Community Poetry Thread

[Critterman]

I usually don't do poetry, but I started writing and this is what happened:

An island of solitude amongst an ocean of roiling tides,

A whirlwind of terror around a mountain,

A dead, shriveled tree in a rain-forest.

It all passes, a blur on the other side,

A tunnel of light drowned by darkness,

Trickling among the flood; only a trickle,

Dominated by a stone of conscious, hard from the pounding of waves.

The stone, which has retreated to its crook of sacred seclusion,

Only to find a chasm of misery that it cannot escape,

Slowly falling, spinning down, descending out of the dark clouds,

And into the fog that shrouds its purpose.

It falls away from truth, from ambition, from hope.

An askew lens that watches with one eye, half open

Sees the plummet, a foretelling of its own destiny,

Searching among the tangle of thoughts, a way must be found,

Flickering through the pages of history, looking for a clue to its survival,

Then it finds that the stone was its heart, long gone, away it fell, into the mist,

Which none can escape, a slippery slope of self-destruction,

It wonders where it all started,

When did the foundation begin to crumble underfoot?

All was sinking, through the mud, bubbling with the cries of agony; when:

A single drop of insight splashed upon the muddled lens.

Suddenly a beam of sunlight cut through the clouds showing the way,

Through the fog, the mist, and the degradation of soul,

The way to the end of the tunnel, where only happiness exists,

Floating among others, where solitude has been banished.

It soars, embraced by the sunlight, and the ones who pull it along.

No weight is too heavy, no concern of fate, it is only the present magnificence.

Blessed freedom.

The island melts into the waves,

The mountain floats into the heavens,

The tree is reborn, filled with the wisdom of death.

The stone is shaped into a monument of triumph,

The lens is cleaned of impurity and fastened to the growth of spirit,

Watching over the frontier with content,

For it has fought its last battle.

[Pushkatu]

A very short and silly one guys, but here it goes (I made it)

Ho,Ho, Ho!

Santa is back,

Many mods hide in his sack,

Naked chicks,

Funny tricks,

Races mods,

AND fancy clothes,

Ho, Ho, Ho.. Ho, Ho, Ho!

I know it's silly... ^^

[_echo]

I see you over there

Oh so far away

Stray not

For I just want to play

I have you in my sights

Just do what I say

So please don't run

And you will be OK

(Made up off the top of my head. +5 points if you guess the reference)

[Mannimagnus]

Made this today, about me and being TESA's Goldfish.

'Mannimagnus', the joint personalitys of Mannimarco and Magnus,

Mannimarco is to plan and plot, while Magnus is to draw it up, bring it into creation or leave it to rot,

This combination of thought and creation, gives me the mind to make a piece of art or perhaps an abomination,

Though it comes not without a small price to pay, for an imaginative mind is filled with many new ideas each day,

Many things to do and only rarely finish, though never-the-less my determination does never diminish,

Tis the curse of the Goldfish and whats even odder, is that without this blessed curse I would not be TESA's one and only Official Goldfish Modder.

[Critterman]

Two poems I wrote today and might to submit to a literary magazine

Find the Blind

Through the trees, a breeze,

The buzz of bellowing bees.

In the firmament, a molten globe,

Blazing with a brilliant strobe,

Breezy rays in the air.

Fresh, hardly a care,

Flowing around hair.

Where oh where?

It does not matter.

Nor does senseless chatter.

Only the tune, a bird’s patter,

The sky, a blue and white tatter,

The breeze, a flow on skin.

Not the days that have been,

Nor the days that will be.

It is what you can see.

The rustling of harmony.

Nature’s glowing treasury.

Free within its glee.

Plea for the flowery.

I Hid Me

You said I couldn’t be.

So I hid me.

Behind wicked society,

Devoted in dreadful piety.

Until I found myself hiding,

In that corner I sent me to.

I whispered a gentle bidding:

This is not wholly who,

I had left here long ago to roam.

Leave this safe home,

And come with me,

To see the world out here some,

To be the one here you see,

The one you have hid from.

Let your heart thrum,

And march your feelings to the drum.

This way to the end of your numb.

