For the Bards in us All-let the Words flow free

Stuff that just doesn't fit anywhere else. (As if our other threads don't run off topic already.)
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Pax
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Postby Pax » Thu Apr 08, 2004 10:57 am

Killjoy, I am utterly amazed.
That is wonderful KJ, truly wonderful.
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Postby Lightfeather » Thu Apr 08, 2004 12:58 pm

I like that one very much because I suffer like that now but I know why I'm feeling that way. Hormonal imbalance. If I had written this poem I may have labeled it "Memoirs of a PMS Sufferer".

I also get this way when I spend too much time in front of the computer, which I have lately working on the board. I usually feel a load better when I get out of the house and go to Home Depo and shop around for plants for my yard. In this case I would label this poem: "Virtual Depression".

=^_^=
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Postby Eggnog » Fri Apr 23, 2004 1:17 pm

You're playing with your very lives!

http://www.cnn.com/2004/HEALTH/04/22/po ... index.html
This space for rent.

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Postby Lightfeather » Fri Apr 23, 2004 2:44 pm

There once was a guy named Eggnog,
Who spent time at the House o' Grog,
He posted a link,
That forced me to think,
And keep track of all that I log.

I've scribbled out quite a few rhymes,
And from what I've read in the Times,
Poets die early,
That's why we're surly,
We'd be better off being Mimes.
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Wasting Time

Postby Coldfyre » Mon Apr 26, 2004 12:40 am

I'm apparently willing to do anything to put off writing my papers that are due this Tuesday, so here's a poem!

<b>I Think, Therefore I Am Torgo
a poem by Torgo of <u>Manos, the Hands of Fate</u></b>

People drive and drive and drive and drive and drive
and drive and drive and drive and drive
until they come to the place.
The small ones in the front row
shining golden spider-duck...
the man with the hair of short length...
the red clear thinker...
make fun of my giant kneecaps.
I glare at them from below the brim of my ugly, smelly hat.
But it looks like I'm glaring into the camera.
Little do they know the pain I feel inside.
Huge orange hands on a robe of night
look silly on the man with the mustache
and I laugh, on the inside, where the pain is.
The Master would not approve.
Slowly, I hobble, lifting luggage
while my haunting theme is heard.
I am Torgo.
I take care of the place while the Master is away.
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Well, EXCUUUUUUSE ME, Princess!

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Postby Metostopholes » Mon Apr 26, 2004 1:38 am

WAI WAI, My favorite of your poems... except maybe "A Zombie's Plea" or "Some Barbarian Is Standing In My Way" or "Sitting in the Garden of Stubborn Cats"...

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Postby Keladry » Mon Apr 26, 2004 4:41 pm

OMFG I had no idea this was here!! Hmmm, maybe I can torture you all with my terrible teenage poetry....
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Postby Keladry » Wed Apr 28, 2004 8:04 pm

Try to ignore the bad rhythm, my sister attempted to help me and she made the rhythm odd... Still trying to fix that... Anyway, time for the torture:

<h3>My Little Riddle</h3>
I have a riddle,
For you to solve,
Not to befuddle,
But to help evolve.

Most've seen it,
Some have not,
Those who are unfortunate,
Who see it a lot.

It comes after one,
Sometimes more,
Not always welcome,
But it always with war.

Chasing all,
Both young and old,
Perhaps in fall,
When leaves are gold.

Isn't it obvious yet?
The thing halts a baby's breath?
You'll get it soon, 'm willing to bet,
But just so you know, it's Death.
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Postby Keladry » Wed Apr 28, 2004 8:07 pm

A little mini-poem that I like...

I tried to bury,
All of my fury,
It didn't work so well,
Now it feels as if,
'm burning in hell
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Postby Keladry » Wed Apr 28, 2004 8:09 pm

I think this is the last that I'm willing to post. If you wanna see more, go to http://www.geocities.com/rekaasdollz/poems/ (I'm not liable for any eye/ear bleeding, or any other injury caused by my terrible poetry. Read at your own risk.)

/Edit Oh, and my alias on there is Rekaa....(I have too many of those)

<h3>Thoughts</h3>
My brain is swimming,
Swimming in thoughts

Good ones
Bad ones
Great and not

My brain is swimming,
Swimming in thoughts

Wierd ones,
Common ones,
Queer and not

My brain is swimming,
Swimming in thoughts

Kind ones,
Mean ones,
Nice ones and not.

