From Calvin and Hobbes: <!--QuoteBegin--></span><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->My mom and my dad are not what they seem. Their dull appearance is part of their scheme. I know of their plans. I know their techniques. My parents are outer space alien freaks!
They landed on earth in spaceships humongous. Posing as grownups, they now walk among us. My parents deny this, but I know the truth. They're here to enslave me and spoil my youth.
Early each morning, as the sun rises, Mom and dad put on their earthling disguises. I knew right away their masks weren't legit. Their faces are lined - they sag and don't fit.
The earth's gravity makes them sluggish and slow. They say not to run, wherever I go. They live by the clock. They're slaves to routines. They work the year 'round. They're almost machines.
They deny that TV and fried food have much worth. They cannot be human. They're not of this earth. I cannot escape their alien gaze, And they're warping my mind with their alien ways. For sinister plots, this one is a gem. They're bringing me up to turn me into them!<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
tankefuglOne Script To Rule Them All...Trondheim, NorwayJoin Date: 2002-11-14Member: 8641Members, Retired Developer, NS1 Playtester, Constellation, NS2 Playtester, Squad Five Blue
Oh, poems. I'll contribute with three small ones:
<b>Poems</b>
<i>Roses are red, violets are blue, Some poems rhyme and some don't.</i>
(This one isn't mine. Can't remember where it is from, though.)
<b>Skumringsham</b>
<i>Ein skumringsham så grim han greip -- med måneklang han kvad. Mitt vakre viv, eg hugse skal -- ditt blod, mi tann, mitt sakn.</i>
(A little piece written in norwegian, for those of you that understand it.)
<b>The elechant</b>
<i>This screaming thumping elephant, way inside my weary head. This screaming thumping elechant! My words of love -- left unsaid. </i>
<!--QuoteBegin--moultano+Aug 15 2003, 11:54 PM--></span><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (moultano @ Aug 15 2003, 11:54 PM)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->here's one of mine:
Static. Mirrorshades flash in the neon darkness archology shadows, fungal life vats. A new star is rising in the east of neurosurgery, and dataflow detox You are your reality and everyone is dead, replacement parts, the morass of god. Soul echoes in the chambers, the chirping pattern inlays where man and machine scream unity and fade into the night as one.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd--> dude, you really got to me... some real language mastery there...
I haven't been writing as much poetry as I used to, but here's some, haiku first:
sunny red light stop red pick-up man holds closer the light of his life
outside, morning moves yet we only stay in bed warm, clicking the tube
bright only outside she moves as I drift away no place for me here
...and here's one longer one, called 'artificial light':
halogen corona shoots through shower mist sun through rain forest canopy eddies: a puff of air pierces but they rush back in too wet can't catch my breath
incandescent shaft does permiate marble coke glass fruit punch waves of shifting light arrows: thoughts and neurons, the message from beneath, so true; it hits the spot
fluorescent ubiquity no shadow left so steady, so slow, it bathes entire worlds sometimes; takes some life: the cost of staying awake
AsranielJoin Date: 2002-06-03Member: 724Members, Playtest Lead, Forum Moderators, NS2 Playtester, Squad Five Blue, Reinforced - Shadow, WC 2013 - Shadow, Subnautica Playtester, Retired Community Developer
edited August 2003
okai, thats one i wrote for my girlfriend. Its sindarin and it doesent rime and you wont understand it.. but who cares?
Beriawen, i 'aelwain êl erin elenath carich i dhû na aur
nauthon bo cen pant arad badin er bo cen
ir cenoch den io nin drava guren anorchal
aníron cen ped cen milin
PS: and IF someone understands sindarin, dont tell my that its absolutely wrong. Its the first time i wrote a poem AND its the first time i wrote something in sindarin....
Not bad at all ulatoh, I personally love writing poetry, got many mentioned in the school's literary magazine, and even came away with some money for it to <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
Its just something about writing that I enjoy, the release I guess. I also do pros and decriptive essays, but here we go people, this is emberssing for me to :-\
Stilllife:
A baby born to a broken mother wails as the doctor spanks it, one of the few natural reactions it will ever have in its time. The mother, glad labor is done lips curl in an almost bored face, doesn't even hold the life brought into the world due to her need for money. The baby, brought away by a solemn face nurse, may later wish to have been a stillborn rather than the sickman it will become.
St. Patricks Day- 2003
I turned 18 to silent applause and a beautiful day, an occurance that was rare for this day in March. Rarer still, after as harsh a winter as what we had. Only four days back, I had started on Prozac again, and while nothing exceptional happened to me, I felt as light as the clouds that decorated the sky.
18 years now; 17 years and 11 months had I been born when I should have. 18 now, and no more boyish games. I may never be innocent again, but ignorance shall forever be my bliss.
As I let the wind blow my unbuttoned shirt back a little 18 now, and damn... It's a beautiful day.
So what did you people think? I hope these don't go without any comment, even if it is just a "those sucked"
<!--QuoteBegin--moultano+Aug 15 2003, 11:54 PM--></span><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (moultano @ Aug 15 2003, 11:54 PM)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> here's one of mine:
Static. Mirrorshades flash in the neon darkness archology shadows, fungal life vats. A new star is rising in the east of neurosurgery, and dataflow detox You are your reality and everyone is dead, replacement parts, the morass of god. Soul echoes in the chambers, the chirping pattern inlays where man and machine scream unity and fade into the night as one. <!--QuoteEnd--> </td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'> <!--QuoteEEnd--> Reminds me very much of the song C.O.L.O.N.Y by In Flames. You should go check out the lyrics for that. Good job.
