Poems Part 2
Posted 26 March 2004 - 10:12 PM
Anyway, Shellas was kind enough to post that poem, but I had forgotten what it was about and it was a WEE bit too graphic to post. Some might be a little too offended. lol. So, I asked her to remove it before the moderators did!
Anyway, here's another one not quite so bad, but still in my meloncholy depressive style!
Pieces of me are floating
Away in the fish-bowl, circus-tent
Circumferences of reality and
No one sees not even me
Reasoning away the traces
Of red the razorblade left
Crying, “Empty, please fill me.”
In the vacant recurrence of dreams
Where hope died where
Pieces of me float
Aimlessly by bye bye
The pieces of me I abort down
The drain of “Oh, it’s nothing.”
As if every day is just
Another “blah” day
Shoulda seen, pieces scream
As life f***s me and all I get are
Carpet burns and bruised knees
And ego displacement
“Nothing personal,” it says.
“You were just next in line.”
So I can’t sleep with eyes in
My head viewing
What I feel inconsolable
Thinking about vacations and coffins
In the same steady stream
Of thought of thinking of
This is my in-your-face approach to poetry. Pretty words and rhymes just are NOT my style.
So happy to see a poetry thread. Sigh.
Posted 27 March 2004 - 11:54 AM
Ana Banana-may I call you Ana 'Nana? ;D I stand in awe, I'd considered myself GV's uncrowned King of Dark Verse, but I stand humbled<a Minion once again :'(>
I need your help, guys, the poem needs something, the 5th stanza's a bit dry
The View from London Bridge
Of his guilt,
there was no doubt,
he challenged an Empire,
unbalanced the status quo.
Not for blood, honor or love,
he fought for a land to call their own.
He was guilty of inspiration,
with courage, through deed.
His crime united a nation,
divided by title lust and rivalry,
proud as forbidden pipes' wail,
over battlefields and wedding Blessing.
Treason, they charged and murder,
for Stirling, Fallkirk and York,
Wallace's homage to Scotland,
paid on gibbet and rack,
his martyrdom no hindrance
to the march for freedom.
His voice echoes from 1000 battlecries,
determination, a diamond in the Bruce's Crown,
guiding him through strategic intricacies,
at heart of a spider's web.
Kingship written in Passion and wisdom,
ruling for Scotland, not for clan or noble.
Dismembered as an object lesson in death,
his eyes gaze sightlessly north and Home
from pikestaff view on London Bridge.
Arms and legs scattered
to furthest corners of the Empire,
that none may look beyond the ashes.
The pipes mourned his passing.
From croft and hidden glen,
dirge's cadence marked by booted step
and clang of blade upon shield,
echoing through time
in heart of every Scot.
Posted 27 March 2004 - 11:59 AM
You are poetry,
over naked body,
strengths and flaws
touched by the Divine.
My fingers hover,
flight of uncertain bees,
and God's wrath,
should they touch an Angel.
My tentative brush
in Spirit, Mind and Body,
in eternal mosaic
upon Cathedral of my heart.
Your moonlit hair,
a damask cascade,
as your soul and heart,
glorious as sunrise.
Posted 27 March 2004 - 01:04 PM
That was beautiful, you softie, you. My husband wrote me a love poem, and I kid you not when I say it went along to the tune of "Roses are red". Gotta love the attempt though. Sigh. Love poetry, when written well, is just so moving. And then I snap out of it and get all cynical again! lol
I think the 5th verse is just too ... well... personal. The other verses were more from an outsiders historical viewpoint, and then we're suddenly in a first-person frame of thought. But, really, it's the first sentence of that stanza that doesn't sit well with the rest, in my opinion. Then again, I think it's great regardless.
PS. Sigh. I suppose Ana 'Nana is acceptable.
Posted 27 March 2004 - 01:22 PM
Cash for the Lovely
and a present to herself
is a doctors note,
"9:00am. Don't eat or drink.
