Songs and Poems
December 28, 2007 at 4:52 pm Fortune Cell 72 comments
“Tiger got to hunt, bird got to fly; Man got to sit and wonder, ‘Why, why, why?’ Tiger got to sleep, bird got to land; Man got to tell himself he understand.”
Entry filed under: discuss, just for fun. Tags: discuss, just for fun, writing.
1.
Mel | December 29, 2007 at 11:34 am
The Hollow Men
T. S. Eliot
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
2.
Jadestone | December 29, 2007 at 8:13 pm
1- Ah, I love that poem. I should work on memorizing that too…
The Garden of Proserpine
Here, where the world is quiet
Her, where all trouble seems
Dead winds’ and spent waves’ riot
In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping and for sowing
For harvest time and mowing,
A sleepy world of streams.
Eh, to lazy to type it up. I memorized most of it, and it’s a good poem. Linkeh- http://plexipages.com/reflections/proserpine.html
In other news, I am at a creative null right about now. I haven’t written a good poem in months… meh. Hopefully reading more will make me think of something.
3.
kricket | December 30, 2007 at 5:26 am
I have this one poem that I wrote one year about the Holocaust. I don’t have it with me because this is my dad’s laptop, but when I get back to PA I’ll try to find it and put it up.
4.
Shadow Gallery | December 30, 2007 at 11:37 am
I’ve got a bunch of poems I might have to post at some point. But by the same token, last time someone read a certain epic of mine, she was teasing me for it, and I can’t tell if she really didn’t like it or was just being difficult <.<
5.
Jadestone | December 30, 2007 at 12:42 pm
4- Yeah… I don’t really show anyone know in the outside my poems. I don’t really know why, it just seems to.. personal? Not quite.
6.
Bird of Purple | December 31, 2007 at 5:58 am
I’ve started to write more poetry, so maybe I’ll post some…
But is the quote from the top of the thread from Cat’s Cradle, or am I crazy?
7.
Jadestone | December 31, 2007 at 2:00 pm
Composed in the MB comment box yesterday, first poem in a long time. There were more lines I wanted to put in, but then it kept getting longer even though it was only supposed to be a short poem. Rough version and not my best, but it’s something I suppose.
—
Somehow here I seem to find
a little part of me
A tiny bit that weaves and winds
something I did not expect to see
Glimmering glass and twisting whorls
and little shards of stone
Smoke that twists and breaths and curls
left, forgotten and alone
Coloured sparks of emerald fire
soft, snow white ash
Drifting whims, dreams, desires
sifted through the grass
Curling around the bit of me
I’d not thought to find
Protected from the swallowing sea
encircling, but not a bind
A little day, a little night
to make a single spark
A little life, a little fright
a single light shines in the dark
A ring around my cracking mind
a hollow echoed tune
So carefully surrounding, entwined
a little piece of you.
8.
PENTAY | December 31, 2007 at 2:18 pm
1 (Mel)- ♥ Actually, that poem was part of my soup of inspiration for my current novel/ex-NaNo.
9.
oxlin (e~a) | December 31, 2007 at 3:36 pm
7- oh, I like that! it sounds like it could be a song. I can never write with rythms and rhymes when I write poems.
10.
Fortune Cell | December 31, 2007 at 4:58 pm
7- I really like it, thank you for posting it. It has a nice flow.
11.
Jadestone | December 31, 2007 at 7:19 pm
6- Indeed it is, I asked Julia a while ago
Edits:
Something=which
breaths=breathes (typo)
Hmm. Kind of have one now too. Might compose later tonight,
12.
Shadow Gallery | January 1, 2008 at 10:55 am
7– Yeah, I like that. Beautiful images, not cliches, easy flow, very smooth and connected…*applause*
13.
Bird of Purple | January 1, 2008 at 1:39 pm
New Year’s Day
If I burned out my sins
Casting away the malignant
Feelings
There would be nothing left
But the outer casing
Of my heart.
Empty.
14.
kricket | January 1, 2008 at 1:48 pm
What would happen if…
What would happen if,
you knew me?
