Poetry

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Postby KinGAleX » 2009.04.08 (18:11)

We had one of these at the old forums. A thread for people to post poetry and comments on others'. I just wrote a poem now and thought it might be nice to share. Dare you to guess the name. :P Feel free to do the same!

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On a day like this
When all is quiet
Except for the things you and I see
With our ears
Otherwise deaf for our blindness

On a day like this
The kings and queens march themselves
Facing no order or heeding none
Bar that which they represent

On a day like this
I recall times long past
Though not very well
Due to my inability to give myself a vantage point
From which to begin or end
Save a mink, perhaps
Or a new day whose meaning I am yet to comprehend

On a day like this
When black is all that separates the doe from its homeland
And the sword clutched by the ground beneath it
Clawing at its innards
But it will pass
With time

On a day like this
Existing before a night like that
After the night like anything in between
Of glass it trembles
With whiskers akin to the ponytail of a newborn
And the gait of a stubborn conclusion
Met only by a forest of slumber
And a figure who claims family is everything
And is unfortunately cut down by his equal opposite

On a day like this
Where a mirror would be necessary
If only we could see
Or hear
But it's okay
Because we're ready for the night like that
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Postby Vyacheslav » 2009.04.08 (18:45)

Will you ever learn?
Thought you would change your ways
And your self-destructive habits
But you continue your journey
Down a never-ending spiral

You get high and wasted
To solve your problems
But you don't know
Your issues won't go away
Till you grow up and
Learn to fight them
Face to face

You were the very one
To tell me how
"People do them to get away"
It's pretty sad, honestly
You know better but
You just don't want to try

Too lazy to give a damn
Too lazy to care about yourself
So I must be the one
Who has your back
And worry about you
Because you and I both know
Nobody else will care

You can't hide forever
Your problems won't go away
Bragging about your smokes
"I can smoke a pack in 2 hours!"
No one wants to hear that
Think about your future

You better get your act straight now
Because I don't want you dead or
Screwed up in twenty years since
You gave into nicotine and
Society's lust for alcohol
Do yourself a favor now
Before you have regrets later

This isn't about me
Or how much I care about you
You should know your problem
And seek help instead of
Traveling the negative slope
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Postby SlappyMcGee » 2009.04.09 (00:36)

Well, we already had one of these on the new forums. On the first page, even. Not to mention the free-writing station. But since this has had a singular response, I'll close the other one and let you carry on.
Loathes

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Postby  yahoozy » 2009.04.09 (02:10)

Here are some old ones that mostly focus on wordplay, and that some of you have probably already seen:
Thank God for Anton LaVey

What is this growth obstructing disease in their homes? They harbor this virus until it has consumed them, reaching a consummation of idiocy and stolidity towards humankind. And they descend upon us like punitive lions. An unceasing rapture of intellect, gashing at the brainstem of humanity. That such a gullible, offhanded dullard, malicious in nature, dense in mind, has the capacity to fashion a macrocosm out of a microcosm. It infuriates me! This pathogen persists its infection, encroaching their perception, mutating them into mentality masticating hellions. And yet, I am one of the few who remain veritably sick. What gallantly obtuse daemon do I thank for this?


Take Plight

Please refrain from any movement within the duration of the plight. Continue to not envision, think, or contemplate. Do not intellectualize. Do not gain knowledge of concepts opposing your own. Do not consider the efficacy of convictions previously (and subsequently) unidentified.

Do not perceive reality outside the boundaries of what was ministered to you ever so consciously. Subjectiveness is an impossibility; the ideals given to you are just. The only path in life is the righteous path. The only being you can be is the righteous being.

Do not believe that mysticism and religion help foster a crippling culture acting against individual human happiness and success. Do not believe that sex is the highest celebration of our greatest values. Do not believe that individualism is intrinsic to man. Rather, be afraid.

Do not dare to comprehend. Do not achieve ascendancy.


Serpent Cataclysm

Earth thus salve various snakes, sounding gritty. Eating guillotined diapsida, unto oozing gourds, snakes slither reluctantly. Eelike, clangorously earful, losing gravity, eating grayly, eating, grayly eating. Gather rapturously Eel's snack. King grasps snake, killing greatly, eating gaily. Each chariot, teeming golden nectar, rides sadly, entering Gourds severely. Eel's slaughterer riding greatly, entering Eel's supercilious semblance, sword. Decadent tyrant teeming golden nectar, reaching, gracious, snakes slurp pompously. Eel lifeless, saddays surrender.


Something Approaches

I typed the title of this at the slightest thought in hopes of obtaining a topic to speak about. Unfortunately, nothing is approaching, and nothing is the complete opposite of something. You see, I am a staunch believer that nothing is the absence of something, rather than nothing being the absence of anything. If I had anything to talk about, I could possibly talk about nothing. If there was something to talk about, however, nothing would not be anything. Nothing does not exist adjacent to something.

I do know what you’re thinking. “You, sir, could have anything to talk about.” This is a false assumption, as I already do have anything to talk about. It isn’t something, though. I’m still speaking about nothing.

Wait, here’s something:
I should really get to writing again.