<!--QuoteBegin--Xzilen+Aug 18 2003, 08:24 PM--></span><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (Xzilen @ Aug 18 2003, 08:24 PM)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> Not bad at all ulatoh, I personally love writing poetry, got many mentioned in the school's literary magazine, and even came away with some money for it to <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
Its just something about writing that I enjoy, the release I guess. I also do pros and decriptive essays, but here we go people, this is emberssing for me to :-\
<!--QuoteEnd--> </td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'> <!--QuoteEEnd--> I know what you mean, I just think its fun, It gives me a release, and its great for starting conversations, especially if you memorise one of your better ones
I got 2 published with poetry.con...er...com...(con artists) and nearly won 25,000 dollars for the one below:
I love her, it is she for whom I long her smile brings forth the golden sun The orbs of her eyes contain a beauty not yet matched, Twin stars, twinkling in the light of her smile her lovely voice as sweet as the herald of an angel her kiss, so sweet, 'tis surely a sin to feel her laugh hath no equal here or in the heavens the sound of innocence it is she for whom I long she is the one for whom i wait perhaps my longing never to be realized
No offense, but everyone I know who's submitted anything to poetry.com says they got something back telling them they nearly won something, myself included. Poetry.com is BS.
Exactly, thats why i said poetry.<b><u>con</u></b> heh... small joke
[EDIT]:I see what your talking about now, the near win was a local contest, was legit, they have it every year, its for spending money during college, I'll see if i can find the one that actually won it.
This is a nice thread, I hope this one doesn't fade, what did you think of my stuff btw?
Anyways, here we go with another one. It was about cutting my hair, which I have some regrets about.
Haircut
I ran the brush across my near naked scalp I would pluck the hairs out of it later. A year and half lost at the barbershop lay next to me in a bag. My past yearned to be free.
I had turned 18 three days before, and something from within wanted a fresh start. No more nappy knots or tangles No more uneven feeling and mop like head to bang at concerts.
My trial was hard enough, made no easier by "friends" who would call me "sellout" as if I were famous.
I took a handful and clenched it tight before finally letting the hair go with the breeze over the mountaintop. A year and a half lost at the barbershop, lay mostly in a bag in my hand. Yet my past yearned to be free.
hah I had to practically beg my girlfriend to stop sending things to poetry.con -- she was truly a brilliant poet, but no common sense... I kept telling her, you're giving away the rights to your beautiful works to a two-bit website......
It could have been any old day subtracting days of winter. Crushing leaves under my feet as I pushed myself over the hill and into the overlook of a small gorge where a dead vulture lay.
No blowflys or any of its own kind manifested the remains. Its eyes remained open, and even from my view I could see the questions that never formed iwthin them. What, after all these years, happened to tear my life away, one thing I can never get back.
I like your stuff xil, but you could stand to be a little more verbose, and maybe to use a rhythm when appropriate
Yea, the final scheme in which i decided not to send anything to poetry.com was when they wanted me to pay 600 some odd dollars to go to my OWN awards show, and MAYBE get 2nd prize...
Then i realised that the poems on their front page are crap... lol
Fairytale assignment from Creative Writing class... got good marks, opinions?
Once upon a time there was a cardinal born upon the night of a cruel winds blowing, its vile fume passed his shell at the very moment he hatched from it. The breeze took with it his voice when he departed, and left him mute, a songbird without voice. The faireys of the wood took pity on him and in a moment of uncommon sympathy for the fairy folk, for they were not generally so, they granted him superior flight speed. He was given the strength of the Falcon in his wings so that he could one day catch this vile wind. He practiced for years, flying into winds that tore trees from the ground, and keeping a straight path through the swirling winds of a cyclone. All the other forest animals thought him mad, and watched with horror every time he embarked on aforementioned flights.
Finally one day he deemed himself ready, and he flew to the top of the highest mountain and came to the sheerest face, He gathered up all his courage and flung himself over the edge. He flapped and flapped accelerating his entire flight twoard the ground, and just as it appeared too late, he pulled up with all his might and gathered all that speed into forward motion, and before most of the animals, cringing now in horror at the near miss they allmost witnessed, could open there eyes, he was gone, over the horizon. He flew and flew and flew till at last he saw a grey line on the horizon, He flapped all the harder, and just as he thought he would catch it, the wind hit a woodland, and dissapeared.
Taking much dissapointment at this, he landed, and took up lodging on a branch. To his ears came the most heavenly tune he'd ever heard before sung, and he flew to its source. Here he found a beautifull cardinal with somewhat withered wings, and , though he could not speak, he tried his hardests to convey thought, and asked her how she came to sing so well. She replied "On the day of my birth, a cruel breeze blew, and stole from me my flying strength, but the fairys of the wood here gave me a voice so beautifull as to invoke the pity of the gods and maybe beget the gift of flight." So taken aback was he at this story that for several moments he did not move, then he closed his eyes and wished to his fairys that even half of his ability to fly be given to her.
At this moment a booming voice came to him " This test you have passed, and your reward you shall have, On this day you shall become what is your birthright, the King of the sky." Hearing this, a bolt of lightning came from the heavens and stopped just short of the ground, it encircled them both, and transformed them into giant and regal birds, wings broad and voices strong.
I should post the begining to my novel. Alot of what i write is Tolkien influenced. Not what i right about. just the way i describe things, so people have told me...