Would you be my friend,
or think badly of me like most?
What would happen if,
you knew I know you?
Would you be scared,
or think that I am a stalker?
What would happen if,
you knew that I have known you forever?
Would you wonder why,
or how I could know this?
What would happen if,
you knew that I love you?
Would you think I was insane,
or that there was no way I was real?
What would happen if,
you loved me too?
Would you embrace it,
or run away from the truth?
I am here.
You know me.
You do not remember me, though.
I do love you.
I know,
that you would run away again.
What would happen if…?
—–
That’s it. I just randomly made that up so it’s probably not very good.
15.
Jadestone | January 2, 2008 at 3:52 pm
take my hand
walk with me
just us, alone
we share eyes
the world is
a mess, isn’t it?
walk with me
across this flooded desert
sand crunching
under bare toes
small things scurry
away from us
together
we will fill our pockets
with smooth pebbles
and stones and sand
we will hold hands
and walk, singing
into the sea.
—
Composed in the comment box.
16.
schoonLee | January 2, 2008 at 9:38 pm
what do you say to a friend?
its all going to be “ok”
this isn’t the end
of your life
superficial and naive
i know how it sounds
why should you believe
anything anyone says?
worrying and pleading
don’t leave me here alone
your heart is bleeding
almost gone…
so what can i do and
what can i say?
talk it out and
tears can wash the past away.
i am selfish.
_______________
meh it was remedial and it turned into a rant about my suicidal friend. i didn’t intend it to be like that.
13- i like it. a lot. *is emo*
17.
Bird of Purple | January 3, 2008 at 3:12 am
16-Thanks! *attempts to look emo*
18.
schoonLee | January 3, 2008 at 2:59 pm
17 well i meant that i was feeling emo but that works too. haha.
19.
Vendaval | January 3, 2008 at 3:00 pm
Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite!
For the benefit of Mr. Kite
There will be a show tonight on trampoline
The Hendersons will all be there
Late of Pablo Fanques Fair, what a scene!
Over men and horses hoops and garters
Lastly through a hogshead of real fire!
In this way Mr. Kite will challenge the world!
The celebrated Mr. Kite
Performs his feat on Saturday at Bishopsgate
The Hendersons will dance and sing
As Mr. Kite flys through the ring, don’t be late!
Messrs. K and H assure the public
Their production will be second to none
And of course Henry The Horse dances the waltz!
The band begins at ten to six
When Mr. Kite performs his tricks without a sound
And Mr. H will demonstrate
Ten summersets he’ll undertake on solid ground
Having been some days in preparation
A splendid time is guaranteed for all
And tonight Mr. Kite is topping the bill!
(Lennon/McCartney)
20.
kricket | January 4, 2008 at 6:42 pm
Random thought concerning songs- In band, we’re playing a song called The March of the Belgian Parachutists . ‘Tis funny. I like it, it’s like that music that you just bounce up and down to.
21.
Bird of Purple | January 5, 2008 at 5:53 pm
18-Ha. Well, I was feeling kind of emo, too, when I wrote it…
20-That sounds fun! *stops acting emo* *bounces up and down*
22.
Vendaval (Conrad) | January 8, 2008 at 7:45 pm
20- I’ve played The March Past of the Kitchen Utensils in Orchestra, but it wasn’t as fun as yours sounds.
21~ It’s nice no matter if you’re emo or naught!
23.
Bird of Purple | January 9, 2008 at 7:09 pm
22-Thank you!
15-Wow. I just re-read you poem, and it’s pretty amazingly good.
24.
The Skipper | January 9, 2008 at 9:43 pm
(15 Jadestone) Yay for all the interesting paradoxes of sea and desert, and the lovely image of crunchy sand and pebbles.
(16 schoonLee) I like the abruptness of the ending. It worked.
I’m taking poetry this semester. It’s fun!
Here are two I just wrote.
The Birdseed Block
I will wake in the morning
to watch the quail quiver at the block
their pretty plumage quaking
a school, rather than a flock.
