Hear Ye, Hear Ye! All Poets Hath Been Summoned!

[Wyl Staedtler]

Figured I'd put some poetry up. It's mostly random, and often surprising. It never ceases to amaze me the way a new aspect of ones personality can blindside a person when they write, and I've found this especially true in poetry. So, if you have written poetry, or are writing poetry, or are going to write poetry, or just want to say "hey, poetry is cool!", feel free to do it her. Now, in the words of the prolific T S Eliot: Let us go then, you and I...

[Wyl Staedtler]

A Conversation With My Brother About Coffee

you put too much sugar in,
and cream--
you might as well drink cocoa.

you don't put enough in--
too dark and bitter.

i'm mysterious.

i dream. black coffee is like raw sugar;
unrefined and coarse.

it's strong.

sometimes weakness is needed.

To My Brother, Whom I've Forgotten

(For Bryan)

My dearest Bryan,
You died today--
Only today fourteen years ago.
"I regret to inform you your son is gone."
As if you'd left for a holiday.
I'm afraid, though, that I've stopped missing you
(Or maybe I never started--picturing you in Tahiti)
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to forget.
We've left, in case you hadn't noticed.
Daddy couldn't take the memories;
I guess the whole province seemed of you.
Jason lives in Vancouver.
He thrives on lights and espresso and Metrotown.
You would have liked him--he is a good big brother.
Sam dreams of you still, and wakes up screaming
Because he fears that you are him and he is dead--
A Shakespearean crisis of mistaken identities,
The hazard of being a twin, I suppose.
You are a big brother three times over
Though they know nothing of you except
A faded poloroid picture.
I hope that you are still back there,
Barefoot in the dusty streets,
Running naked in the garden
To cool in the summer heat;
Ontario doesn't approve of nudity.

micah

micah brought with him
a world of
green cashmere
acoustic versions
tazo, chai, lemongrass
and making love on the roof of a chevy
under a cool blanket of summer stars
for him there was lace and curls
a golden air, and desperate attempts at delicacy
he was a tamer of wildflowers
so gentle
he was a bringer of want
so alluring
and in the hidden pools of seattle
he satiated me, dripping and trembling
with warm hands and blurred words.
in coffeehouses he told me stories
grey gaze gliding over me
from underneath a knit cap
while stroking my knee beneath the table
i barely tasted the house blend
but the taste of micah
sweet and foreign
i remember.
in micah's bed, while clapton serenaded
he drew constellations on my naked back
and whispered dreams down my spine
i burned inside
bright and deep like embers
--but embers turn to ashes
and micah turned to rachel
until i was nothing
but a linger of wispy
smoke
rising into the star-filled sky.

[Khendon Sevon]

My most recent:
sick with you.

fever beads on my brow,
rolls down cheek and stings my eye,
I can taste the salty fire on my parched lips.

temperature runs, almost as high
as passion, blood boils.

breath comes shallow and short,
my throat is dry as desert sand
under day baking sun.

fever makes me think unclear,
I see things that aren’t really there.

mirages appear, thoughts of flesh
pressed firmly against my own,
caught in rhythm and loving embrace;
another sad note set to a lament
in melancholy minor scale.

I’m sick with the thought of you,
and hoping it’s real.

Plenty more at my site http://www.roxxu.com/projects/poetry/ reposting would be... painful.

[Laurent Delinore]

Blue

Skin kissed by the bitter shades of winter.
The delicate but blank hues of unseeing eyes.
Frozen shards of hollow rain,
that falls against the empty, unreflexive
glass of your window.

Times frost on spring blooms
and brisk sea waves on distant shores.
They call you away
and I'm left staring at the azure buttons
on the coat you left behind.

[Jiro Lawson]

A Crush

It's intersting, I do believe
How love does manifest
We might as well just hate them
For since, that's how we act

We often look on from afar
Instead of simply speaking
We rarely ever interact
We're too afraid of failure

We're know to giggle, to carry on
When said person is near
We're know to meekly say "Hello"
If push does come to shove

So, why, I wonder, do we think
Someone will come to us
There's no telling what we convey
With our twittering antics

It's interesting, I do believe
How we can lose such sleep
Over this silly, short lived thing
We commonly call a crush

[Wyl Staedtler]

Untitled

The first time I heard of you.
A rough-hewn wood smell of a fathers office
And the thrill of a long distance phone call
Just to hear the words
So softly spoken,
"You have a sister."
A sister.
Oh and my heart stopped to hurt.
What power a word has,
A whisper,
So that I could only breath quiet and sigh.

The first time I held you.
Wrinkled and faintly-jaundiced curves,
Lips puckering and searching even in sleep
And your perfect weight,
Warm and heavy and bright in funny places deep inside my chest.
How could anything so small
Be so big?
Liliputian-fingers,
With hummingbird-egg nails,
Twisted against my palm and I ached.
How could such a stranger
Be so loved?