<span style='color:green'>Prologue
<i>Many ages have come to pass. A great weariness lays heavily upon my soul. Alone I have dwelt for many of days. Sorrow that engulfed my soul so many ages ago still taunts my thoughts and holds my mind captive. In anguish I fled from all the world and the darkness that binds it. Foreboding is set deep in my mind knowing that my cowardly efforts are in vain. You can not hide from the darkness…you can not run from what you are. What then am I? A lost soul in search of relief. A dark being hiding in her own shadow. Or perhaps a mere mortal that has grown weary of the days…</i> Evil can not create any form of life… so it is written, and in fact true. This was a law passed even before the earth was created. At the passing of this law, it was then, that evil lost its ability to create life. However, before then the great evil created one. A fiend of great power. Feared by even the holy ones of God. At the creating of this power God then passed the law of creation. This great one was clothed in darkness and had within it a great evil. It prowled the earth for many ages… devouring all that was good and leaving sorrow and a never ending shadow in its wake. Eventually this foul creation grew weary of the days. Finding no accomplishment in all its evil works….
Great trees of the wood of Shadowhaven loom high into the sunny sky. For centuries this great woods has struck fear into the hearts of men. A heavy gloom lays upon the forest and even on the brightest days no sun ever seems to shine here. The twisted trees with their trunks as black as the night and leaves of no texture only a smooth gleaming surface of a mossy green. Following the eerie wood through its dense foliage of creep and obscene vibe you’ll find an immense rockmass. A glittering stream bubbles down its face into a beautiful tarn. Only here in all the forest is the gloom lifted and the sun shines. A small grassy meadow flows away from the large pond. Awe inspiring is the myriads of ravishing flowers that abide here. The rock wall is arrayed with a flourishing scarlet flower, which flows down the sides and reaches out into a pasture. The water bears golden flowers in its foam. The source of these flowers come from 2 beautiful trees each on its own side of the waters edge. They seem to reach into the water with their wavering branches bearing hordes of these golden gems. The site would leave even the must lofty beings in awe. Sitting upon a white stone protruding from off the waters shore…is a maiden as fair as the scene she resides in. Clothed in white she seems as a star fallen from the heavens, making her surroundings seem trivial in comparison with her. Looking upon her face you feel her thoughts dwell somewhere far off, perhaps lingering in the clouds, far from our understanding. Eyes empty, lifeless and aggrieved. They seem to be filled with all that they behold. Yet as lost as she seems, you feel a great wisdom and power in this weary soul, and know the many ages that burden her mind…</span> this is just a rough draft. im sure ill change alot. <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.natural-selection.org/forums/html/emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif'><!--endemo-->
Tolkien was awesome, some of the best books ever were the LOTR series, You know when you finish a good book and you feel really sad because it is over? Well tolkien made a damn good novel to make me feel like that at the end of ROTK...
But yeah, your story seems pretty interesting, I'm guessing that this evil character that roams Earth is somewhat like the satan in our world? <!--emo&:0--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/wow.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wow.gif'><!--endemo-->
It is very descriptive, but maybe add some notions of the sound and smell, but I think those notions might only be appropriate when a person is in thought or describing something..
So what is your novel gunna be like? A sad tragedy with a flair of comedy or whatnot, you know..
Sometimes I write poetry to remind myself of important lessons I've learned in life. Here are a few.
-
Freedom
Freedom is about letting go Fear, Hate Envy, Jealousy Pride, Vanity Greed, Lust Freedom is in the moment A moment contains infinite possibilities A hateful, envious, greedy mind will consume infinite moments
Freedom is about letting go Freedom is infinite possitilities
-
This.
I want you to take a good look around you...
This is it.
This is what it is. This is where you are. This is where you are going. And this is where you are going to be. This is reality.
You don't have to think... It just is.
This is it.
This.
-
Reality is what we take to be true.
What we take to be true is what we believe.
What we believe is based upon our perceptions.
What we perceive depends upon what we look for.
What we look for depends on what we think.
What we think depends on what we perceive.
What we perceive determines what we believe.
What we believe determines what we take to be true.
What we take to be true is our reality.
-- David Bohm
<i>The last one is not mine. It is a quote of a famous American physist, David Bohm, reflecting on reality but I thought it made a great poem.</i>
I think tom clancy said novelists are masochists... I can see why, Unles sthe whole thing comes in a moment of blinding brilliance, it would be mind numbing tryig to keep everything straight.
<!--QuoteBegin--Ulatoh+Aug 19 2003, 08:00 PM--></span><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (Ulatoh @ Aug 19 2003, 08:00 PM)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> I like your stuff xil, but you could stand to be a little more verbose, and maybe to use a rhythm when appropriate
Yea, the final scheme in which i decided not to send anything to poetry.com was when they wanted me to pay 600 some odd dollars to go to my OWN awards show, and MAYBE get 2nd prize...
Then i realised that the poems on their front page are crap... lol
Fairytale assignment from Creative Writing class... got good marks, opinions?
Once upon a time there was a cardinal born upon the night of a cruel winds blowing, its vile fume passed his shell at the very moment he hatched from it. The breeze took with it his voice when he departed, and left him mute, a songbird without voice. The faireys of the wood took pity on him and in a moment of uncommon sympathy for the fairy folk, for they were not generally so, they granted him superior flight speed. He was given the strength of the Falcon in his wings so that he could one day catch this vile wind. He practiced for years, flying into winds that tore trees from the ground, and keeping a straight path through the swirling winds of a cyclone. All the other forest animals thought him mad, and watched with horror every time he embarked on aforementioned flights.