We only take cash."
So, she took her savings
Caroled in the songs
of little ones lost.
And she's lost in
Those backwards doors
swinging its welcome well
and she wrings her hands
in nervous contemplation of what she is,
for a little blood test,
and a urine sample
to reveal the rest).
They call her name,
tell her it's time,
tell her it will only hurt a little
after she wakes,
and she cries,
breathing in deeply the
gas of forgetting between the sobs
as strange hands take from her
before she wakes.
"So tell me where you go to school,"
the nurse asks, she answers
and forgets what she's left
pure in its habit
on the silver sheet below.
God, My Hero
Shadows fell silent in the aura
Of justice emanating
Decaying words like "original sin"
In the matchbox of individuality
Where God isn't answering
Because He's on the other line
Tracing calls with star 69
Making faith obsolete on a barren
Landscape in atrophic disrepair
Trampled by His sheep beneath
A herders crooked grin
Because the citadel of religion says it's so
On the breath of a perpetual lie
God's just shy say the monkeys
of a lost doctrine
Wearing a mask of conformity
Mass-marketed in a Wal-mart factory
Hanging on the wall next to Power Puff Girl dolls
A line of heroes and television personalities
We could decorate our souls with these
Coughing up trust in secret societies
And justice from revelations
By a born again profit
A nickle and dime performer on a street side corner
Found sleeping in a phone booth
On Hollywood Boulevard
In the box of liberation furnished
by the spongy constraints of four white walls
and a window playing a pageant to a girl
in the stained-glass confines of Christ
I give glances for a nominal fee
A package not exempt since Jesus dug up the apple tree
So I lie down in a puddle of faith
The slush in the sewage of Grace
A word so raw in the slight habitat of my soul
God makes me cold
So tighter I roll into the spongy white walls
I hope absorb the ache
God seeps through the pores of sin
Still believing there's a chance to win
when I can't see past the purgery of Christian charm
What's the harm?
Just say I'm saved for one more day
as my pageant runs stagnant and my walls decay
and I cry for the cavity of Jesus
lost in the convent of Christian thought
just a victim to the craft of human error
in the coven of today
Okay, I think I've hogged up the forum with my poetry long enough. lol
Posted 27 March 2004 - 06:53 PM
Thankyou for your words of praise Whispers. I am honoured that somebody with your talent thinks my poems are good. However, with the recent onslaught of poetry, I see that mine is somewhat lacking. However, I will look at some of the poetry sites and see what the "competition" is like.
As for your London Bridge poem, I think it is fine. If you really think the 5th needs something, the only suggestion I could make is to move the 1st line to the third, and see how that sounds. The message and the wording remain the same, but just in a different order. However, I think it is really fine as is.
Do I see a reference to a famous historical Scot in there? You just need to close with the word "freeeeeedom" ;D
In the meantime, I hope that everybody keeps posting the wonderful poetry.
Posted 28 March 2004 - 09:33 AM
Ana...if I may ask, have you been published?
Hey, Justa, I'd steer away from the contest sites since not
all of them are on the up and up, despite their claims of legitimacy, I've yet to see one of Poetry.com's anthologies
on a B&N, Dalton's or Walden's shelf...but definitely check
out what the 'zines are publishing, but do it, Justa, your stuff's worth publishing.
Thank you! I think that might work out very nicely by switching lines
Posted 28 March 2004 - 03:03 PM
I've been published a half a dozen times or so, mostly in very small literary or poetic magaizines. Poetry.com, too, although I don't really count that as I see it more as a scam than a compliment to my writing capabilities. Most of the publications I submitted to I had found in the 2003 Poets Market book. I've been slowly, but surely, putting some pieces together over the years for my own poetic anthology to submit to a publisher, but I haven't collected enough pieces that I'm happy with thus far. Thanks for the compliments. Half the time I think they suck. And now that I'm happy in life I can't seem to write anything decent that isn't sickeningly mushy. I'd rather die than stoop so low. lol. Anyway, I happen to think you're one up on me in the poetry department Whispers. Your stuff is really good.
