wavers. i know what's coming.
i flick the switch. the light begins to come on then, slowly, as my terror rises, its illumination falls. i had no chance to look around before the dark reclaimed its hold on my terrible vision. outside the window--total blackness now. so black, my face is sucked in rather than reflected off the glass. there is a strong, still wind out there in the darkness.
the dog is nowhere to be found. i stumble into the hall. another switch. another failed attempt to enlighten. bulbs barely glow before they fail and summon an even deeper darkness. shadows scamper more boldly away from my attention. it's all real now. i finally recognize this place. this is not my house. these are not friendly companions playing games. i find my way back to bed and climb under the safety of the covers. there, i am safe at last. |
youngsoul
Junior Member
Username: youngsoul
Post Number: 68
Registered: 10-2004
| | Posted on Sunday, April 10, 2005 - 3:04 am: |
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The following is more a song than poetry or prose and is really a take-off of another song. I "composed" it over several months while thinking and reading about "conformists".
Enjoy (maybe?)
Note: The words your, you and such refers to "modern" society as a whole and I do realize that there are exceptions, just not very many.
YOUR WAY
And now, the end is near;
And so I face your final curtain.
Lost ones, I’ll say it clear,
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain.
You live an aimless life, unaware it’s empty.
You wander many meaningless highways;
But worse, much worse than this,
I conformed to your way.
Regrets, I’m sure you have more than a few;
Yes, just like me, probably far too many to mention.
I did what you wanted me to do
And saw it through with apprehension.
You don’t plan a single charted course;
Not one careful step along the byway,
But worse, much worse than this,
I conformed to your way.
Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I defied what you would have me do.
But through it all, when I had doubt,
You ate me up and sh*t me out.
I didn’t give it my all; I let you stand tall;
And always in the end I conformed to your way.
I’ve tried, yet failed to love; I’ve lied and wept to myself.
I’ve had my fill of you and my poor choosing.
And now, as tears persist,
I find it all so NOT amusing.
To think I did all that;
And my I say – though, this time not in your way,
“Yes, just like me,
Everyone does your things your way.”
For what are you, what have you got?
If not me, then you are naught.
To opiate my true desires;
You brainwashed me to quench my fires.
The record shows you delivered the greater blows –
And so I conformed to your way! |
Stephen in AZ
Senior Member
Username: stephenm
Post Number: 604
Registered: 12-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, June 01, 2005 - 10:40 pm: |
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When I was spending a lot of time driving many years ago, sometimes I would put together poems in my head to pass the time. They were generally of an odd and humorous nature, with a lot of nonsensical happenings. I hardly ever wrote anything down, though.
I remember part of a poem that I had to write in grade school. The first part talked about a bad dream (fictitious) in which I kept getting chased by dogs, and about nightmare dogs going over the land. It ended with "Why this dream of which I write? I forgot to feed the dogs last night."
The teacher liked it. She thought it was a lot different from what the other students did. It seems they had a tendency to write more depressing poems. (No offense to anyone; many famous poems are dark and brooding.) |
agnes maria
Senior Member
Username: anonarchista
Post Number: 1228
Registered: 1-2005
| | Posted on Wednesday, July 13, 2005 - 3:12 am: |
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That Ternaliesen poem I wrote when I was 14, and
it is a song to the tune of Puff the Magic Dragon.
Death Before Dishonour
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susano
Senior Member
Username: susano
Post Number: 2537
Registered: 10-2003
| | Posted on Tuesday, August 02, 2005 - 5:41 pm: |
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out in the sticks
lots of pine
seven miles to the nearest store
or in the city
shakin' off hustlers
on an evening walk
car crash on a country road
assault on an urban sidewalk
if you seek it, it will find you
life is so cheap
rewritten every minute
made up as we go along
no more mysterious than that
but he said that no virus can harm you
no bacteria can make you sick
no murderers bullet can find you
if you don't want to die
all just the projection
of an internal movie
of sorts
the trouble with writing is
the difficulty when presented with
the vast and divergent possibilities
and the fickle nature of those characters
who want to take on a life of their own
they're hard to control sometimes
and one gets to wondering
just who's writing this damn thing anyway
"All That Is knows no other. It does not know whether or not other psychic gestalts like Itself may exist. It is constantly searching."
- Seth
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Sheila Na Gig
Advanced Member
Username: wimminsknickers
Post Number: 301
Registered: 7-2003
| | Posted on Wednesday, August 03, 2005 - 5:37 pm: |
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the night like a dark mystery
once again withdraws
laying bare the days
that like a desert come
waiting to be washed over
by the rains of indifference
i walk alone among the crowd
and the newspapers full of unread crimes
and the ugly anger of the world
rages in my heart
and the small rain falling
just the same
i am walking
i am growing old
i float like a lost face
in the center of an hour
without help
without a word
without conviction
mere scrap of humanity
and the wind cries
over what was loved
a waltz of mirrors
a dialogue in a void
two grey shapes receding in the mist
where a sky trembling with intensity
engulfs the radiance of the stars
and the birds of time
have almost stopped living
and I have at last
committed this world to memory.
Pog Mo Thoin.
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Stephen in AZ
Senior Member
Username: stephenm
Post Number: 826
Registered: 12-2003
| | Posted on Saturday, September 24, 2005 - 6:57 pm: |
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A few years ago, a word-a-day email newsletter that I used to take wanted people to send in submissions using the word flibbertigibbet (which, according to the dictionary, is a frivolous, flighty person). I sent in a poem featuring it and it was published in a later edition of the newsletter, along with some submissions by other readers.
A man saw a flibbertigibbet
and said, I cannot believe it
If I say what I saw
They won't believe me at all
So I guess I will just have to fib it!
By Stephen Morgan, September 29, 2002 |
Stephen in AZ
Senior Member
Username: stephenm
Post Number: 882
Registered: 12-2003
| | Posted on Thursday, November 24, 2005 - 11:53 am: |
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I thought that I might make a post,
But this is all I have,
And though it's not as good as most,
It's a temporary salve.
Perhaps another post will come,
From me or someone else,
Until that time I leave this rhyme,
For someone like yourself. |
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