Finally one day he deemed himself ready, and he flew to the top of the highest mountain and came to the sheerest face, He gathered up all his courage and flung himself over the edge. He flapped and flapped accelerating his entire flight twoard the ground, and just as it appeared too late, he pulled up with all his might and gathered all that speed into forward motion, and before most of the animals, cringing now in horror at the near miss they allmost witnessed, could open there eyes, he was gone, over the horizon. He flew and flew and flew till at last he saw a grey line on the horizon, He flapped all the harder, and just as he thought he would catch it, the wind hit a woodland, and dissapeared.
Taking much dissapointment at this, he landed, and took up lodging on a branch. To his ears came the most heavenly tune he'd ever heard before sung, and he flew to its source. Here he found a beautifull cardinal with somewhat withered wings, and , though he could not speak, he tried his hardests to convey thought, and asked her how she came to sing so well. She replied "On the day of my birth, a cruel breeze blew, and stole from me my flying strength, but the fairys of the wood here gave me a voice so beautifull as to invoke the pity of the gods and maybe beget the gift of flight." So taken aback was he at this story that for several moments he did not move, then he closed his eyes and wished to his fairys that even half of his ability to fly be given to her.
At this moment a booming voice came to him " This test you have passed, and your reward you shall have, On this day you shall become what is your birthright, the King of the sky." Hearing this, a bolt of lightning came from the heavens and stopped just short of the ground, it encircled them both, and transformed them into giant and regal birds, wings broad and voices strong.
The End <!--QuoteEnd--> </td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'> <!--QuoteEEnd--> Heh, I'll show you some of my older stuff, all of that was my step into "prose" poetry this year, on encourangment from my "mentor" Mr. Ewers. Absolutely the greatest teacher anyone can have, I don't think words could describe, in any fashion, just how much of an impact he made on my life.
Though I can't remember it all, I will show you something more on the "poetic" side and less away from the "prose" style. If you wish to learn more about the "prose" style poetry that I am speaking of, you should pick up some of Raymond Carvers stuff. He was a brilliant man, he did as much for writing to me, as Layne Staley from Alice in Chains did to me lyrically. Sadly, both are dead now, both died unhappy men to, but non the less, their stuff shall carry on.
Anyways, I called this one "Clouds" it was basically a one finger salute to the society that made me. I've forgotten many of the lines, and can't find my only copy, which was hand written, so some of it may be dilluted.
Part of Me, Floats Free Another Stays, On Ground To what person am I to be To what Destiny am I bound
What Part did you have, in being my maker Your not God, only my creator.
Ugh, I forget the rest, but that one really had a lot of frustration in it. It basically described clouds and how they relate to society.... Yea... Sorry, I get that way sometimes <!--emo&;)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/wink.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wink.gif'><!--endemo--> Anyways, back to drink some more water, I go.
<!--QuoteBegin--kida+Aug 20 2003, 02:41 AM--></span><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (kida @ Aug 20 2003, 02:41 AM)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> Tolkien was awesome, some of the best books ever were the LOTR series, You know when you finish a good book and you feel really sad because it is over? Well tolkien made a damn good novel to make me feel like that at the end of ROTK...
But yeah, your story seems pretty interesting, I'm guessing that this evil character that roams Earth is somewhat like the satan in our world? <!--emo&:0--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/wow.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wow.gif'><!--endemo-->
It is very descriptive, but maybe add some notions of the sound and smell, but I think those notions might only be appropriate when a person is in thought or describing something..
So what is your novel gunna be like? A sad tragedy with a flair of comedy or whatnot, you know..
GL <!--QuoteEnd--> </td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'> <!--QuoteEEnd--> Actually the whole novel is layed out in way certain way. The begining going through the forest. is actaully when the story is being written. Then it goes back into the past and explains the above written. The evil one is actually the maiden on the rock.That one was created by satan. but i havent written far enough where it explains that. <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif'><!--endemo--> Its a very hard plot to write, but if i get it right, it will be awesome. <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
i have read the LOTR series and his other books. so many times. and everytime is just as good as the first. <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
My cure is so close to me and yet, as far as can be My cure is a pair of red roses oh so delicate and red My cure is two rows of pearls white as the snow, and sparkling My cure is a cascade of silky brown My cure, is contained behind the two most beautiful orbs of ivory and brown I've yet to see My cure is shrouded in the softest skin of copper hue My cure makes the most enchanting sound When you laugh
White lights - half blinding Mirror, shadow, and disfiguration Object reflecting; people crawling; mind ripping Failure complete Four eyes stare; pieces become one; life lines connect Amber glowing; portals opening; Stars, oceans, and crescent moons White lights - almost dead
LikuI, am the Somberlain.Join Date: 2003-01-10Member: 12128Members
edited November 2003
<!--QuoteBegin--kida+Aug 20 2003, 12:41 AM--></span><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> (kida @ Aug 20 2003, 12:41 AM)</td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin--> Tolkien was awesome, some of the best books ever were the LOTR series, You know when you finish a good book and you feel really sad because it is over? Well tolkien made a damn good novel to make me feel like that at the end of ROTK... <!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd--> Same here <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>necromancer</span>... But the END END made be happy. ^_^
Bathroom Lyric!! Cleaned up for the younger crowd (yes, I did read this in a bathroom)
I sit here now, broken hearted... Tried to go, but only farted.... Then one day I took a chance... Tried to fart and went in my pants!
Thank you Thank you!
Haiku!
My eyes hurt alot This is not very healthy Forum ruined life <!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
Now, heres some try at poetry:
I sit here at this place I order up another drink I somewhat enjoy the taste and the alocohol helps me think
I sit alone, so very tired Of this life that I have led I sit with all the hatred that I have sired Inside my aching head
Now I wonder why I suffer Why I live this life of pain? The experience has made me tougher, but my sanity begins to wane.