The first time I spoke with you.
A writhing, curious thing
With wisps of is-that-hair? and January eyes
That watched me mouth strange words
Begging, "Say..."
And making a fool out of myself to trick you into talking.
The rough burn of cheap carpet against my face
As I trip and then tremble because you have giggled and said
"More!"
And your delighted no-tooth smile
Makes the fall quite worth the feeling.

The first time I walked with you.
There are lead weights,
Called newness,
On your feet and my fingers throb with the fiercness of your grip
As you stumble along,
Lifting gentle arches up from offending-feeling grass.
It is almost art
When you let go and take those first solitary stumbles,
Waving golden-arms in the quivering summer heat.
Breathless.

The first time I left you.
In an airport, it seems crowded and empty,
I am bending from so much teenage angst
That I can only think of getting away.
Winnie-the-Pooh smiles on your sneakers,
While you tug on my shirt
And say with magnanimous clout
"See you when you get back!"
I can not even look at you
For fear of lying and saying yes.
Your face is too perfect under harsh flourescent lights.

The last time I saw you.
Waving, a blur that could be a hand,
As I walk through airport traditions,
Marvelling at how small your three years are.
Flutters make my breath go bare,
Tiny fingers curl against my palm.
My feet can't seem to move, so heavy,
And the customs gaurd keeps singing,
"More! More! More!"
While you wave, wave, wave
Because big sisters never leave.

[Sean Piett]

i'm pretty fond of writing these up on myspace. just one so as not to clutter-

"what the t.v. told me"

counterculture kids
with their painted black eyelids
yuppy missionaries
with financial dictionaries
read a book, bomb a car
make a wish upon a star
build a shrine
to waiting lines,
play acoustic by the fire.
we put holes into our faces with our needles and our guns
we group people into races, we pull smoke into our lungs
we lay dyes into our hair, we lotion tans into our skin
we pretend that we're all there when we're far away within
we've covered up our eyes
and put our fingers in our ears
all gagged up and tied
the last six thousand years

[Lilaena De'Ville]

I am very impressed that you can actually rhyme, Sean. :thumbup

[Sean Piett]

'S all part of the package :cool

[Khendon Sevon]

Nice work, flows very well. Reminds me of good 'ol Rage Against the Machine.

[Adell Mishca]

Dawn

The gentle roll of thunder,
A light wave of rain;
A small trace of wonder,
Plus a tiny shock of pain.

The ringing hum,
A sudden shock;
Death has come,
Without a knock.

The rain has stopped,
No life has dawn;
Time will be locked,
And another one is gone.

Though nothing exists,
And everything is gone;
Life no longer resists,
With the new age dawn.


My teacher thinks, there something wrong with me...:D

[Zereth Lancer]

I like it. :)

[Khendon Sevon]

freedom to be me.

Tendons frozen, pulsating with pent up energy,
held immobile in a pose of complete agony,
a thousand veins mark highways of strain,
areas filled with excruciating, sustained pain.

leg lifted, muscles on the verge of spasms,
uncontrollable exhaustion and perspiration,
a task never finished, never allowing a moment’s break.

the body bends, molded in molecular clay by unseen
artist’s hands,
like a sculptor’s model, muscles contort and extend,
striated groupings of rope become firm and thin,
pull and twist in the most inconceivable of ways.

I move as does the wooden figure, and hold still
a designed collection of parts akin to his twiddled pieces;
forever locked in grotesque poses,
always hoping to be granted a forgiving eye.

“relax, thy muscles”, say onto me,
“let me shoulder thy burden equally,
and, lover, be natural in thy state,
for, it is not I that look upon your stature."




Haunted
apparitions reach out with blanch hands,
I move aside her dark strand of stray hair,
embrace images, mirages in memory’s
mindless midst, strewn amongst the mists.

dreams, thick and hot,
mingle and mix with shards of sweet images,
scents, and siren’s calls in the silver lit moonlight.

my mind plays tricks,
what once were vividly scrawled memories,
turn but to barely tangible shadows that
fall apart like smoke at my hand’s closing.

and, I try to hold fast to the slipping sight of your
delicately molded face, the line of your jaw,
touch of your fingertips, gentle smile upon
scarlet lips.

with every breath, another fragment is lost,
tumbling into the fog.

[Leten Snat]

Emptyness, here, is all I see.
The sounds of nothing surounding me.
My mind makes noise to make me think
That I am standing on the brink
Of reality, or some made up land.
I don't know if I'm falling, or on ground I stand,
which makes me wonder if this world is real,
Or if this is in my head, or do I feal
The air around as it sands still,
And the noise of nothing makes my heart chill.
To hear a friend, or a voice of dread,
do I really hear? Is it in my head?
I can not tell! I need a hand!
Is anybody there, upon this land
That can find me in this endless void?
Or has the world around me been destroyed,
Thus leaving me to sit and rot,
For the sound of silence is all I've got
in this blackness that I must now call home.
So now i write down in this tome
My fears, my hopes, and writings of mind,
In some hopes that I might find
an answer for this abyss, my cage,
that slowly consumes me with silent rage
towards all that is, and has become
in my mind, filled with the time to come
That I must live in this world of black,
with this burden of nothing on my back,
that holds me down in a pool of fears,
As the sounds of silence ring in my ears.

