Poet's Passion

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[Jun. 29th, 2008|10:48 am]

rain_turret

I wrote these at work last night; taking me to the conclusion that I have way too much free time there, and should probably spend my time doing more work related things...but oh well. I like writing more anyways.

"The Steady line of her handwriting breaks as her heart skips a beat"

Remember the days at a place called
The Coach Light?
Where we'd sit and talk
as the sky caught fire.
Thoughts that a single page-
could save us-
One page Glory-
Remember the days?

You weren't older than me
more learned than me-
more anything.
We were equals-
learning from each other
growing with each other-
laughing-
smiling-
writing-
Loving.

Each line had a piece of you-
and a piece of me.
Miss those days?

"Untitled"

Infatuation-
with your face-
your eyes-
your smile.
The way you make me laugh
is innocent-
and unstressed.
I want you-
all of you;
agonizingly so.

But what am I doing-
Wanting you?
You're taken-
I'm taken-
but I want you
all of you.
Why?

I'm drawn to you.
Your personality
matches the femininity
of your body
underneath the masculinity
of your clothes.

I want you,
agonizingly so.
You're driving me mad-
one smile at a time.

This last one could use some work and I'm most likely going to edit it profusely later, but right now this is how it is.

[Jun. 28th, 2008|01:07 pm]

rain_turret

"Confused, With My Head Ducked in Shameful Laughter"

Watching you,
The two of you,
I can’t help but want to be her.

It’s not that I want to replace her,
What you two have is truly unique—
I just want to have that bit of you.

I want you to joke with me—
Be able to know,
That when I go home—
You’ll be my companion—

Sing with me,
The way that you sing with her.
Be mine for those moments,
Only those moments.

Play the simple words,
Whisper to me—
Even to tell me,
"Darling, you’re doing it all wrong."
I don’t care.
Whisper.

It’s not that I’m in love with you,
I never have been,
Never will—
But I do love you—

And sometimes,
Sometimes—
I just want to be yours.

Smirk at my Musings,
I’m confused—

Not that I’m in love with you,
Never have been—
Never will.

7 comments|post comment

[Jun. 24th, 2008|04:01 pm]

rain_turret

Hi, I'm Lluvia, and I'm new here obviously...I hate introductions. I don't know really...I love to write, and I love hearing other people's opinions, so here it is...

I've told you-
I wilt in the light of no affection-
Great Lover of mine.

Great would-be Lover of mine
fore you never came to me.
I have nothing of you but words-
blasted words.
They shed no light
on affection.

Is this all I am to expect?
Will I be fiending after you,
for the rest of your days-
Like her-like them?

Or-
Do you only wish to share with me-
words?
They'll speak of passion-love letters unsent-
and an understood pain.
They'll be cunning-and full of unkept promises.
They'll keep alive what never was-
make it rain on paper-full of salt.
They'll say what we fear
to feel,
But only every once in a while-
when the pain
gets too much to ignore.
When promises become pleas
and nevers turn into grey maybes-
Then back to never once more.

And I'll wilt away-
a little flower-
lost in a desert-
of words.

I think I might hide now, yeah?

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[Jun. 5th, 2008|10:56 pm]

lumina_b_quill

Hi, Zero Hour told me I should post this poem in this asylum. So here it is. I wrote this while I was in the bistro at uni the other day, waiting for my soup to arrive. It was very yummy soup. But I could've done without the wait.

"In the BBar"

I'm hungry
& they forgot my food
Why must I be the forgotten one?
And why too nice to even remind them?
Or is it nice?
Maybe
I'm just being spineless.

~

For the record, I did remind them that I had ordered soup.

I shall come back to this asylum tomorrow, when it's not hideously late here in Australia, and read everyone else's posts. The asylum looks really good!

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For that thing Zero_Hour was talking about.

[May. 25th, 2008|02:15 am]

cozzybob

Don't ask me what this poem is about. I wrote it in five minutes. I think it's about murder. But mostly, it's nonsense and babbling. Doh! (I know my style is weird, but I never actually learned how to do real poetry, so I improvise. More doh!)

What a sound suggestion:
Wet drumming against the glass--
Color you rotten
Color you red
Splish splash
Salt in your eyes
Raining in your head
Raining bloodstains (red)
Against the glass
Against--
Sweet music to the inner ear.