I will take my tea at nine
and watch the sun on the water grow
and at ten I will dress, and sit down to sew.
At noon I’ll go out
to watch the river. Come with me, I’ll say,
for I’ll want company
together we shall stroll
(and perhaps even talk)
tell me, what are your thoughts on quail –
– are they a school, or a flock?
I’ll pass this day just the same way
as I did the day before
and tonight when I retire, and close my bedroom door,
I’ll read until eleven, and, glancing at my clock,
I’ll think of nought but quail
and how they quiver at the block.
Entering School
Be brave, be bold and firm,
child, going to that bus,
be honest and true –
Think not of the future, think not of the past
Cry not when you are overlooked and surpassed.
Accept the scorn and wrath of others
Expect false friends and pretending lovers
Ask not for pity, look not for pain
For this will be your new city
There is no getting off this train.
25.
S&Mel | January 13, 2008 at 5:07 pm
CHRISTINE
In sleep he sang to me
In dreams he came
That voice which calls to me and speaks my name
And do I dream again for now I find
The Phantom of the Opera is there
Inside my mind
PHANTOM
Sing once again with me
Our strange duet
My power over you grows stronger yet
And though you turn from me to glance behind
The Phantom of the Opera is there
Inside your mind
CHRISTINE
Those who have seen your face
Draw back in fear
I am the mask you wear
PHANTOM
It’s me they hear…
BOTH
Your/My spirit and my/your voice in one combined
The Phantom of the Opera is there
Inside my/your mind
BACKGROUND
He’s there, the phantom of the opera!
CHRISTINE
He’s there, the phantom of the opera
PHANTOM
Sing, my Angel of Music
Sing, my Angel
Sing for me
Sing, my Angel!
Sing for me!
I have brought you
to the seat of sweet music’s throne
to this kingdom where all must pay homage to music
music
You have come here,
for one purpose, and one alone
Since the moment I first heard you sing,
I have needed you with me,
to serve me, to sing,
for my music…
my music…
26.
Lady Montague | January 16, 2008 at 3:39 pm
I read this poem today. I’d never heard it before, and I can’t figure out why.
Suicide’s Note
The calm,
Cool face of the river
Asked me for a kiss.
- Langston Hughes
27.
Shadow Gallery | January 16, 2008 at 4:05 pm
26– I like that. A lot.
Hmm.
I just got this back from my English teacher today. People seem to like it. Wrote it back when I was a joyful girl. Tell me whatcha think:
Untitled
I wish I didn’t have to write this
And I suppose I don’t
Because you already know and I already know but there’s always that incomprehension and amazement whirling through my head
And I can’t it enough
So I keep saying it
And I can’t mean it enough, which is what really matters
But what I say is what gets across what I mean
What I say with words or swimming eyes or restless hands or absolute full silence
And I know that I know
But do you know?
Or even do I?
There is no cell in my body that doubts that any cell in your body doesn’t doubt
If that makes sense
If it’s supposed to
Maybe
Maybe it makes sense, not logically, but it still does somehow, and just can’t express it coherently, much less at some ungodly hour of the night with my brain hooped up on caffeine and struggling to compose an effective and unconventional way to say this with a ballpoint pen and the soul of all those memories
I didn’t know what time it was, but I didn’t care, and all that mattered was that my hands were trembling and my hair was messed up and I couldn’t hear anything by The Clash and couldn’t see anything but the glare of the streetlight on my Magic-Markered wall
But it somehow made the most sense at that moment
More so than any other time
At least in the sense of trying to explain it
Kind of
…
We try too logically, when it makes the most sense of what little sense there is to trust the universe on this
Completely and totally trust the world that although we’ll never know, we always will
At least in the always that we see right now
The right now that is, in fact, the always to our arrogant little brains that have been stuck in their own puny little boxes long enough to think that they can figure it out
And are just struggling to realise that
Oh shit
We can’t.
I’ve got another one somewhere that I should really post.
And I’ve got a start on another poem, but I can’t get a flow going with it just yet.