[Lucianus Adair]

The Undead Lover


You are
my passion
and the centre
of my mind.

Your lifeblood
it pearls
like mesmirizing rubies
from the innumerable slices
on your china doll skin.

You've been walking
through the centre
of my rosegarden
again...
haven't you?

There is an indescribable
seductiveness
that captures me when
you see your body
as a sacrifice
to the life of my secret
garden.

Your lifeblood
it calls to me.

Its taste lingers
on my pallate
sweeter than
the honeyest of all wines.

You are
my beautiful
and willing sacrifice.


(This was just off the top of my head. Wrote it just now. ;) )

[Naira Cross]

Stay With Me

I understand you have to go;
I know the reason why.
I know I must be brave for you;
I can’t stand to see you cry.

The prospect of the “greater good”
That would be given to us all.
Is the reason you signed up:
Is the reason we might fall.

But even though I get it,
And I know that it must be,
A part of me still thinks and hopes
That you will stay with me.

The world would keep on spinning;
This war would still be fought.
But yet the absence of one good man,
Means one less body that would rot.

So say the words I long to hear;
Say them to me know!
I don’t think that I would survive,
I really don’t see how.

It’s not that much to ask,
This request I make of thee.
And still it means my eternal love,
If you would stay with me.

[Khendon Sevon]

This is my 99th for my roxxu.com collection:

carefully now, step onto the road,
set down soft foot falls, on worn tract,
look to the bumps, see the grade,
judge, now, how you would be
best placed.

marching steady upon this beaten way,
a crossroad dawns, decision time has come.

sight upon the fork, do not waste time,
hasten to a decision, trust your heart,
ignore your mind.

What if the road is wrong?
take your first step.

What if the road is wrong?
move on!

the destination is the same,
the journey what you make,
march on, march on.

[Sean Piett]

it reads like a bad peice of freudian fiction
this little boy's getting off on his addictions
you might say this youngster's a jungian mess
can't help masturbating at his hopelessness
trapped in a box just like schrodinger's cat
running long labyrinths, lost little lab rat
wax statues of jesus couldn't capture the pain
and i don't think charles manson was half as insane
even herr heisenberg's nothing but certain
that this child is ready to draw his own curtains


sorry for the omgemoangst, that wasn't really the intention. i started writing about addiction on the bus today and sort of lost that thread.

[Wyl Staedtler]

Lancashire Rings

I'll have to go home.
Your voice sounded small.
Dad's had a stroke.
Trembled so slightly.
Mum is in shambles.
The suitcase was torn.
Rawdy is useless.
You didn't notice.

Ticket to Manchester.
Your credit card trembled.
No I don't care what class.
Your bank account dwindled.
Bloody hell. Bloody hell.
Away went your luggage.
I don't think I can do this.
But off went the plane.

Arrived safely, don't worry.
Fatigue on the voicemail.
They say he'll pull through.
Relief on the line.
Mum won't leave his side.
Worry in the undertone.
Not even to eat.
Guilt in the tune .

Think I'll be here awhile.
Can't bear to come back.
Maybe take them to Lytham.
Need to mend every bit.
Do you think you can come?
Pleading gently, no pressure.
Mean the moon to Mum.
Want the warmth of your skin.

I understand, it's alright.
Trying not to be angry.
There's the bills to be paid.
Failing at reason.
You'll come in the summer?
The excuse of the sun.
Yes, you'd hate it right now.
But you're glad for the rain.

I'd better hang up.
Baited silence hangs heavy.
It's costing a fortune.
What's money right now?
I should go check on Dad.
Reluctance is wheedling.
I love you, you know.
You are long-distance grieving.

[Khendon Sevon]

I am sad ,
Like the fawn ripped from beloved nature, and placed in a petting zoo.

I am blue,
Like the Mediterranean covered in thick wool blankets of gray sky.

I am down,
Like the cold, black liquid depths of the Marianas Trench.

I am gloomy,
Like the dark hollow sleeping glumly in the Appalachians, covered in the sky’s tears after a day of clear-cutting.

I am sorrowful,
Like the immortally crying walls of a secluded hillside cavern.

Like a fragrant, flowering jasmine, I need tender help;
from the caressing sun, the gentle rain;
I need love,
from Someone.

[Wyl Staedtler]

Moving In

As I watch you,
Heaving boxes into our house under a black-blue sky,
I discover that you are graceful.
There is an elegance in the curve of your bent back
And the dampness of your sweater
Is all quiet sophistication.
When you stumble back,
The weight of books too much against leather soles on gravel drive,
You do it meaningfully;
One foot retreats fleetingly and is
Mirrored by the next in a perfect, effortless
Dance.
You turn, every muscle concentrated,
And move in time with a Perseidian shower of stars
So that I am left breathless and quaking,
Suddenly aware of my own clumsiness.
And when you finally face me,
Arms poised round the cardboard prop,
Legs strong and braced in your finale,
There is a sweetness to your smile that says
You knew I was watching all along.