Posted 28 March 2004 - 03:41 PM
The Longest Night
The longest night in the lonesome December
Brethren of the fervent Death
Of which our Lord partakes in His Great Sleep,
And that makes Great Lady weary,
And that makes the Earth, her child, cold
Shake lose your white blankets and welcome your Lord
He has, for a time, rested in shadows
Having given himself in the last harvest,
seeking strength and life in the howling fury
of the Northern Winds and Frozen Acre
For His is the body that is the land
For His blood, the water
And Great Lady mourns no more
For life spins the Wheel and fortunes turn
And flares the spark of hope, that Sacred Fire
As the infant Lord swims through the waters of mystery
and stretches languidly in the dark, reaching for his way
trailing bright fingertips across the Heavens
burning embers of day amidst the twilight
seeking solace in the Moon and the Splendor of Her Night
Before He is newly born to those who love Him
Great Lady heaves a sigh unto the wind
which ushers forth the Lord on her breath
and into the dark comes He who shall bring light,
for He promises life and warmth by the sun which trails Him
So the Northern Winds carry the mewling Lord into the Heavens
Who becomes the goat-foot God, springing horn and hoof,
and the black tree branches shake and sigh
and the Earth breathes gently again when the world is new
On this primal dawn of the Longest Night
Okay, I don't think it's as good as anything else I've posted... but it's different, so why not?
Posted 28 March 2004 - 05:56 PM
Posted 28 March 2004 - 07:27 PM
"There was a girl named Jane
She dated a guy named Shane
He gave her flowers and love
And even gave her a dove!"
Nope, just doesn't work for me.
Posted 28 March 2004 - 08:29 PM
Take my hand and we'll go riding through the sunshine from above
Posted 28 March 2004 - 08:47 PM
Okay, I'm not trying to punk anyone's artistic vision, but I really think hurt, deep down, soul tearing and heart sundering hurt is more likely to give birth to verse that will touch a reader, its also therapeutic as kind of venting feelings of anger and betrayal, in dark and graphic
detail. I'm biased though...I've found that when I've written mushy poems*sobs*like beauty, the relationship's dead in the water as soon as the pen touches paper, maybe its unconscious, want to write dark verse and I know I'm love poem jinxed...so "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" EWWWWWWWWW...scours hands for typing sonnet.
Justa, maybe I'm jealous 'cause I don't think in rhyme, but I am, in 40 years I've written 3 poems that rhymed, 2 of those were from contests with my sister that only the two of us saw the end results. I do feel that such form may limit image
Posted 28 March 2004 - 08:54 PM
Posted 29 March 2004 - 01:48 AM
And Justa's right...what the heck's wrong with RHYMING??? (or sonnets? te he)
Anyhoo, going in the vein of 'non-rhyming' poetry, here is two of me own. One just a stream of consciousness, and the other a sad attempt at Emily D.'s...lol
Blank like the canvas of my walls. Perfect in all its vanillaness, showy in its non-descriptiveness, timeless in its brevity. Beyond those plaster coated walls lie my consciousness forever striving to be still, composed in its wretchedness, stoic in its rage and always wondering when the next rainfall will hail. Gone are the normal barriers of righteousness, whose gifts we can only call a curse, and deliver me from evilness whose last name is desire, twin flame of need. For only then, when those pale walls are breeched and the skin is torn tissue can the juices of life spring back into reality.
Consistency like hesitancy
Too tired to stir,
Too ill to remember
What it all meant.
Care like perseverance
Is no more bubbly
Like that tired can of cola
On the desk, sitting.
And when asked
(As if that would happen)
On that faraway day
Will be able to say
Yes, I did hear that fly buzz…
*Got no crown, but darnit, still got my health!*
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