Man, this is hard. I try to make it ryhme, but jeez. Maybe I should try a non-rhyming one.
<span style='color:gray'>I walk in the dark places of the night Dreaming of you, I chase the illusion Never knowing the dark truth That lies beneath the surface I walk in the dark, dreaming of you</span>
The text coloring on my message is gray with a maroon background, that's why I changed the color. Also makes it easier to tell what is and what isn't the poem.
One I half wrote when my girlfriend was really angry at me.
<span style='color:gray'>Oh cruel fate! Oh harsh life! In my life I have done wrong! I wish only that my Lady of Dreams Know that I never wished harm upon her! Oh cruel irony! Oh Bitter fate! Let there be one last drop of poison to steal from me my life's breath!</span>
Yes, I know it kinda rips from Romeo & Juliet, but that is one of my favorite plays.
Here's some more bastardised Shakespere <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo--> "He thinketh not, he moveth not, he stirreth not, he smoketh pot." "He smoketh <i>what?</i>" "He smoketh pot. I joketh not, he smoketh pot."
Comments
<!--QuoteBegin--></span><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1'><tr><td><b>QUOTE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='QUOTE'><!--QuoteEBegin-->My mom and my dad are not what they seem.
Their dull appearance is part of their scheme.
I know of their plans. I know their techniques.
My parents are outer space alien freaks!
They landed on earth in spaceships humongous.
Posing as grownups, they now walk among us.
My parents deny this, but I know the truth.
They're here to enslave me and spoil my youth.
Early each morning, as the sun rises,
Mom and dad put on their earthling disguises.
I knew right away their masks weren't legit.
Their faces are lined - they sag and don't fit.
The earth's gravity makes them sluggish and slow.
They say not to run, wherever I go.
They live by the clock. They're slaves to routines.
They work the year 'round. They're almost machines.
They deny that TV and fried food have much worth.
They cannot be human. They're not of this earth.
I cannot escape their alien gaze,
And they're warping my mind with their alien ways.
For sinister plots, this one is a gem.
They're bringing me up to turn me into them!<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
<!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
Why is my green pen over there
And not grasped in my hand?
Why can't it fly into the air
And then on my palm land?
Did I offend? It will not hike
Or fly (It seems quite clear.)
Oh now I see! It does not like
To move, this time of year.
<b>Poems</b>
<i>Roses are red, violets are blue,
Some poems rhyme and some don't.</i>
(This one isn't mine. Can't remember where it is from, though.)
<b>Skumringsham</b>
<i>Ein skumringsham så grim han greip --
med måneklang han kvad.
Mitt vakre viv, eg hugse skal --
ditt blod, mi tann, mitt sakn.</i>
(A little piece written in norwegian, for those of you that understand it.)
<b>The elechant</b>
<i>This screaming thumping elephant,
way inside my weary head.
This screaming thumping elechant!
My words of love -- left unsaid. </i>
One more soldier reporting sir I've served my time in hell
I love that verse and I'm sure there must be more to it but I don't know!
Static.
Mirrorshades flash in the neon darkness
archology shadows, fungal life vats.
A new star is rising in the east
of neurosurgery, and dataflow detox
You are your reality and everyone is dead,
replacement parts, the morass of god.
Soul echoes in the chambers,
the chirping pattern inlays
where man and machine scream unity
and fade into the night as one.<!--QuoteEnd--></td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'><!--QuoteEEnd-->
dude, you really got to me... some real language mastery there...
I haven't been writing as much poetry as I used to, but here's some, haiku first:
sunny red light stop
red pick-up man holds closer
the light of his life
outside, morning moves
yet we only stay in bed
warm, clicking the tube
bright only outside
she moves as I drift away
no place for me here
...and here's one longer one, called 'artificial light':
halogen corona
shoots through shower mist
sun through rain forest canopy
eddies:
a puff of air pierces
but they rush back in
too wet
can't catch my breath
incandescent shaft
does permiate marble coke glass fruit punch
waves of shifting light
arrows:
thoughts and neurons,
the message from beneath,
so true;
it hits the spot
fluorescent ubiquity
no shadow left
so steady, so slow,
it bathes
entire worlds sometimes;
takes some life:
the cost
of staying awake
Beriawen, i 'aelwain êl erin elenath
carich i dhû na aur
nauthon bo cen pant arad
badin er bo cen
ir cenoch den io nin
drava guren anorchal
aníron cen ped
cen milin
PS: and IF someone understands sindarin, dont tell my that its absolutely wrong. Its the first time i wrote a poem AND its the first time i wrote something in sindarin....
Its just something about writing that I enjoy, the release I guess. I also do pros and decriptive essays, but here we go people, this is emberssing for me to :-\
Stilllife:
A baby born to a broken mother
wails as the doctor spanks it,
one of the few natural reactions it
will ever have in its time.
The mother, glad labor is done
lips curl in an almost bored face,
doesn't even hold the life brought
into the world due to her
need for money.
The baby, brought away by
a solemn face nurse,
may later wish to have been a stillborn
rather than the sickman it will become.
St. Patricks Day- 2003
I turned 18 to silent applause
and a beautiful day, an occurance
that was rare for this day in March.
Rarer still, after as harsh a winter as what we had.
Only four days back, I had
started on Prozac again, and
while nothing exceptional happened
to me, I felt as light as the clouds
that decorated the sky.
18 years now;
17 years and 11 months
had I been born when I should have.
18 now, and no more boyish games.