28.
Shadow Gallery | January 16, 2008 at 4:05 pm
Dammmit. Fucking HTML >.<
29.
Jadestone | January 18, 2008 at 3:25 pm
24- I like the first one. Yay random rhyming ^^
The second has an interesting perspective on the subject too.
26- I like it too.
27- I like the way it doesn’t actually come put and say anything, but anyone with a brain can figure it out from the way it eludes to it (is elude the word I’m thinking of? Is it even a word? Am I nuts? Quite possibly.) Nice ending too, it was unexpected but it fits with the whole confusion-thing.
30.
Shadow Gallery | January 18, 2008 at 7:51 pm
29– Thanks
And yes, it is about “it” and the mad confusion that comes with It.
Also, elude is a word, but it wasn’t the right one, dear
31.
oxlin (e~a) | January 18, 2008 at 7:51 pm
27- I really like the line that ends in the words ‘magic markered wall’ I can hear it in my head, being read aloud. It would sound excellent read aloud.
32.
kricket | January 19, 2008 at 2:16 pm
27- It was very different. I liked it a lot. It would sound wondertastical read out loud.
33.
Shadow Gallery | January 31, 2008 at 5:46 am
I did not, by any means, write this, but it’s definitely my new favourite song/poem. Destroyer FTW.
Notorious Lightning
Oh Notorious Lightning!
Yes I had to write you
And trash the crystal jets they kept in storage inside you
I was told to never question it
Now I’m facing twenty years for every night I tried to injest the snow so lightly
You simply couldn’t put down the Black Book
You dreamt the dreams of the Self-Taught Man
You warned the ladies to not be corrupted by their looks
But your voice came out soft and slanted
And you’re living off what the government granted you
Amnesty from the true thing
Now Sandra, slowly remove the ring and watch Notorious Lightning surround you
Watch Notorious Lightning surround you
Watch Notorious Lightning surround you…
I lay myself down to observe your guilded jeans hit the ground
And have not grown from this worship
I lay myself down to surrender
Watch the trust funds gorge us again
And have not grown from this worship
So Great Pretender, pull a face, let’s see the best forlorn you know
Just don’t sing ‘Barricades in the Morning’, its been three days in a row
And it never comes out like you planned it
Something once delivered, then you banned it
But oh there is a key to this thing…
Notorious Lightning
There is a monument
There is a place within that I have won
And there’s victory at sea
And then there’s the sun
Crashing down upon us
Faithful readership of the Old Warden
We beg
‘No not another ode to the Garden! You’ve let the Book of Appeals pile up!’
So Child of the East it’s time to shrug off the Beast and look what you have done
The half-breed jury agrees you’re okay
But they never seem to say that it’s never the defense’s witness
And someone’s got to fall before someone goes free…
34.
FrigidSymphony | January 31, 2008 at 12:52 pm
Billy’s Bones
By Shane MacGowan (1985)
Billy ran around with the rare old crew
And he knew an Arsenal from Tottenham blue
We’d be a darn sight better of if we knew
Where Billy’s bones are resting now
Billy saw a copper and he hit him in the knee
And he took him down from six foot to five foot three
Then he hit him fair and square in the do-re-mi
That copper won’t be having any family
Hey Billy son where are you now
Don’t you know that we need you now
With a ra-ta-ta and the old kow-tow
Where are Billy’s bones resting now
Billy went away with the peace-keeping force
‘Cause he liked a bloody good fight of course
Went away in an old khaki van to the banks of the river Jordan
Billy saw the Arabs and he had ‘em on the run
When he got ‘em in the range of his sub-machine gun
Then he had the Israelis in his sights, went a ra-ta-ta
And they ran like Shiites
One night Billy had a rare old time,
Laughing and singing on the Lebanon line
Came back to camp not looking too pretty
Never even got to see the Holy City
Now Billy’s out there in the desert sun
And his mother cries when the morning comes
And there’s mothers crying all over this world
For their poor dead darling boys and girls
Have a Billy holiday
Born on a Monday
Married on a Tuesday
Drunk on a Wednesday
Got plugged on a Thursday
Sick on a Friday
Died on a Saturday
Buried on a Sunday
35.