My brain is swimming,
Swimming in thoughts

Happy ones,
Sad ones,
Good and not


My brain is swimming,
Swimming in thoughts

Too many,
Yet too little,
Surplus and not


My brain is drowning,
Drowning in thoughts

Some are you,
Others me
But you more often,
Than not.
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Postby blingwolf » Thu May 20, 2004 4:02 pm

Kellllllll... :?
I must inquire, what the hell?
Your poetry sucks like my shoes smell.
All in union, we agree,
Writing's not for Keladry...
Just a joke, my dear sis,
Nothing is meant by my boo and hiss.
Your poetry's fine, I must admit,
I didn't mean to give you shit.

*takes a bow* thank you.

I have something real to post, if anyone cares to read it...
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Postby blingwolf » Thu May 20, 2004 4:10 pm

I spent the night in your clothes--

I had become you.

My forehead felt sticky with stale sweat when my spindly fingers oozed through my hair--what happened last night?
I stare through the shatters of mirror that are still clinging to the bathroom wall like the haze is clinging to my truncated thoughts. The acrid stench of broken home waltzes through my stinging nostrils and the room lurches into my stomach and out of my mouth as I vomit violently over the bloodstained basin of the bathroom sink. My soul sags to my feet when I slide my hand over my burning mouth to rid me of the taste of all my childhood.I gargle with murky tap water and shots of bad tequila, it's all I can do to drown out the waves of what happened when I saw you with her.
Hatred boils out of my eyes and singes my hand, like the lemon acid on my scrape of heartbeat--on my index finger there's a slice to the bone, and when I yank the splinter of mirror out of it, a river of infection streams down my skeletal arm and bleeds into your jacket.

I hope you're happy.

Fibers of bruised veins sprout out of the crooks of my elbows, my eyes glitter out of my hollow face and back at me in slivers of reflection like beetles glittering, thumb-tacked to tag board---and just as lifeless. A distant rat sounds like the gallop of the four horsemen through a puddle in the darkness. It skitters over empty syringes and broken bottles, and I shiver uncontrollably as I crawl to the kitchen, spidery hand seeking the phone, grasping at its cradle--but it doesn't matter, it was turned off months ago, and its cord has been chewed off by my rat friends. Slowly, I pull your jacket around my shoulders and remember what your skin felt like as I recite my last phone call for you. When I open my mouth to speak, the voice is unrecognizable--I haven't used it in four weeks and two days, eleven hours and twenty-seven minutes, thirty-three--four seconds--so a metallic rasp emerges from my lips inn place of my delicate inflection--"Hello, is this Alex McMillan's residence? It is? Is this Joan? Oh, hi Joan, it's Tonya, Alex's ex, yes, I have a slight cold, no, it's alright. Yes, it has been ages... Say, is Alex there? Would you please? Thanks...
"There's a brief pause while I wait for you to answer the phone--as I draw your coat closer to my papery skin and pick up the dull blade of my good kitchen knife... I hear your voice, it sounds syrupy like butterscotch and drips down from the inside of my skull, "Hello? Who is this?" There is a pregnant pause before, "Tonya?"

"Yes Alex, it's me. Goodbye Alex."
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Postby Phat.Stack » Thu May 20, 2004 4:20 pm

You know Bling, I normally hate angsty "suicide cuz my boyfriend cheated on me" type poems/stories. I thought this was one when I first started to read it.

After finishing it my thoughts on it are:

Powerful

Well done

Powerfully well done

Impressive, Bling. It was a little hard to follow the imagry one or two times due to the concentration of adjectives, but impressive none the less.

:)

I certainly hope all your short stories dont have this extreme dark edge about them. It would box in your otherwise creative writing style into an all-too-predictable typecast.

/claps

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Postby blingwolf » Fri May 21, 2004 11:52 am

Thank you for your comments, Phat-and-all-that... I appreciate them very much.

I have something else that is a little less creepy, but not as well written.

The Epidemic
By: Chasma DeLane

So.

I'm slurping stovetop noodles off of my steaming spoon and thinking of the way you kiss me.
Thinking about the way you tip my chin upwards slightly because I'm six whole inches shorter than you without my stilettos.

Considering the way you can still look as scorching white-hot when you're out of focus and all I can see are the lids of your eyes as you do when I spy on you from afar.

I'm pondering if you're pondering about the way I kiss you back.

Or if you're understanding the fact that if I were physically able to be a piece of your anatomy, I would. Even if that would mean breaking my worst habit, dragging my feet, because I know that it would drive you crazy.