[the-manta]

Here's an odd little scribble from me:

Ode to the Outsider

They see me in their earth-clad minds,

they call me mad but I'm just free from that which binds

us to the ordinary;

the dull grey grind of human life

from mother's womb through pain and strife

to our last hour and death's cold scythe.

I'm not another dull grain in the glass of time,

not perfect, the same, but a misplaced chime

I'm perfect in my imperfection

an asymmetrical reflection

of all that no-one wants to see.

Not the same, not normal, not perfect but me.

[donnato]

The other night nottlong spoke of becomming a slave to the CS. I had just been listening to Jenn Cass singing so sweetly about pirates...somehow I thought there was a song in there somewhere and started writing. This is what happened.

I come to you with my heart on my sleeve...

Bearing these gifts that I feel I must leave.

They`re made from my tears and my sweat locked inside

So surely...you`d let me inside.

So many before me have left offerings....

You scoff and you sneer and you sweep them aside,

Yet your doors are wide open for any who`d dare,

The ones who get in are most...assuredly rare.

You`ve got an icewater heart

You have torn great ships apart

You pity the man who is brave

He`ll find a watery grave.

_{An Ode To The CS}

[nottlong]

This is my attempt to make all the great poets turn in there graves. It is done in my own eclectic style.

A modern tale of woe.

Woe be on the fool who opens me.

Ten thousand dreams will I offer thee.

But a breaker of hearts is what I truly be.

A task master, a slave driver, a crusher of hearts I am to myr and man alike.

Toil and labor is what I demand.

Days and weeks you will spend, blissfully working while shedding a tear.

Night or day I will call out your name.

And play with your heart like the crazed piper I am.

A wicked mistress as dark as the night.

With the promise of dawn just a release away.

But scorn and misery is just a comment away.

So gather round you brave lads and lasses and follow my dance.

For the CS does call you forth on its long road of doom.

[greenwarden]

Oh I like these odes to our fickle muse, the CS!

A couple of haikus of purest doggerel from me:

Drop an object from

Too great a height, and you tempt

a crash. Be aware.

Hot night, can't sleep. I

load the Construction Set and

build a Bruma house.

[Mishaxhi]

Some stuff I wrote for The Northern Front, thought I'd share it

-------------

The Legend of Marchosias

No swordsmam so great

No warrior so bold

Such a champion long missed

A hero from the cold

A thousand years

Before this day

A Nord was born

Magnus his name

With eyes so brown

And hair so dark

He is no Nord

People remark

Yet under skies so hazy

Amongst other young so lazy

The young Nord learns to fight

To run, swim, climb such heights

And wrestle bulls so brazen

With no time left for praising

Shunned always as a heathen

With baited breath so freezing

Exiled is he

Outcast, he be

Bandits, he fights

To test his might

His armour is so dented

His face so very scarred

Yet he fights evil wherever it may be

No matter how testing or hard

The Nordic King so feeble

Takes everything from the people

His men to do his bidding

His title not so fitting

And Magnus now much older

Much stronger and much bolder

Hears the plight of the stricken

Says "some nobles needs a lickin'"