[Wil Mienstrire]

People walk so fast,
Never seeing it before them,
Darkness, it shades all.

Softly sleep
On this bed of dreams
Or never rest again.

Evening reflections
Dimly echo reminders
Of what used to be.

Serenity speaks
Just listen to the silence
And be still my heart.

Breathing stops, eyes close
Blood turns to water as it flows
My soulless heart live

Burning and freezing,
Overwhelmingly passionate,
Pain, my mistress.

Grapes and wine serve well,
Bodies against bodies, lips against lips,
Dionysus

You want more and more
Craving and lusting for poison
Addiction of love

You cannot feel it,
You have no more use for it
Sell me your soul

Maimed and broken,
A raven chained to the earth,
Lucifer, my lord

... Just some haikus I came up with some time ago...

[Wyl Staedtler]

From my husbands notebook :D

No Title Because I Can't Read When He Handwrites

I miss the rain.
There is something of comfort
In rising under eiderdown while outside
The world is a roaring torrent.
Drowned flowers and sodden grass,
The lane outside turned to mud,
And the heavy scent of lingering waters in the air--
The views and smells of my young boyhood
That here are lost.
My body aches for chill,
For the need of hot tea to ease certain illness,
For the heavy pressure in the air
That makes neccesity of reclusion.
It must be an otherworldy need
For had I been born in Cairo
My veins would thirst for heat and dust,
Cry out for caraway and cumin.
But heat holds no mystic measure for me.
I dream not of dunes but of
St Andrews and the sea, bleak skies.
I miss the rain.

[Katarina Gordislava]

That is a beautiful poem. :love

[Ramoth Ocran]

Hope dies like a fluttering flame,
And all efforts turn to naught.
The abyss lingers ever closer;
Calling to those it would consume.

So many have fallen into darkness;
They have not the courage to face the light.
They don't see their inner souls-
Corrupted beyond all recognition.

We fly endlessly into eternity
On iridescent silver wings.
Angels, the blind ones call to us,
But we cannot bear their uncertainty.

Everything in absolutes;
Organized laws not to be broken.
Chaos is kept on a short chain,
And it too plays a part in this charade.

Dancing to a hidden melody,
And singing to a wordless song.
We make leaps of faith
Every time we dare to dream.

Fear not the shadows;
It is the beauty that lures,
And death is her only reward.
Avoid the ersatz flame.

Only the truth weathers time;
Only the light can be seen in the dark;
Only life can ultimately overcome death;
Only sacrifice can make unconditional love.

That is our creed,
The core of our souls.
Unconquerable;
Uncontainable.



And another:

<Also Untitled>

Waves of sorrow, winds of shame:
Gentle starlight shines down on a broken world.
The Master of Maggots, so vigilant in his watch,
Has an eye on the dying Lion.

The forlorn fishermen stop fishing;
The great teachers find they know nothing.
The mourning leave the dead unburied;
Meaningless but for bread and blood.

The moon hangs in the sky, unbroken,
And the zephyr still blows from the west.
Perhaps there is still hope
In this bleak, unforgiving life.

Have serenity and courage:
Accept, learn, grow!
The dense twilight remains-
Telling of another, brighter day.


And one last one:

Hero

A flicker of movement in the deep abyss.
A sound quiet as the light breeze that follows it.
Then a clinks as chains come together and swing.
A single footstep, and then another.
A royal pace-everything waits for it.

His face is etched on the black stones
Buried in the forgotten Hall of Kings.
He is not dead for he does not die;
It is his destiny to cause death,
And be set apart from all that share in it.

A tattered cape, blown by more battlefield winds
Than any man could easily survive,
Falls from his shoulders, released and given life.
A firm hand rests on a firm guard.

The ancient sword, strong as the soul that wields it.
The armor, battered and dented from a thousand blows.
The boots, aye, the boots that have walked
With more blood beneath them
Than any nation of man could ever produce.

Then the facethat carries more scars than can easily be explained.
But the eyes, they are that which give away the man inside.
It is they that tell all the man has seen and all where he has been.

Cold, intelligent, the soul reflected through them:
One that knows war as intimate as lovers.
His steady gaze commands respect,
And respect he is given.
It is he who would fight for us all.

[Kraehe Branwen]

Disclaimer: These are NOT suicide notes of mine. >.<

Lost Soul

This is my last Will and Testament,
To those who have pretended to care.
To the countless strangers who should know,
This is my last Will and Testament.

I leave my mind behind for my mentors,
Who led me but failed to make me live.
Who tried hard to make me a strong person.
Just remember that life isn't fair.

This is my last Will and Testament,
To those who have pretended to care.
To the countless strangers who should know,
This is my last Will and Testament.

I leave my past to my family,
Who weren't always there when I needed
Who made being a kid impossible.
Just remember you made me this way.

This is my last Will and Testament,
To those who have pretended to care.
To the countless strangers who should know,
This is my last Will and Testament.

I leave my pain to my so called friends,
Who slept with my love and lied to me.
Who toyed and talked behind my back.
Just remember you started it.