*goes to hide under a rock, now*

3 comments|post comment

Mister Red

[May. 24th, 2008|02:35 am]

cozzybob

[

mood

awake

]

A long time ago, a friend of mine mailed me a bunch of cut-up words in an envelope and told me to make something out of it. I pieced the words together at random and made this poem:

Mister Red
this pen isn't working
it
cramps and tickles
these typos
it buds and blooms
sweet, luscious, dripping red
it's
unmade for
me
O fortune
I
misplaced capitals
moving
these words
I
feel the pull of the undertow
tumbling out of place
falling off the end of forever

Just thought I'd share. It's pretty valuable when you're looking for inspiration, really. xD

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The Human Abstract

[May. 19th, 2008|09:42 am]

[	Tags	\|	poem, the human abstract, william blake	]
[	mood	\|	busy	]

The Human Abstract, by William Blake

Pity would be no more
If we did not make somebody poor,
And Mercy no more could be
If all were as happy as we.

And mutual fear brings Peace,
Till the selfish loves increase;
Then Cruelty knits a snare,
And spreads his baits with care.

He sits down with holy fears,
And waters the ground with tears;
Then Humility takes its root
Underneath his foot.

Soon spreads the dismal shade
Of Mystery over his head,
And the caterpillar and fly
Feed on the Mystery.

And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
Ruddy and sweet to eat,
And the raven his nest has made
In its thickest shade.

The gods of the earth and sea
Sought through nature to find this tree,
But their search was all in vain:
There grows one in the human Brain.

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[May. 6th, 2008|08:01 pm]

death_catalyst

[

mood

curious

]

I know not weather it is against the rules to post something like this, but I shall post it anyway. (As I haven't seen anything against it in the rules)

The following is a song by Alesana.

my darling queen, I lay myself at your feet
and I shall stay the hands of fate

wind cries out, heavens boil above voicing discontent to my sins
I have found the way to trick the ferryman
I have deceived the ancient Gods

cold flesh lends to me its secrets for a price too high
I shudder at what I have done
each day brings me closer to you, my tragic victory

darling queen I lay at your feet...
chills take me as she wakes, throat gasps tainted breath
I've reclaimed you my stolen bride
can your soul forgive my crimes of passion?
I would not close the casket; I'm so consumed by your pain
faint screams echo through the night...

cold flesh lends to me its secrets for a price too high
I shudder at what I have done
each day brings me closer to you, my tragic victory

the pains of death can no longer haunt you
as the dawning sky brings forth one forsaken thought
death can not win for I now dwell in the palace of decay
and I shall stay the hands of fate

night descends, sinews twitch
my pale queen finally stands to taste silent lips now cursed with her love

cold flesh lends to me its secrets for a price too high
I shudder at what I have done
each day brings me closer to you, my tragic victory

~Alchemy sounded good at the time, Alesana

To the River, by Edgar Allen Poe

[May. 1st, 2008|05:02 pm]

[	Tags	\|	edgar allen poe, poem, to the river	]
[	mood	\|	pleased	]

To the River

Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow
Of crystal, wandering water,
Thou art an emblem of the glow
Of beauty- the unhidden heart-
The playful maziness of art
In old Alberto's daughter;

But when within thy wave she looks-
Which glistens then, and trembles-
Why, then, the prettiest of brooks
Her worshipper resembles;
For in his heart, as in thy stream,
Her image deeply lies-
His heart which trembles at the beam
Of her soul-searching eyes.
-Edgar Allen Poe

Untitled...

[Apr. 19th, 2008|12:37 pm]

death_catalyst

[

mood

gloomy

]

Autumn breeze frigidly touches ailing dreadful lives
Harshly darkness quietly surrounds the broken souls
Mellow serenades that once played between hearts
Pathetically have transformed into bitter sad songs

Somewhere beyond the flossy clouds
Cupid has lost his romancing arrows
Plays sad sonorous tunes on his bow
Dedicated to all weepy lonely hearts

Howling chilly wind blows through the mist
Sounds of sorrow spread allover the place
Fuzzy humid air submerges the inner lust
Lives decay slowly as the autumn leaves fall...

~Death_Catalyst

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April, by Remy Belleau

[Apr. 19th, 2008|11:09 am]

A fitting poem for this month, eh?

April

April, pride of woodland ways,
Of glad days,
April, bringing hope of prime,
To the young flowers that beneath
Their bud sheath
Are guarded in their tender time;

April, pride of fields that be
Green and free,
That in fashion glad and gay,
Stud with flowers red and blue,
Every hue,
Their jewelled spring array;

April, pride of murmuring
Winds of spring,
That beneath the winnowed air,
Trap with subtle nets and sweet
Flora’s feet,
Flora’s feet, the fleet and fair;

April, by thy hand caressed,
From her breast
Nature scatters everywhere
Handfuls of all sweet perfumes,
Buds and blooms,
Making faint the earth and air.