Grabs his sword and chainmail

His shield lest his arm fail

Sets to the fief of Westfane

Where the Kings men march to exact pain

The warrior stands strong

His stance is wide

The Kings men take aim

Their arrows do fly

He raises his shield

His arm holds firm

The Kings men charge

His inner fire stirs

The six men roar

Magnus waits patiently

The first takes a swing

Magnus ends him beautifully

The second flanks the right

The third takes the left

Magnus takes them both

Nothing of them left

The fourth is so large

So mighty and so strong

But Magnus sees his weakness

The wait seems so long

The mighty claymore swings

Magnus ducks and spins right

The fourth loses his footing

Magnus strikes with all his might

The fifth sees an opening

His sword is thrust so true

He underestimates the warrior

He takes him for a fool

Magnus saw the blade incoming

And blocks it with his shield

Now the fifths sword and insides

Lay strewn across the field

The sixth at the sight

Of all his comrades dead

Drops his arms and flees

Lest he lose his head

The Kings men flee the slaughter

Their tails between their legs

The people laugh and cheer

As back home Magnus heads

The common man learned to fight

To stand up to the King

No taxes that year were paid

No single gold, not a thing

The people hail their champion

A warrior so bold

"Marchosias," they call him

Our hero from the cold

------------------

Follow Me

Ignorant child

You who dismay

You who find error in all that I say

Tasked with rebuttal of everything true

Know I don't care when you do what you do

Arrogant child

You who refuse

Believe everything you want lest your view lose

Virtue and honour left resting so lax

But I won't be there when you fall through the cracks

Dishonest child

With the tongue of a snake

Twisting and coiling words for your own sake

Bending the truth and creating your own

Yet I won't be there when you're left all alone

Violent child

Heart of a bull

Reckless and wild a mind so mental

Wielding the sword not for man nor for me

But when you're the victim it won't be heaven you see

Virtuous child

You who protect

Find horror in poverty and lives so wrecked

Forging the light where there's none to be found

Head in the clouds but feet firm on the ground

Courageous child

Bravery and strength

Who fear and dismay both avoid at great length

Those who can fight protect those who cannot

Now slaughter the evil and let them all rot

And now my child

Who will you be

Will you fight for great purpose and honour me

Become one of great courage and one so bold

Or forget your beginnings and take the wrong road

Where darkness pollutes and the light is so rare

And I know that you think that the world isn't fair

But nothing will change if you don't take a stand

And I see in your heart the life that you planned

I see the person you wanted to be

And that person will grow if you just follow me

Lost verse

- Heroic child

You who prevail

You who will live forever in a bards tale

Never give up even if things look bleak

Continue this path and you'll find what you seek

Edited July 23, 2010 by Mishaxhi

[the-manta]

Title Pending

This is the prologue to a long poem I will be working on over the course of the next few milennia. Enjoy.

The sky was dark, the air was cold,

the moon was grim, the year was old

the night our hero came to be

a mortal man like you and me.

A wooden shack in forest bleak

crouched in the shadow of grimacing peak,

this lowly hovel an unift site

for the miracle of that fabled night.

His mother lay, alone and afraid

no friends or family to come to her aid.

Maybe she wept on that cold dreary night,

that her soon to be son would never see light.

But the dice of the gods put strength in her heart;

this was her hour, she must play her part.

Though she was lonely, though she was sad

before the night's end, her soul was made glad.

She awoke in the morning, the sun on her face,

babe in arms; the picture of grace.

Into this house, and unto this mother

was born a child with a fate like no other.

[Khettienna]

Antares [Rev. 2] [formatting lost to forum code]

It's that time of year-

She rips the trees,

who bleed and tumble down

buying time.

Caught in arrow's sight, carelessly pointed-

Pridefully posed, careless hunter.

Yet, he did not see

me, cleverly hidden, the hidden star

because it is that time of year

she stomps through the wood,

rustle,

wave

frost & flame where she goes

and it is foolish to mill

underfoot.

For a second, he un-statued;

and from there,

he wondered at the world,

ablaze & quaking

his fingers wandered, and in that second,

the arrow flew

free

He did not see me,

cleverly hidden, the hidden star-

This time of year's a bandit wind,

pulls the trees to the reddened ground

behind, covering her tracks

and buying time

This time of year,

bit of flint lodged in the skin

and four legs close at her heels

he sees not me,

just the wind-wake of flight

I see not him,

only stars.

Edited March 9, 2012 by Khettienna

[the-manta]

Written in the middle of a moodswing, it's unfinished as the gloom passed, but I'll post it here anyway.

If fire was cold and ice did burn,

If Earth was still and Sun did turn,

If hard was grass and soft was stone,

If white was blood and red was bone.

Still me would I be,

and thee would be thee.

And she would be she

And he would be he.

And here would I sit, alone but for me.

For I have my colours,

and you all have yours,

and on mine you pour scorn

to lay dark and forlorn.

For mine you have no love

for me, a black dove.

Not part of your world,

where no flag unfurled,

might bear it's own art,

and no mouth sing it's heart.