This is my last Will and Testament,
To those who have pretended to care.
To the countless strangers who should know,
This is my last Will and Testament.

I leave my heart behind for my one true love,
Who left me crying, naked, alone.
Who betrayed me beyond all evil.
Just remember I still love you.

This is my last Will and Testament,
To those who have pretended to care.
To the countless strangers who should know,
This is my last Will and Testament.

I leave my love to the one who cries,
Who mourns because he took for granted,
Who sobs and wonders why this happened.
Just remember you were the last straw.

Just A Reminder

Left aching in the dark,
Why can't anyone see?
Here and now is too stark,
There is no hope for me.

Betrayed, hurt, and abused,
When all I need is love.
Why am I only used?
Salvation is above.

I pray nightly to die.
Just like my heart and soul.
All it took was one lie,
For me to wish this toll.

I can't bear my own sight.
All I see is regret.
If I close my eyes tight,
Maybe soon I'll forget.

What there was wasn't real.
I was naive you know,
And now my wounds won't heal.
Left with nothing to show.

Future then and now tarred,
Pain not anything new.
I am forever scarred...
Forever scarred by you.

[Peter McCoy]

I have to agree, that I miss the rain really was beautiful. Here's a few of mine, quite old now.

Same Old, Same Old.

Lately everything feels the same.
Everyday I’m playing the same old game.
I’ve lost my ambition, I’ve got no drive.
I don’t feel dead but I’m not alive.

Everything’s the same old black and white.
I can’t even tell if it’s day or night.
I need something to stimulate my brain
Someone get me out of this colour drain.

I feel so restricted, with no room to blink.
I feel so exhausted I can’t even think.
My imagination is going cold.
My feelings are numb, this is getting old.

I can’t carry on like this day after day.
The same old life in the same old way.
I need to get out and do something else.
Before I completely lose myself.

I want to get away from the same old places.
I want to stop meeting the same old faces.
I want to break free, make a brand new start.
I want to get out and follow my heart.

War Games

From a land of sun and smoke and grey
Wvil tyrants come to play.
Bringing with them toys of war
We’re not playing anymore.
Having talks with hidden lies
Alliances with worms and flies.
We’ve been in this place before
We’re not playing anymore.
Try to see things our way
We’ve decided you just can’t stay.
It’s getting late, it’s cold outside
We’ve got a gun so open wide.
Take a deep breath, close your eyes
In the end everyone dies.
Now it’s your turn, just for fun
Don’t blink now, we’re almost done.

It’s a game of cat and mouse
Set up camp outside your house.
Phone a friend and take a chance
Jousting match, explosive lance.
Only some of us answer the call
But games can still consume us all.
Our sticks and stones destroy the ground
Drowning out a sweeter sound.
Revenge for me, for thee, for all
When the hammer comes to fall.
A monarchy will smite you down
And liberty will make you drown.
In the bath no rubber ducks
Only death, it's all messed up.
Counting sheep in dreary rows
Where we’re going, no one knows.

It’s a game of hide and seek
On the run and feeling weak.
To dumb to flee, to dead to die
When morale is low and stakes are high.
Is there a call to someone’s bluff
When they’ve finally had enough?
Will you kick and scream and shout
When its time to take you out?
The big kids come from over the hill
Toys in tow and dressed to kill.
They want to share, they want to give
Once you’re gone we all can live.
The dove will win and peace will rule
Until someone educates the fool.
He’ll open up the house of fun
And shoot the bird with happy gun.

(Lots of different creative influences in that one. Its my favourite to date)

Midnight Blue

In a blue wood on a blue night
I ride my pale horse out of sight
Rocking here and rocking there
Never getting anywhere
Rocking to, rocking fro
Unsure where I want to go
Looking up to a dark blue sky
The canvass drips into my eye.

Reaching up to a dark blue sky
Tall blue trees that climb so high
A dark blue breeze that chills my skin
Contrast to the warmth within
On my pale horse that does not move
In pale moonlight that does not soothe
In a dark blue wood on a dark blue night
A pale moon is my only light

[Wyl Staedtler]

In Absence

They do not tell you that pain starts in the bones,
Do not say, "This will hurt, will bloom deep inside of you."
Do not explain that there is a stretching,
A longing for the idea of what once was that will pull
Will draw, ache from your toes into your belly,
Until you are left senseless,
Staring at the whorls of your own fingertips and wondering
If it was all make-believe.

They do not hand out manuals,
Do not give helpful lectures on blame and forgiveness
Do not prepare you for the loss of familiar ways,
The dissapointment of a twin-sized bed with one pillow
Or the stinging resentment of coffee for one,
That boils into flashes of realization:
Eating a tomato in the kitchen
And you can taste grief when you least expect it.

They do not tell you that sorrow has weight,
Do not say, "You will not lift this, not now."
Do not explain that muscle doesn't matter,
That it will take long minutes to stumble to the bathroom,
Limbs protesting, air turned to water, stretches of numbness
Until whole hours are dissapeared,
Spent with the listless study of the tile floor
With the fading scent of cologne as an anesthetic.