April, joy of the green hours,
Clothes with flowers
Over all her locks of gold
My sweet Lady; and her breast
With the blest
Birds of summer manifold.

April, with thy gracious wiles,
Like the smiles,
Smiles of Venus; and thy breath
Like her breath, the Gods’ delight,
(From their height
They take the happy air beneath)

It is thou that, of thy grace,
From their place
In the far-oft isles dost bring
Swallows over earth and sea,
Glad to be
Messengers of thee, and Spring.

Daffodil and eglantine,
And woodbine,
Lily, violet, and rose
Plentiful in April fair,
To the air,
Their pretty petals do unclose.

Nightingales ye now may hear,
Piercing clear,
Singing in the deepest shade;
Many and many a babbled note
Chime and float,
Woodland music through the glade.

April, all to welcome thee,
Spring sets free
Ancient flames, and with low breath
Wakes the ashes grey and old
That the cold
Chilled within our hearts to death.

Thou beholdest in the warm
Hours, the swarm
Of the thievish bees, that flies
Evermore from bloom to bloom
For perfume,
Hid away in tiny thighs.

Her cool shadows May can boast,
Fruits almost
Ripe, and gifts of fertile dew,
Manna-sweet and honey-sweet,
That complete
Her flower garland fresh and new.

Nay, but I will give my praise,
To these days,
Named with the glad name of Her
That from out the foam o’ the sea
Came to be
Sudden light on earth and air.

Remy Belleau

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In a Disused Grave Yard

[Apr. 12th, 2008|07:46 pm]

[	Tags	\|	in a disused grave yard, poem, robert frost	]
[	mood	\|	bouncy	]

IN A DISUSED GRAVE YARD

The living come with grassy tread
To read the gravestones on the hill;
The graveyard draws the living still,
But never anymore the dead.
The verses in it say and say:
"The ones who living come today
To read the stones and go away
Tomorrow dead will come to stay."
So sure of death the marbles rhyme,
Yet can't help marking all the time
How no one dead will seem to come.
What is it men are shrinking from?
It would be easy to be clever
And tell the stones: Men hate to die
And have stopped dying now forever.
I think they would believe the lie.

-Robert Frost

Robert Frost. What can I say? Excellent poems, appreciated by almost everyone.

Thinking of You

[Apr. 6th, 2008|04:38 pm]

gmh_celtic_man

Thinking of You

A darkened corner, candle flame
Raindrops cling to windowpane
Ticking clock, a faded rose
An open book of Shakespeare prose
A torn picture, souvenirs
A pack of letters signed with tears
And I am alone with naught to do
But think of you, but think of you.

A darkened corner, shadowed wall
Whispers from a haunted hall
Muted music, a memory
Of all the things that used to be
And I am alone with naught to do
But think of you, but think of you.

How long before a dream come true?
How long must I but think of you?

GMH, 2008

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[Mar. 28th, 2008|05:18 pm]

[	Tags	\|	lost in the forest, pablo neruda, poem	]
[	mood	\|	bouncy	]

Lost in the forest...

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

Pablo Neruda

[Mar. 25th, 2008|11:30 am]

Tell me Where is Fancy Bred

Tell me where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.
It is engender’d in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and fancy dies
In the cradle, where it lies.
Let us all ring fancy’s knell;
I’ll begin it – Ding, dong, bell.

Ding, dong, bell.

From The Merchent of Venice

A Poime by Me

[Mar. 24th, 2008|10:51 am]

[	Tags	\|	meganekko, poem	]
[	Current Location	\|	Poetrty Land	]
[	mood	\|	artistic	]

Inside My Head
Thoughts, thoughts, inside my head,

Where are we going now?

To the circus, horse races, or to buy a dumbell?

Oh poor mind, you follow no reason, no rhyme,

Even I can't follow this time

Oh my mind, you're so insane, I am embarrassed for you,

You shriek as a madman, gibbering and pointing,

I shall pretend I don't know you.

...Oh great, now everyone is looking at us again.
-Meganekko

The Tiger

[Mar. 21st, 2008|06:50 am]

[	Tags	\|	poem, the tiger, william blake	]
[	Current Location	\|	poet's paradise	]

Here is another well-known poem. I will be doing the more commonly recognized poems at first, and then moving on to the more unusual one.

The Tiger
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

-William Blake

Dream Within A Dream

[Jan. 26th, 2008|08:13 pm]

A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
-Edgar Allen Poe