Edited November 21, 2010 by the-manta

[Khettienna]

castle

I sing to you, castle

thread your halls with contralto

low and warm

braziers lit and beds turned down,

I will sing

let rise and swell

my chest, heave with wrecked breath

empty and straining

whistle through curtains,

drag the moors through your eyes

do you hear, do you hear

that song, castle?

not in your ear; plucked cords

from the base of your spine,

to your crown

I carve you from footsteps and fog

as rooks mimic deafly

castle, my castle

I sing

do you hear?

[Khettienna]

[untitled]

i'll curl up in the barbed wire

and you'll sleep sad on the other side

and this night's a black spot

on the gray year,

and the gray world

will shake it off like

dogs in dirty water

every bell tower whines

our building will turn, topple

and toss us through the window,

smash us right into the clocks

who know we should not be

and lurk just outside, waiting

[Mannimagnus]

I don't know how, but I just wrote this... in a very reflective mood...

Blinding Mirror

I stare into the water, staring back my reflection...

Inspiring me my darkest recollection...

Hearing the wind, turn my face to the sky...

Seeing what I've done, and questioning: why?...

Feeling the warmth of the rising sun...

Towards it's guiding light, slowly walk, then run...

Yet I stop, no more, what good is the light?...

To be blinded by it, or be blinded by night...

In the grayest shade between black and white...

Only place one can be with unclouded sight...

My mirror is me, wherever I look...

All my regrets and guilts my reflection does take and did took...

Trapped in a prison of sorrow and pain...

I pour out tears, the sky out rain...

Water pooling at my feet, no running I try...

My reflection staring out, and staring back I...

[lilith]

Will I try? Yes I think so.

The Sun will Rise

In the morning the sun will rise

Bringing warmth to your eyes

Touch the golden beams

The path to your dreams

Rise with a smile

Walk the golden mile

There’s no pot of gold

Only love for you to hold

Take love, hold it dear

With eyes full of tears

True love will guide you

Turning grey skies blue

When night falls cold and stark

Keep the love in your heart

The embers burn a golden hue

And will forever remember you

[Khettienna]

[untitled]

perhaps it would vanish

like a sneeze disarmed by forewarning

or, put on the spot,

it might seize the day

fill the sky with bombs like maddened bees

shrapnel pocks our faces,

shreds our grey winter coats

I'd be a hero, I want to say;

eyes a-light,

sound, fury, and billowing hair

I want to say I'd be brave

without thinking about being brave

I'd be on the spot,

and I'd seize the day and fill the sky with wind, water

soak their little wings, blind their little eyes

with a storm I've been keeping for just such occasion

in my linty pocket

I'd save the children

ev'ry one

carry them home,

all safe and snug

I'd save the puppies

and the kittens,

the gents and the ladies

ev'ry one

from the bees and the madness

put the world right again

with sound, fury, and billowing hair;

and serve it all up to you

with a smirk (it was nothing)

once I'd pulled you from the wreckage

and I'd carry you,

carry you home

that's what I'd do,

I want to say.

[Mannimagnus]

Another spontaneous poem that just came out of me from nowhere.

Round In Straight Circles

Back and forth, forth and back,

Black from white, white from black,

Opposite yet from the same,

Same yet from the opposite came,

One and one, two and two,

New and old, old and new,

Halfway stop and stare,

Take a moment to care,

Round in staight circles you go,

Taking little time to slow,

Breath and sigh,

As time goes by,

Appeciate for a while,

Look to yourself and smile,

All that comes in growth and leaves in burn,

Will one day no doubt return,

For good or worse a pattern is set,

Repeating when it's time is met.

Edited August 5, 2011 by Mannimagnus

[Khettienna]

[Painter]

I dreamed the world

branches sift rain,

our shirts stained

forever of slipping droplets

we take shelter,

warm and quilted

heady as we draw close

sweet wine,

cruel proximity

closed eyes meet-

I know you, know you

and when your clouds part,

when your sky opens,

you paint your world over mine

red sun, blazing sky

emerald fields and golden vines

perhaps you don't see it,

but I do, I do.