They do not let you know there is no grace,
Do not give five minutes of half-time
Do not afford a day of mourning in which to breathe,
To grasp the bustling all of it-
The shift from beloved one to solitary castaway,
As you learn that walls cannot give answers
And leave you, once-had conversations pulled apart,
Pressed into corners, startled and hobbled.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Beautiful, and gut wrenching at the same time. :hug This is a wonderful poem.

[Khendon Sevon]

wrote this a few weeks ago, I think. It's kinda' shrouded in horrible metaphor. Meh.

Unending
White spray blasts over jagged rocks,
recedes, backs away like a beaten dog,
the raw life is exposed and sun
beats down upon salt-stained shells,
an ebb and flow pulls and tugs on an
unseen cord endlessly,
night’s blanket climbs the sky and covers
all,
stars, glistening pieces of glass on tar,
shimmer in the infinity;

Prints are washed away, new ones made,
the trail meanders and wanders round
bounding boulders, billowing trees,
and into the endless end of all things.

The search continue, until sinews break,
bones become brittle, and the flesh sags and falls;
until the earth reclaims its child;

the search continues; on, and on.

[Khendon Sevon]

“Hello,” says the tremor of a baritone,
the line of sound descends, ricochets, rebounds,
falls, lifts, and flies from cavity to precipice,
over carved away hulks of glacier-groped stone,
and away into the wolf’s-pelt, painted heavens.

“Goodbye,” whispers the sharp tongue of the icy,
chilled, smirking wind in its peaked tones over
summits crowned in white shrouds, cascading off
cold granite, trickling down brisk brooks chortling
as a pack of giggling, smiling, soft-eyed women.

Over and over the fields of dew-dusted glory,
past cherry blossoms budding, vines aching to be pressed
to wood, fermented to wine.

Across the endless falsities, into the towers we build,
and lost, forgotten, unheard,
in the caustic cacophony of morning commute,
the sounds of an endless, stretching suburb with
white fences nowhere to be found, gas guzzling, oil spewing,
fume emitting machine a plenty,
artificial lots of frozen nature, compacted, compressed,
controlled, contorted to fit ordinances’ desires.

O, where, oh where,
have my endless fields, chirping birds,
and greetings of God’s gifts gone;
where…

[Nilk]

Well, I don't usually write poetry, but I wrote one poem a while back. It's not good, of course, but I had fun writing it. :)


Undecided

Gasoline streaks in a parking lot
Were the rainbows of a magic leprechaun
The gnomes in the garden were never caught
They did my chores, and my troubles were gone.

Dwarves in my basement made the thumps at night
As they worked on a present for me
The Moon spoke silently with rays of pale light
I worshipped Her on one knee.

The cats in the alley were having a party
To celebrate the death of my dog
The gremlins in the attic were happy and hearty
Gathered ‘round a burning log.

My mother was a sign of freedom
Of flying through the air
My father an embodiment of good sense
Making decisions and shaving my hair.

I’m older now, and I can see
Why the two couldn’t stay in one place.
Mom wanted to take it easy
Dad was running a race.

Now it’s time for me to choose,
Or have it decided for me.
Do I want to soar casually?
Or can I not stand to lose?

[Daria Nytherciria]

slippers shuffling

the sour tang of disinfectant
angular corners covered

to delay the inevitable.

uncomfortable beds

that have slept so many




worn green slippers shuffle to a stop

and empty eyes look through me

another nameless face, here and then gone

wiped from memory

like the names on the bedroom doors




an uncomfortable silence

hating the smell

hating the taste

an unwanted reminder

of what we all face





'I never take them off' she says,

fastening, unfastening a wristwatch,

twisting a wedding band

(heavy manacles on old hands)

two rusting anchors to her dead husband

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Wow, that is worth reading three or four times. :thumbup I really like that.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Thank you. It's from the portfolio that I've had to compile for my creative writing module. I might post some of the other stuff up in the future. I'm not sure that it's good enough though. We'll see.

[Dimitri Vojslav]

Waking

Rusty eyelids quiver at a chilling aura
coming from that brightly-lit portal
beyond my sanctuary.
I dare not wipe them, cast the curse,
and risk losing this feeling of
overwhelming safety and content.

But I do not mind as I pull back the shield
and taste the bite of cold frontiers
beyond my lazy domain.
The dripping rat-a-tat is mezmerising,
calling me back to the land of nod
where anything is possible.

The blurry, running colours of that window
envy my peace, for I am master of my desire
and my word is law.
The blinking red digits, silent as my mind,
do not stir haste today, as the rain outside
soothes me, makes me smile.

I pull my shield closer now, and bury my head
in its comfort. It's molten core against my heart,
keeping out the frost that nips my toes.
The blinking dots are far too low. I sigh
and turn my form. I do not need to rise this morn,
and drift away on a sea of forgotten moments.