I may never be innocent again,
but ignorance shall forever be my bliss.
As I let the wind blow my
unbuttoned shirt back a little
18 now, and damn...
It's a beautiful day.
So what did you people think? I hope these don't go without any comment, even if it is just a "those sucked"
Anyways take care.
Static.
Mirrorshades flash in the neon darkness
archology shadows, fungal life vats.
A new star is rising in the east
of neurosurgery, and dataflow detox
You are your reality and everyone is dead,
replacement parts, the morass of god.
Soul echoes in the chambers,
the chirping pattern inlays
where man and machine scream unity
and fade into the night as one. <!--QuoteEnd--> </td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'> <!--QuoteEEnd-->
Reminds me very much of the song C.O.L.O.N.Y by In Flames. You should go check out the lyrics for that. Good job.
Its just something about writing that I enjoy, the release I guess. I also do pros and decriptive essays, but here we go people, this is emberssing for me to :-\
<!--QuoteEnd--> </td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'> <!--QuoteEEnd-->
I know what you mean, I just think its fun, It gives me a release, and its great for starting conversations, especially if you memorise one of your better ones
I got 2 published with poetry.con...er...com...(con artists) and nearly won 25,000 dollars for the one below:
I love her, it is she for whom I long
her smile brings forth the golden sun
The orbs of her eyes contain a beauty not yet matched,
Twin stars, twinkling in the light of her smile
her lovely voice as sweet as the herald of an angel
her kiss, so sweet, 'tis surely a sin to feel
her laugh hath no equal here or in the heavens
the sound of innocence
it is she for whom I long
she is the one for whom i wait
perhaps
my longing never to be realized
[EDIT]:I see what your talking about now, the near win was a local contest, was legit, they have it every year, its for spending money during college, I'll see if i can find the one that actually won it.
Anyways, here we go with another one. It was about cutting my hair, which I have some regrets about.
Haircut
I ran the brush across my
near naked scalp
I would pluck the hairs out of it later.
A year and half lost at the barbershop
lay next to me in a bag.
My past yearned to be free.
I had turned 18 three days before,
and something from within wanted a fresh start.
No more nappy knots or tangles
No more uneven feeling and mop
like head to bang at concerts.
My trial was hard enough,
made no easier by "friends" who would call
me "sellout" as if I were famous.
I took a handful
and clenched it tight before finally letting
the hair go with the breeze over the mountaintop.
A year and a half lost at the barbershop,
lay mostly in a bag in my hand.
Yet my past yearned to be free.
A Walk In May
It could have been any old day
subtracting days of winter.
Crushing leaves under my feet
as I pushed myself over the hill
and into the overlook of a small gorge
where a dead vulture lay.
No blowflys or any of its own
kind manifested the remains.
Its eyes remained open,
and even from my view I could
see the questions that never formed iwthin them.
What, after all these years, happened
to tear my life away, one thing I
can never get back.
Yea, the final scheme in which i decided not to send anything to poetry.com was when they wanted me to pay 600 some odd dollars to go to my OWN awards show, and MAYBE get 2nd prize...
Then i realised that the poems on their front page are crap... lol
Fairytale assignment from Creative Writing class... got good marks, opinions?
Once upon a time there was a cardinal born upon the night of a cruel winds blowing, its vile fume passed his shell at the very moment he hatched from it. The breeze took with it his voice when he departed, and left him mute, a songbird without voice. The faireys of the wood took pity on him and in a moment of uncommon sympathy for the fairy folk, for they were not generally so, they granted him superior flight speed. He was given the strength of the Falcon in his wings so that he could one day catch this vile wind. He practiced for years, flying into winds that tore trees from the ground, and keeping a straight path through the swirling winds of a cyclone. All the other forest animals thought him mad, and watched with horror every time he embarked on aforementioned flights.
Finally one day he deemed himself ready, and he flew to the top of the highest mountain and came to the sheerest face, He gathered up all his courage and flung himself over the edge. He flapped and flapped accelerating his entire flight twoard the ground, and just as it appeared too late, he pulled up with all his might and gathered all that speed into forward motion, and before most of the animals, cringing now in horror at the near miss they allmost witnessed, could open there eyes, he was gone, over the horizon. He flew and flew and flew till at last he saw a grey line on the horizon, He flapped all the harder, and just as he thought he would catch it, the wind hit a woodland, and dissapeared.
Taking much dissapointment at this, he landed, and took up lodging on a branch. To his ears came the most heavenly tune he'd ever heard before sung, and he flew to its source. Here he found a beautifull cardinal with somewhat withered wings, and , though he could not speak, he tried his hardests to convey thought, and asked her how she came to sing so well. She replied "On the day of my birth, a cruel breeze blew, and stole from me my flying strength, but the fairys of the wood here gave me a voice so beautifull as to invoke the pity of the gods and maybe beget the gift of flight." So taken aback was he at this story that for several moments he did not move, then he closed his eyes and wished to his fairys that even half of his ability to fly be given to her.
At this moment a booming voice came to him " This test you have passed, and your reward you shall have, On this day you shall become what is your birthright, the King of the sky." Hearing this, a bolt of lightning came from the heavens and stopped just short of the ground, it encircled them both, and transformed them into giant and regal birds, wings broad and voices strong.