Shadow Gallery | February 7, 2008 at 5:22 am
People like this frustrate me. I think I know too many of them.
“The New Version of You”, Reel Big Fish
When did you quit pulling all of the stops for me?
And when did your one-hundred and ten percent become under fifty?
There you are, phoning it in, going through the motions with an artificial grin
You say that you’re getting better
You say that you’re getting better
You say you’re becoming a better person
One that isn’t so lame
You say you’re becoming a better person
But I still feel the same
It’s the new, it’s the new, new version of you
It’s the new, it’s the new, new version of you
It’s the new, it’s the new, new version of you
If there’s one thing I’d like to do it’s
Kill the new version of you
When did you start wearnig all of those clothes to be cool?
And when did you start using all that slang?
I can’t understand you
I bet you forget to say ‘I love you’ if the teleprompter hadn’t told you
You say that you’re getting better
You say that you’re getting better
It’s the new, it’s the new, new version of you
It’s the new, it’s the new, new version of you
It’s the new, it’s the new, new version of you
If there’s one thing I’d like to do it’s
Kill the new version of you
Who are you?
I don’t know now
You got me wondering I wonder how you got to be so different now
You say you’re becoming a better person
One that isn’t so lame
You say you’re becoming a better person
But I still feel the same
I still feel the same
It’s the new, it’s the new, new version of you
It’s the new, it’s the new, new version of you
It’s the new, it’s the new, new version of you
If there’s one thing I’d like to do it’s
Kill the new version of you
36.
Shadow Gallery | February 12, 2008 at 3:38 pm
I usually write a poem (or at least something poetic) for ATYP free writes. They’ve been okay, but I actually kinda like this one. It just *poof* and came to me. Feedback please?
No Such Stranger
Let me roll it
These handsome days where no-one sees us
No-one is around
The neighbours’ house is falling down
Let me roll it
These handsome days where no-one sees us
The neighbours’ house is falling down
Floating ‘round this bright white heaven
Skeletons icicles of obligated hope
Melting
Condensing into a peaceful mushroom cloud
Beneath it’s rusty shadow we innocently dream
How do I know you?
You know you do
You do somehow love you know you do
You know you do
Don’t worry about it now
You will someday
But please not now
We’re dancing on our soapboxes
In our precious oyster haze
Drifting through every comprehension
Took too long to get you here
Don’t throw it all away
Too soon
I have seen the apocalypse
It’s collecting on the floor
Folding shifting staining sitting growing
Delighting
Taking us by surprise
Time-lapsed photographs of lightning
Gracing
Gently kissing
A blossom’s dirty eyes
Let me roll it
These handsome days where no-one sees us
No-one is around
The neighbours’ house is falling down
Let me roll it
These handsome days where no-one is around
The neighbours’ house is falling down
Falling down
37.
kricket | February 18, 2008 at 5:33 pm
I wrote this the other day… Just thought I might post it.
Seasons
Once there were
Four sisters,
Ever present,
Never changing.
The first sister,
Golden-eyed and joyous,
Dark-skinned and warm.
She reached out,
Spreading much heat and light,
And then, pleased with her achievements,
Stepped back to let the second sister through.
The second sister,
Brown-eyed and calm,
Light-skinned and cool.
She sent out her gaze,
Sending cool breezes and colors,
And then, finished with her addition,
Turned away to let the third sister go by.
The third sister,
Blue-eyed and sad,
Frostbitten and freezing.
She let out her feelings,
Letting out coldness and dark,
And then, too sad to even continue,
Wept silently letting the final sister to take a turn.
The fourth sister,
Green-eyed and in love,
Freckly, dimpled, and lovely.
She threw out her love,
Scattering flowers, freshness, beauty,
And then, she took her sisters’ hands in hers,
So that they could look together at what they had done.
Once there were
Four sisters,
Ever present,
Never changing.
What do you think?
38.