[Llewelyn Voss]

andrew

i was never the romantic one.
i neither saw greatness in johnny got his gun
nor had the sense that freedom was like air,
impossible to pin down,but impossible to let go of.

it was your idea to become blood brothers.
(you believed blood held some secret sorcery)

it was you who introduced heroes
and bold adventures against evil,
in which justice always prevailed
and white sheets hung from clotheslines undeterred.

captain america and superman sheets
exploded atop your sealy posturpedic.

on special days in the movie theatre
you were the one who got misty-eyed
when they played the trumpet tribute to america,
as i munched on popcorn and waited for tom cruise.

"heathen." you whispered in the dark.
i just laughed at your hand on your heart.

while i felt uncomfortable at july parties,
you happily marched from table to table
greeting neighbors and handing out plates
of jello molded in the shape of the flag.

my cheeks were as red as the dessert,
and yours flushed too--with pride.

at school when everyone else wore rocker tees
and decorated their binders with AMERICAN EAGLE ROXY QUICKSILVER
you had polos and the socially incorrect
Be All That You Can Be.

sometimes i avoided your locker.
your patriotism was suffocating.

sitting in your basement watching old reruns
i had the the feeling of you slipping away.
a juxtaposition of all-american and flower-child,
disturbed by your nudging me to watch hawkeye and honeycut.

it shouldn't have been a surprise that you were going.
you, with so much future, so much potential!

you were always the romantic one.
letters held special meaning to you
and duty was more than a four-letter word,
it was unequivicol truth.

i hated you for that,
for that savage draw of war.

there are few sons in this old world
who would surrender a fathers approval
to search to believe something more exists and yet you did-
did you find something more?

it's been two years.
the letters like clockwork arive.

there is something different in your penmanship.
a certain shift in idealism.
you still believe in the alchemy of soldiering
but cannot vaudeville through like alan alda.

dulce bellum inexpertis.
or so the scholars say.

i do not believe in what you do
but it is neither my place to condemn it.
come home whole.
there are tears on my part for the return.

consider them a peace offering
for a different kind of war.

[Wyl Staedtler]

Ted Hughes

Whatever comes with a fox...

You remind me of Birthday Letters.
A retelling to some ancient god
-you,who is something not like religion-
Of a lovers confession to the howling Salvia
That grows upon a windowsill.
There dwells in your bones
Remnants of the Poet Laureate
Whose name they had to brass
To stop angry souls from chipping it away.

[Bloodcrest]

Inner Conflict

It is surely insanity that drives me!
For what other could so mastermind such a conflict?
I who draw back from my peers,
And sneer at their intricate webs of words and thoughts.
Yet I find myself human, only human indeed.
Finding I run from the flesh, but yearn for the touch;
I am torn in two. One to stand solitaire
Versus another to hold and be held by someone.
Oh God, free me from this prison of age
So I may wake and find myself old.

Meh. I wrote that who knows when, but I recently found it on a piece of paper while cleaning up my room.

Dreamer

Wake up...
Come up from your dream.
Sleeplessly stand,
Alive come and walk.
Tarry no longer,
On thoughts so deep.
Dwelling ever longer,
On imaginings not real.

Return to reality.
Come back to me.
Do not leave forever;
Never to grace this world.
You are needed still here.
In this world there are tears
For the fear that you may never be near.

Lover's Rhyme

Not even in the dreamer’s dream
Can we find the words that seem
To tell the most of my love
So I lift my eyes above.
For it is heavenly delight
That gives us our sight;
Lets us see all what could be,
And sets these turtle doves free.

To the poet’s world we must confess
For among the words and prose we rest.
Resting we find that perfect thought
That shows us what our love has wrought.
As a delicate beauty you there stand;
I smile back and hold out my hand.
Do you take this offer of mine
And will you ever cross that thin line
That separates the dreamers
Endlessly from the lovers?

[Zoe Marzullo]

Suicide The Right Way

Where do you stay
When there's no one to hear your cries
You know that angels they betray
Hope breathes one last time
It's suicide the right way

Where do you run
When there's no one to see you fall
Nevermore will you live to see another day
A bittersweet melody whispers
It's suicide the right way

Welcome to Wonderland, dear Alice
Im the voice inside your head

Where do you hide
When the blood begins to rain
Living life like a dream
There's nothing left to remain
It's suicide the right way

I'm killing you
You're killing me too

Welcome to Wonderland, dear Alice
I'm the voice inside your head

[Knight Staedtler]

The Red Foxhound

Your dog,
The red foxhound you left behind,
Mourns you.
She lies huddled and shrinking at the door
Misery pressed into the folds of her ears
And a woolen glove,
Discarded by your hand,
Tucked between her paws.

At dawn,
When the sun is still struggling to blink,
She paces the hall.
Hope that such repeated steps will,
Like a dance that issues rain forth from heavens
In dry months,
Summon you once more
So that fields can be run again.

Come night,
When there is a nary a sign of your return
She falls, defeated.
An ancient sadness has taken her eyes,
Once deep and trusting,
And only reluctantly does she rest her head upon my lap,
Settling for the lesser master,
The other woman cast aside.