And the noodles are now colder than the ice in my tea, but I'm ruminating the fact that when you embrace me the world as I know it disappears completely and when we break apart it comes back again, only worse.

I'm wondering if you feel that intense electrical connection between us when your hand entwines in mine.

And knowing that you can see the anticipation rush to my cheeks when you lean down to snatch my lips with yours and how you thieve my breath with just one flash of your brilliant smile.

You know, the smile that could charm the stripes off of a tiger, the black off of the board, and me out of my senses.

That smile.

I can recall the way that your radiant eyes emit invisible, scorching sparks when that damn smile spreads to them. Infecting them like an unstoppable plague, contaminating your eyes as your whole being contaminates me. The epidemic of passion.

In fact, I think that's what I'll call this. This thing between us. The epidemic that starts with a kiss and leads to the complete submersion in the sickly-sweet river of pure, undeniable love.

And now, meet my good friend: reality.
Reality reminds me that I'm slurping slate-cold Ramen noodles off of a spoon thinking about someone who isn't here, who isn't mine, and who isn't interested.
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Postby Phat.Stack » Fri May 21, 2004 12:37 pm

Again... very good Bling.

I like the style of "fooling" the reader into believing a reality that isnt true. This writing theme is the same as your previous story. I think at the end of the story, the reader feels betrayed... like they were duped into thinking something else was going to happen. Then after that shock wears off, the reader goes back and examines the story for subtle clues.

I think its the subtle clues that are the most important... to drop hints... very tricky ones... that the reality the reader is buying into might not be quite the way it seems. That way when the reader returns to the text, they enjoy it that much more.

I think it would make an excellent short story to create a "protagonist" that seems completely believable: has a job, wife, kids, friends... take that character through a normal day: goes to work, comes home, shows that he loves his wife and kids, etc. and then have that character turn out to be a bank robber or a killer and have them go through whatever illegal activity they do from their point of view; as something that is morally acceptable or justifiable at least.

That feeling of "betrayal" would be heavily accentuated by such a drastic difference in the lifestyle the reader was shown and the lifestyle the reader is "dragged through" at the end.

I feel a story like that (or whatever other theme, mine was just an example) would play best to your writing style.

Keep up the writing Bling.

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Postby blingwolf » Fri May 21, 2004 12:44 pm

Okay Phat,

Check this:

The Opalescence
By: Chasma DeLane


I once was here, but now I'm not,
Although I'm present, I'm deep in thought.

My thoughts, a tourniquet, for broken a heart,
Mind screaming an answer, then ripping apart.

I'm pondering love, and thick it's cost,
So difficult found and more easily lost.

Praying and hoping and wishing am I,
That he not regrets ever making me cry.

For love him I, much as before,
As the nightgreen grotto bleeds into the shore.

Blinded by the halo of gold,
Defied the death of love age-old.

Papered, florid panoplies,
Memories of him, a mental striptease.

Slit, the wrists of the once-loved pained,
Crumpled, crying, seeping, stained.

Full, our brims with crimson regret,
Malignant, knifing, no repent.

The fake of smile, spilling of lips,
Intaking the morphine with murdering sips.

A jovial greeting, with a mask and a lie,
Now slashes heartstrings since his heavy goodbye.

Shattered, is promise, frozen, a tear,
Fizzled the hope of assuaging a fear.

Illuminated the broken barricade,
Simpled dreams of the forbade.

Love of war, and loved-once pain,
Worshipped, thieved, and broughten shame.

Back to thoughts and dreams once more,
Regrets, regards of the once-loved whore.

But love him ever, a sugared I,
Known of love as his heavy goodbye.

I don't like to write AA BB poems anymore, but when I was younger I wrote them all the time... I decided a few months ago to write this one because I hadn't written a rhyming poem in years...
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Postby Chimeara » Fri May 21, 2004 4:57 pm

:shock: :)

"Trials"

Trials through life
Through pain and strife
Through love and time
Sprinkled with bravado and chime.

Trials through life
When we live on a fief
When the realities equal sin
Sprinkled with parsley and gin.

Trials through Dreams
Becareful of the seems
Becareful of the means
Sprinkled with illusions and screens.

Trials through Death
With everlasting breath
With the final test...
We free ourselves from this mess.

:? What do you think?
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Postby blingwolf » Sat May 22, 2004 8:31 am

Very impressive Chymera...