The End
<span style='color:green'>Prologue
<i>Many ages have come to pass. A great weariness lays heavily upon my soul. Alone I have dwelt for many of days. Sorrow that engulfed my soul so many ages ago still taunts my thoughts and holds my mind captive. In anguish I fled from all the world and the darkness that binds it. Foreboding is set deep in my mind knowing that my cowardly efforts are in vain. You can not hide from the darkness…you can not run from what you are. What then am I? A lost soul in search of relief. A dark being hiding in her own shadow. Or perhaps a mere mortal that has grown weary of the days…</i>
Evil can not create any form of life… so it is written, and in fact true. This was a law passed even before the earth was created. At the passing of this law, it was then, that evil lost its ability to create life. However, before then the great evil created one. A fiend of great power. Feared by even the holy ones of God. At the creating of this power God then passed the law of creation. This great one was clothed in darkness and had within it a great evil. It prowled the earth for many ages… devouring all that was good and leaving sorrow and a never ending shadow in its wake. Eventually this foul creation grew weary of the days. Finding no accomplishment in all its evil works….
Great trees of the wood of Shadowhaven loom high into the sunny sky. For centuries this great woods has struck fear into the hearts of men. A heavy gloom lays upon the forest and even on the brightest days no sun ever seems to shine here. The twisted trees with their trunks as black as the night and leaves of no texture only a smooth gleaming surface of a mossy green. Following the eerie wood through its dense foliage of creep and obscene vibe you’ll find an immense rockmass. A glittering stream bubbles down its face into a beautiful tarn. Only here in all the forest is the gloom lifted and the sun shines. A small grassy meadow flows away from the large pond. Awe inspiring is the myriads of ravishing flowers that abide here. The rock wall is arrayed with a flourishing scarlet flower, which flows down the sides and reaches out into a pasture. The water bears golden flowers in its foam. The source of these flowers come from 2 beautiful trees each on its own side of the waters edge. They seem to reach into the water with their wavering branches bearing hordes of these golden gems. The site would leave even the must lofty beings in awe.
Sitting upon a white stone protruding from off the waters shore…is a maiden as fair as the scene she resides in. Clothed in white she seems as a star fallen from the heavens, making her surroundings seem trivial in comparison with her. Looking upon her face you feel her thoughts dwell somewhere far off, perhaps lingering in the clouds, far from our understanding. Eyes empty, lifeless and aggrieved. They seem to be filled with all that they behold. Yet as lost as she seems, you feel a great wisdom and power in this weary soul, and know the many ages that burden her mind…</span>
this is just a rough draft. im sure ill change alot. <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.natural-selection.org/forums/html/emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif'><!--endemo-->
But yeah, your story seems pretty interesting, I'm guessing that this evil character that roams Earth is somewhat like the satan in our world? <!--emo&:0--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/wow.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wow.gif'><!--endemo-->
It is very descriptive, but maybe add some notions of the sound and smell, but I think those notions might only be appropriate when a person is in thought or describing something..
So what is your novel gunna be like? A sad tragedy with a flair of comedy or whatnot, you know..
GL
-
Freedom
Freedom is about letting go
Fear, Hate
Envy, Jealousy
Pride, Vanity
Greed, Lust
Freedom is in the moment
A moment contains infinite possibilities
A hateful, envious, greedy mind will consume infinite moments
Freedom is about letting go
Freedom is infinite possitilities
-
This.
I want you to take a good look around you...
This is it.
This is what it is.
This is where you are.
This is where you are going.
And this is where you are going to be.
This is reality.
You don't have to think...
It just is.
This is it.
This.
-
Reality is what we take to be true.
What we take to be true is what we believe.
What we believe is based upon our perceptions.
What we perceive depends upon what we look for.
What we look for depends on what we think.
What we think depends on what we perceive.
What we perceive determines what we believe.
What we believe determines what we take to be true.
What we take to be true is our reality.
-- David Bohm
<i>The last one is not mine. It is a quote of a famous American physist, David Bohm, reflecting on reality but I thought it made a great poem.</i>
Yea, the final scheme in which i decided not to send anything to poetry.com was when they wanted me to pay 600 some odd dollars to go to my OWN awards show, and MAYBE get 2nd prize...
Then i realised that the poems on their front page are crap... lol
Fairytale assignment from Creative Writing class... got good marks, opinions?
Once upon a time there was a cardinal born upon the night of a cruel winds blowing, its vile fume passed his shell at the very moment he hatched from it. The breeze took with it his voice when he departed, and left him mute, a songbird without voice. The faireys of the wood took pity on him and in a moment of uncommon sympathy for the fairy folk, for they were not generally so, they granted him superior flight speed. He was given the strength of the Falcon in his wings so that he could one day catch this vile wind. He practiced for years, flying into winds that tore trees from the ground, and keeping a straight path through the swirling winds of a cyclone. All the other forest animals thought him mad, and watched with horror every time he embarked on aforementioned flights.
Finally one day he deemed himself ready, and he flew to the top of the highest mountain and came to the sheerest face, He gathered up all his courage and flung himself over the edge. He flapped and flapped accelerating his entire flight twoard the ground, and just as it appeared too late, he pulled up with all his might and gathered all that speed into forward motion, and before most of the animals, cringing now in horror at the near miss they allmost witnessed, could open there eyes, he was gone, over the horizon. He flew and flew and flew till at last he saw a grey line on the horizon, He flapped all the harder, and just as he thought he would catch it, the wind hit a woodland, and dissapeared.
Taking much dissapointment at this, he landed, and took up lodging on a branch. To his ears came the most heavenly tune he'd ever heard before sung, and he flew to its source. Here he found a beautifull cardinal with somewhat withered wings, and , though he could not speak, he tried his hardests to convey thought, and asked her how she came to sing so well. She replied "On the day of my birth, a cruel breeze blew, and stole from me my flying strength, but the fairys of the wood here gave me a voice so beautifull as to invoke the pity of the gods and maybe beget the gift of flight." So taken aback was he at this story that for several moments he did not move, then he closed his eyes and wished to his fairys that even half of his ability to fly be given to her.