[Khendon Sevon]

I run my hand o’er hot and taught skin;
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;hair, cascading and churning like deep,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;dark serpents drunk on deep, dark brew;
I press mine own lips to firm, ruby embers;
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;breath, moist and sweet like deep,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;dark wine in deep, dark cup;
I gaze into endless, black eyes;
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;face, inviting and enchanting like deep,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;dark rivers, running over deep, dark rocks;
..and, I see, in the moon-sliver’s silver shine,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;the subtle curve,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;the supple line,
of you,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;sleeping, silently,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;still,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;against my chest;
…and, I know, I’ll never need another,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;not any other,
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;no; none, besides
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;you.

[Ezra Na'chtion]

A short little diddly I wrote a long time ago.

Anger

Burning brightly, senses flaming
Scorching hotly, never ending
Brimstone words, volcanic actions
Violent swords, bloody fractions
Life blurs, wrong turns
Brain decays, reality burns
Frustrating, degrading
Life degenerating
Never ending, ever slaving
Finger pointing, always blaming
Forever consuming... Anger

[Vince]

Upon the Valley Floor
<o></o>
Awake! Awake!
Lo! The sun shines blood red!
Fell deeds and arrows sped,
Await us on the grassy valley floor.
Our graves lay waiting,
On the grassy valley floor.
<o></o>
Mount your horses! Make ready your spears!
Cast away your doubts! Acknowledge no fears!
Fortune and glory with cold arms open await you,
Upon the verdant valley floor;
Upon the green valley floor.
<o></o>
March! March!
Behold! Thunder echoes in the passes!
The realms of the dead will o'erflow this day,
With the fallen of our armies' masses
On this fated valley floor;
Upon this ill-starred valley floor.
<o></o>
Charge comes the call! To glory! To fame!
To hear in the ballads the cry of our name!
On swift wings we fly 'cross the field to die;
To bathe red with life's blood,
The soil of this valley floor;
The fated soil of this valley floor.

The Young Man

Many years ago, before this present time,
Sat a young man in thought,
Trying to make a clever rhyme.
He wanted something profound,
That would sound through the ages;
Down to when his name would be nothing,
But ink upon pages.
But nothing could he pen,
That sounded just right,
For everything he wrote sounded contrived; sounded trite.
There was nothing he could say,
He realized then, (with a wondering sigh)
That hadn't been said before (however he should try).
Thus it came to pass,
After only a few moments' pause,
Words unbidden from his fingers sprung,
Without seeming good cause.
Thus now this young man's words,
Will end, as end all will.
Yet living on even still;
Slowly to live, quickly to die,
Ever aware that the last moment is nigh.

I've got some others, but these are my favourites that I have on my computer. There's a really long one I wrote back in high school laying around here somewhere that isn't too bad either. If I can find it, I'll post that one up as well. You guys can be my artistic sounding board!

[Wyl Staedtler]

Oceans

The way you fly across the lip of a wave,
Brown, brown against frothy blue
And dip and turn and plunge like a knife
Slicing azure with the sheathed scrape of an edge
Until the salt is ground into your scalp,
Your skin faintly scented with oil-slick sea
And the light of your irises hosting the ocean's tumult
As you race against an impossible finish
On, on, on
Until your soul lifts away in roaring flight,
A flimsy craft carried on the back of miraculous force.

[Wyl Staedtler]

we put her down and called it grace

she screamed.
they said: it's not like nursing is it, they can't speak to you.
she screamed like she was dying;
and she was,
even before we plunged the syringe past her trembling skin,
a small mercy.
she folded gracefully in the sodden pasture,
eyes troubled by our presence:
we did not belong there,
half-drowned and human.

she screamed.
they said: it's not like an ending is it, you can manage.
she screamed like she was dying;
and she wanted to,
even before they plunged the needle past her aching skin,
a necessary cruelty.
she lay numbly in the chair,
eyes listless in the clinic lights:
she did not belong here,
half-drained and humbled.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Ahhh.. you have such a way with words :hug

[Captain Untouchable]

I was cleaning out my hard drive, and stumbled on this. It's a few months old, and somewhat emo. :\

A knife is pressed against my skin
But something stops it slicing in

The knife is Swiss, of Army brand;
It nestles, gripped inside my hand
For any task, it has the means;
There's even a blade for this, it seems

I twist it idle in my fingers;
Near my wrist the knife-edge lingers
I think of those who've gone before me;
Remember how I mocked their story;

All the while for this I blame her;
Should I get up, and fetch a razor?
From pain I crave eternal resbit
And if I want to truely end it

Don't cut across, but cut along;
The radio murmurs out a song
My life the song somehow resembles
In my fingers, the knife now trembles

Better to have loved and lost?
Perhaps it is, but at what cost?
She smiles and sings; she's happy now
I lie awake and wonder how

What was for her, and is for me
Could fade away so easily
I'll love again; I'm sure of this
And yet I long for one last kiss

She's different; changed; now I can see
She's not the girl she used to be
It is still her, but even so
If this was all those years ago

The her of now, who I adore
I never would have fallen for
So while my mind is far from sorry
My heart is filled with melencholy

A knife is pressed against my skin
But something stops it slicing in
To know I've loved and been betrayed
Cuts far deeper than any blade