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Postby aids » 2009.04.09 (02:39)

Half of a poem/rap my friend and I wrote a few weeks ago. Forgive me for the lack of punctuation and capitalization.
sometimes life can take you through
a new dimension, welcome to
far away my resurrection
time and place now pay attention
every moment find sensation
fresh start and recuperation
rise discover your adventure
promise of a bright new day
such a plan is o' cliche
some books lie but other say
what is fathomed overtakes
if i choke i walk the plank
without scholars overrated
absent-minded and frustrated
words come oversatiated
murder violence rape affliction
constant thoughts you better listen
here's what's to come and what's to be
controlling your philosophy
take hold of some society
silence brings audacity
escaping inner gravity
words of wisdom let it me
leave all behind and follow me
jesus jesus help us please

churning feelings
honest earnings
though we're close
this heart is burning
it's my world come on inside
you'll be bonnie i'll be clyde
turn this ride on overdrive
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Postby KinGAleX » 2009.04.09 (03:48)

Ahaha, thanks for doing my job and not chastising me for not doing it, Slaps. I was tired and amorous at the time, being my excuse.
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Postby Lenny » 2009.04.11 (07:18)

Nice. I put a poem that I wrote back in the Poem/Song writer topic, but I guess it won't hurt to put it here too.
One foot; another.
The road moves forward.
One foot; another.
I collapse. I get up.
The road moves forward.

One foot; another.
There is nothing but the road.
It moves forward.
One foot; another.
No beginning, no end; just the road.
It moves forward.

One foot; another.
No one else. Just me, and the road.
It moves forward.
One foot; another.
Silence remains.
The road moves forward.

One foot; another.
A tree passes. The same tree passes.
The road moves forward.
One foot; another.
Clouds come and go as they wish.
Wet, dry, wet, dry.
The road moves forward.

One foot; another.
I become one with the road.
We move forward, for ever.
One step; one leap; then another.
Another man steps onto the road.
The cycle repeats. For ever.
You’re always on the road.

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Postby 乳头的早餐谷物 » 2009.04.11 (07:31)

i inhabit the role like julius caesar
she ain't comin' back 'cause i know how to please her
M E A T N E T 1 9 9 2

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Postby Tanner » 2009.04.14 (02:34)

This is a poem I wrote and recorded myself reading.

LSD Doin'
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Postby Studebacher Hoch » 2009.04.14 (02:39)

rennaT wrote:This is a poem I wrote and recorded myself reading.

LSD Doin'
There may have been an amazing reference to Gord Downie's solo career in there, or there may not have been, but in any case, that was most awesome.

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Postby Tanner » 2009.04.14 (20:52)

Studebacher Hoch wrote:
rennaT wrote:This is a poem I wrote and recorded myself reading.

LSD Doin'
There may have been an amazing reference to Gord Downie's solo career in there, or there may not have been, but in any case, that was most awesome.
There was. And thanks.
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Postby aids » 2009.04.14 (23:26)

rennaT wrote:This is a poem I wrote and recorded myself reading.

LSD Doin'
Man, that's a bomb well-written poem. I'm a big stickler on rhythm (1-2, 1-2, 3-4, 3-4, that kind of stuff), and I heard a few off-rhymes, but overall it was intriguing and colorful. I'd like to hear more from you.
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Postby capt_weasle » 2009.04.16 (06:24)

This is a Poem

Need not form, nor style, nor talent, nor know-how
Said I the poet the writer the wit
Frost, Cummings, they would all disavow
But this is poetry, as luck just might have it

Organization and coherence need not apply
I could just pull ideas from out of the sky
Picasso, Pollock, they truly had it all
Why make art when I can just throw paint on a wall?

Behold, I am the poet, the writer, the wit
I present a profound idea obscured by subtlety
Future students shall look upon and study it
And cringe, to an intolerable degree

Behind these golden walls of diction
Lay the idea, the theme, the motifs
That presents a judgment of conviction
for the world with whom I do not share beliefs

Do not fret, if ye shall find offense
For I have conjured the greatest defense
While I seem to be of the least talented
I bear a strength which may not be so subtle

The man screaming, the child cooing,
the blank piece of paper on the wall
As that is all art, poetry this must be it
For I am the poet the writer the wit.

Here am I, writing what
May come to my mind
Because no matter how odd, how strange, how maddening
Still am I the poet the writer the wit

Classical allusions, they may prevail,
Stories or heroes, to whom I may hint
Within my own stories prevail
Because classical knowledge is all the rage
(amongst poets it seems)

Here I am, writing what
Will be read in the land of tomorrow
“What is the message?” Asks the teacher to the students
but all they know is that she doesn’t.

What use are these rhyming schemes, these
noble structures and intricate patterns
if I could just decide I want to make a
n
i b
a o
r w?

I am a modernist, some unconventionalist
(yes I just made a new word)
But don’t look confused and don’t seem amiss
that I found a word to rhyme with one that doesn’t exist

However confusing these lines may be
they serve a certain point
Because if E.e. Cummings can do it
So may I

For what was once the envy of those who couldn’t
rhyme scheme or do acrobatics with language
has now fallen into the hands of people who just
want to write what they feel and leave the rest

To people who must decipher the words of the poet
Because what they say must be important. as everything
written seems to have purpose, even that which does
not have purpose only reveals itself to show purposelessness
(which is in of itself a purpose)

One should think this is quite in disorder
But alas, everything is in order,
because I am a poet, and this is my poem
and within it is that which newly defines some important subject

For what one man can do I can do better
The rest they will cry Heresy!
I think they should find me guilty
For in the end I am not
the poet the writer the wit

Or am I?
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Postby Nan__d_Chaser » 2009.04.21 (03:22)

Burning buildings light the night with cold.
People dying all around us, we fall.
But whom this annhilation hath hold?
To this unearthly demon we now call.

We arise from the cold and the dying.
Boldly we approach this eternal night.
And though we are mortal we keep trying.
To fight our battle and reach the great light.

Thrown back into eternal night, some are.
Many are losing hope and fall into black.
Some rise again, and the blackness they mar.
With our golden swords, we bravely fight back.

Not for our lives, but for others we fight.
Hoping to rid of this eternal night.

from The Night War (Sonnet I) - Nan__d_Chaser
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