[Khettienna]

[Hello, Goodnight]

My mouth forms

your name, the hot bullet

the loaded gun

I fire too often these days

in loose directions

with bad aim

"Hello"

Laced between the letters is a fairy-tale,

a story of how you and I will love, once upon a time

and when we kiss

the world will change color just for us

Hope dangles off the O,

hangs wide-eyed

with a marked forehead

How was your day?

a tumble of confessions-

I thought of you,

my memory of your voice

resonated through every part of my body

and set me on fire-

I came alive,

I shone,

lit up like a [bleeperbleeping] Christmas tree

I burned through it all

in an hour, and I. Need. More.

Goodnight,

our crumbling failure.

Something I meant to ask you, tell you,

I'll remember tomorrow.

Meanwhile, you have this last chance -

this last second -

before the long, lonely night

I'll spend seething,

finger on the trigger

while you sleep hard in your empty bed

this last second-

goodnight.

[Khettienna]

Cleaning out my old lappy, found a couple I wrote on the road some time ago.

=============================================

[PA]

even if you can't feel, you know it's often cold here

by the way the houses huddle close for warmth

local giants use the rolling rooves as stair steps

to ease their travels up and down the jumbled hills

faces shrink into tall collars,

braced for the next gale or greeting

and everything is so goddamned grey

the soil, the skies, the skin, the eyes

though sometimes broken by potted greens,

forcefed,

and left shivering in storefronts and parking lots

I want to go home,

where warmth shatters the trees each morning

to gently coax growth from the ground

where sweet salt heats the air

and eyes like the sea search fervently the next wave

I want to go home,

where Summer is safe from brisk Autumn wind

and the earth doesn't tremble 'neath the footfall of nightmares

where I can touch you without frostburn

and you can see me without shyness

I want to go home.

=============================================

[Enough]

I last left his bed with the name of god in my head,

heart full of devil's doubt

What we'd be in five years, fifty

Just the same-

a dead seed,

like a five-hundred dollar car,

a room at your parents' at thirty-five;

like ramen, folding chairs,

old jackets-

they serve a purpose,

I guess.

Sometimes it's hard to decide

not to need them anymore.

You might find yourself stranded,

or lost,

hungry, exhausted, and cold

with only a memory of tangled limbs in soft sheets for company

and wonder if that should have been enough.

[Khettienna]

[Vines]

       cascading tenderness

hangs on iron will


               fluid over


          stone

        truth


           between

      timid sheets

               hands

              speak


        hearts

          listen


              and


      we

          barely

            breathe.

[/codebox]

[size=1](Sorry for the codebox, it's the only way to get that spacing. Highlight the text if it's hard to read.)[/size]

[lilith]

A two-part submission:

Words – Preface

There are times when I rouse from fitful slumber

With words spinning, tumbling, being cast asunder

For whom these words speak, I do not know

But I must express them lest they continue to grow

They arrive on the threshold by counts of two

Come tell me now, do they speak to you?

For words I know not how to digest

To toss them out is for the best

If meant for me they’ll again come ‘round

Bringing with them a distinct new sound

But if these words were meant for you

Love and concern I bestow unto you

Words

Everything is on a shelf

My sanity, vanity

My health

Conscious thoughts bind and tie

Unconscious realisms and

Dreams do not lie

As I struggle to break free

My past memories

Are laughing at me

Come inside, shut the door

Of this nonsense

Speak no more

[lilith]

Something a little different... It's not poetry, it's the beginning of short story I'm writing, but I liked how the emotional set-up of it turned out.

What seem to be only days passed in my mind is nearly a lifetime. The clarity of the memories is astounding; it’s as if they demand to be remembered now, at this time, my final hours, to scream aloud! Alas! There is no one near enough to hear, as I gaze upon my setting sun, I succumb, I am alone.

“The memories will release me! Where is my quill?!†My frantic search has led me here, to this place, “Be still my mind! I have what you need.†Scribe materials in hand I relax, I sit and feel myself sinking, I place quill to paper - my shaking subsides and the fever fades into remission. Write I must, trading the tale for peace of mind.

And because this is a poetry thread:

Identity

So what worth am I

Do I prefer to live or die

Tis not a question to wonder

Nor to sit and ponder

Thoughts come in on the fly

I do not ask or wonder why

Life is what you make of it

Self worth is what you do with it