At this moment a booming voice came to him " This test you have passed, and your reward you shall have, On this day you shall become what is your birthright, the King of the sky." Hearing this, a bolt of lightning came from the heavens and stopped just short of the ground, it encircled them both, and transformed them into giant and regal birds, wings broad and voices strong.
The End <!--QuoteEnd--> </td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'> <!--QuoteEEnd-->
Heh, I'll show you some of my older stuff, all of that was my step into "prose" poetry this year, on encourangment from my "mentor" Mr. Ewers. Absolutely the greatest teacher anyone can have, I don't think words could describe, in any fashion, just how much of an impact he made on my life.
Though I can't remember it all, I will show you something more on the "poetic" side and less away from the "prose" style. If you wish to learn more about the "prose" style poetry that I am speaking of, you should pick up some of Raymond Carvers stuff. He was a brilliant man, he did as much for writing to me, as Layne Staley from Alice in Chains did to me lyrically. Sadly, both are dead now, both died unhappy men to, but non the less, their stuff shall carry on.
Anyways, I called this one "Clouds" it was basically a one finger salute to the society that made me. I've forgotten many of the lines, and can't find my only copy, which was hand written, so some of it may be dilluted.
Part of Me, Floats Free
Another Stays, On Ground
To what person am I to be
To what Destiny am I bound
What Part did you have, in being my maker
Your not God, only my creator.
Ugh, I forget the rest, but that one really had a lot of frustration in it. It basically described clouds and how they relate to society.... Yea... Sorry, I get that way sometimes <!--emo&;)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/wink.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wink.gif'><!--endemo--> Anyways, back to drink some more water, I go.
But yeah, your story seems pretty interesting, I'm guessing that this evil character that roams Earth is somewhat like the satan in our world? <!--emo&:0--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/wow.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='wow.gif'><!--endemo-->
It is very descriptive, but maybe add some notions of the sound and smell, but I think those notions might only be appropriate when a person is in thought or describing something..
So what is your novel gunna be like? A sad tragedy with a flair of comedy or whatnot, you know..
GL <!--QuoteEnd--> </td></tr></table><span class='postcolor'> <!--QuoteEEnd-->
Actually the whole novel is layed out in way certain way.
The begining going through the forest. is actaully when the story is being written.
Then it goes back into the past and explains the above written.
The evil one is actually the maiden on the rock.That one was created by satan. but i havent written far enough where it explains that. <!--emo&:p--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/tounge.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='tounge.gif'><!--endemo--> Its a very hard plot to write, but if i get it right, it will be awesome. <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
i have read the LOTR series and his other books. so many times. and everytime is just as good as the first. <!--emo&:)--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/smile.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='smile.gif'><!--endemo-->
My cure is so close to me
and yet, as far as can be
My cure is a pair of red roses
oh so delicate and red
My cure is two rows of pearls
white as the snow, and sparkling
My cure is a cascade of silky brown
My cure, is contained behind the two most beautiful orbs of ivory and brown I've yet to see
My cure is shrouded in the softest skin of copper hue
My cure makes the most enchanting sound
When you laugh
White lights - half blinding
Mirror, shadow, and disfiguration
Object reflecting; people crawling; mind ripping
Failure complete
Four eyes stare; pieces become one; life lines connect
Amber glowing; portals opening;
Stars, oceans, and crescent moons
White lights - almost dead
Nothing
Same here <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>necromancer</span>... But the END END made be happy. ^_^
Cleaned up for the younger crowd (yes, I did read this in a bathroom)
I sit here now, broken hearted...
Tried to go, but only farted....
Then one day I took a chance...
Tried to fart and went in my pants!
Thank you Thank you!
Haiku!
My eyes hurt alot
This is not very healthy
Forum ruined life
<!--emo&:D--><img src='http://www.unknownworlds.com/forums/html/emoticons/biggrin.gif' border='0' style='vertical-align:middle' alt='biggrin.gif'><!--endemo-->
Now, heres some try at poetry:
I sit here at this place
I order up another drink
I somewhat enjoy the taste
and the alocohol helps me think
I sit alone, so very tired
Of this life that I have led
I sit with all the hatred that I have sired
Inside my aching head
Now I wonder why I suffer
Why I live this life of pain?
The experience has made me tougher,
but my sanity begins to wane.
Man, this is hard. I try to make it ryhme, but jeez. Maybe I should try a non-rhyming one.
<span style='color:gray'>I walk in the dark places of the night
Dreaming of you, I chase the illusion
Never knowing the dark truth
That lies beneath the surface
I walk in the dark, dreaming of you</span>
The text coloring on my message is gray with a maroon background, that's why I changed the color. Also makes it easier to tell what is and what isn't the poem.
One I half wrote when my girlfriend was really angry at me.
<span style='color:gray'>Oh cruel fate! Oh harsh life!
In my life I have done wrong!
I wish only that my Lady of Dreams
Know that I never wished harm upon her!
Oh cruel irony! Oh Bitter fate!
Let there be one last drop of poison to steal from me my life's breath!</span>
Yes, I know it kinda rips from Romeo & Juliet, but that is one of my favorite plays.
"He thinketh not, he moveth not, he stirreth not, he smoketh pot."
"He smoketh <i>what?</i>"
"He smoketh pot. I joketh not, he smoketh pot."