I especially enjoyed the parsley and gin imagery... I think that you handled the rhyme scheme very nicely, you used equal syllables (so it flowed) and you didn't just focus on getting the end words to rhyme... (which is a problem that common, and one I seem to suffer from.) The problem with most rhyming poetry is that the author doesn't focus on what they're trying to express as much as they focus on getting the ending words to rhyme.

So, I say, good show!

If you have more, I'd like to read it.
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Postby Chimeara » Sat May 22, 2004 2:44 pm

Thanks Blingwolf for the very kind reply:)

I will try and come up with more as I think of them, that one came to me while i was at work a couple days ago.

If you or anyone have any comments or constructive criticism for me, by all means say your piece..:)
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Postby blingwolf » Sat May 22, 2004 2:50 pm

I will, Chymera, thank you for the permission...

Btw, Coldfyre, your poetry kicks ass.
Serious ass.
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Postby Coldfyre » Sat May 22, 2004 5:05 pm

Oh, wow... thanks! You're quite talented, yourself... I can't really do anything that isn't silly. :)
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Well, EXCUUUUUUSE ME, Princess!

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Postby Atomic » Sun May 23, 2004 12:15 am

I must say I like the poetry I've read here so far... i'm not much of a poet myself, and i don't generally like it, but i can appriciate good poetry when i read it. (i take that back: i can appriciate most any poetry when i see it)

Once i dig it up i'll post my only decent poem.
"When the fuck did we get ice cream?"

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Postby Atomic » Sun May 23, 2004 12:17 am

Here it is:

Lost Again
by Adam Smith

Time burns down it's wick
As I sit here in the dark
Bright light glows before me
Better light shines outside

Wander through the corridors
Lost in a place I know well
See an angel, want to find her
Turn away and shun the light

Find my friends, always there
Even though they have been gone
Or was that me? Does it matter?
They're here now, we do nothing.

Exploring still, in the same place
See more angels, feel the need
To reach out and let them guide me
Turn away and shun the light

Lost again, another land
Try to be another man
Find new friends, stay me
Leave again, they are gone

Home again, feels strange
Where am I? Lost again
Found an angel, held her tight
Let her go, shunned the light

Here I stand, hiding now
Afraid of that which drags me on
Should feel the king, at the end
And I'm smaller yet than I've ever been

Angels surround me, I need their light
I hide myself, watch from shadows
Angels guiding other people
I burn inside with sadness

I'm lost again, like never before
Lost though I was never found
Times wick is low, I'm lost again
Please someone find me, I'm lost again



Copywright Adam Smith, 2004
Last edited by Atomic on Sun Sep 05, 2004 2:48 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"When the fuck did we get ice cream?"

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Postby Atomic » Sun May 23, 2004 12:24 am

the majority of my other written stuff can be found at adom.brinkster.net/forum under the "Stories" section... i'm Duke Ravage over there.
"When the fuck did we get ice cream?"

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Postby Atomic » Tue Jun 01, 2004 12:06 am

Ok just read the rest of the thread (and wrote another poem -- get to that in a minute) and i gotta say -- good stuff! I really liked the one about the hollow life, somehow it just brought some incredible imagery into my head. (Of course then my hollow computer crashed... heh.)

OK, here's my next entry. I just barely wrote it, whoever looks at this thread next is the second person to have read it (I was the first).

The Stone
by Adam Smith

What is in this dim dark cave
So full of shadows and stones
That called me here more like a slave
Than a man who reads the tomes?
What is it that I crave?

Is it this rock, smooth and low?
No -- it is not -- it's edges stain;
I touch the satin as it flows
Forth from another source of pain,
Yet another unhappy glow.

Ah! here it is! all alone
Bright and shining, clear as dew,
The facets show me another home
A holy church's empty pews
A daughter nearly fully grown.

Lovely, tiny, perfect gem,
Lying amoungst the lesser rubble
Beside a happy flower's stem.
This perfect painting leaves me humble
Yet still I need that perfect gem.

No thing thus posessing drops it with ease,
Nor does the flower's roots surrender.
Though it with bloody bribes I tease,
And tug and pull at the great plunder
The hated flower just ignores my breeze.

Still do I sit, holding tightly
Wresling softly for the prize
Of that beauty, shineing brightly
The stone that has the perfect eyes
The stone I wish for to see nightly.



Copywright Adam Smith, 2004
Last edited by Atomic on Sun Sep 05, 2004 3:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"When the fuck did we get ice cream?"


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