Jadestone | March 18, 2008 at 2:27 pm
So, the poet I picked for English has turned out to be quite an interesting fellow…
“a braggart in matters of vice, who had done everything he could to convince his fellow citizens of his homosexuality and bestiality without being in the slightest degree a homosexual or a bestializer… Swinburne was an alcoholic and algolagniac, and a highly excitable character. His health suffered as a result, and in 1879 at the age of 42 he had a mental and physical breakdown”
XD
If only his poems weren’t so long… now I have to copy that style. Should prove interesting, I’ll post the results.
39.
darkdukeofdarkness | March 18, 2008 at 3:42 pm
38-wow. awesome.
40.
Jadestone | March 18, 2008 at 7:50 pm
Also: “His poetry was highly controversial in its day, much of it containing recurring themes of sadomasochism, death-wish, lesbianism and irreligion.” Oh this will be fun. Which to pick, which to pick…
Started one for the form category, after that style and *then* I can get to subject matter ^^
41.
FrigidSymphony | March 19, 2008 at 12:42 pm
40: I’m going with De Sade for my next literature presentation.
42.
Jadestone | March 19, 2008 at 3:55 pm
Someone critique before 5 am tomorrow please I need feedback >.
Walk with me now, let me take you by the hand
And let me lead you, I can see the ocean in your eyes
Our feet slide across stones and pebbles and sand
We walk into the sea.
Let us throw off our mask, pretence, disguise,
The world is such a mess isn’t it, this damned land
Is dying, I’m sick of hate hope love war surprise
So take my palm in yours, and child and woman and man
Will intertwine their fingers, give up dreams and lies
Singing together, pockets filled with stones, this little band
We walk into the sea.
43.
Jadestone | March 19, 2008 at 3:56 pm
*reworked version of earlier poem, by the way, as I am lazy*
44.
Jadestone | March 19, 2008 at 8:18 pm
THE PATHS we seldom wander,
The ways we never walk
If we should stop to ponder
Or, if we dare, to talk;
The paths we’ve never taken
The day’s we’ve left forsaken
The smiles, the grins, we’re faking
If we should decide to stop.
The time’s we’ve never spoken,
The places we’ve yet to go;
Dreams and desires broken
Because of what we fear to show:
We hold ourselves, and wait
With shallow breath and eyes opaque
For someone to come, open that gate—
Be the friend or fear or foe.
Because we are afraid to want,
And show what we truly feel
We bemoan opportunities lost,
The chance to hurt and heal
Fingers not ever touching
Skin never quite brushing
Our hearts still sometimes rushing—
From unreturned glances that we steal.
Your eyes they hide in shadows,
And while mine don’t live in light,
They’re more than a bit like windows
That let in all such sights;
Never speaking of the feelings
Through all our laughter and our dealings
Of everything we’ve been revealing
We never brought up that which would ignite?
For it seems as though we’re out of time
We’ve missed our chance from caution,
Was the first move yours or was it mine
The chances seemed to come so often
And now, since we always stopped waited
Growing ever more belated
Instead of what could have been created
We’re carving our own coffins.
45.
Jadestone | March 19, 2008 at 8:19 pm
THEY tell us don’t be afraid to be different,
unique, unashamed.
then they sell us fashion magazines,
(snowflakes all melt into identical water droplets)
the signals I receive all whisper
conform, conform, conform.
a lullaby that long ago ceased to send me to dreamlands.
But now that I’ve stepped over the sharp chalk line,
hesitantly I grant you,
it’s a falling kind of freedom.
butterflies (fly drunkenly;
love of nectar or nectar of love) flit over
the field of tangled weeds and thorny flowers,
separated (by a little white picket fence,
a laughable barrier)
from the neat rows of purple yellow purple pansies.
we move fast and frenzied, I didn’t expect
quite so many stares frankly
and I wish people could let go
but I don’t mind so much now,
when I’m not alone.
I always was one for running randomly in the field;
perhaps even as a child I knew it was more for me
perhaps even then I predicted you.
—-
Oh ignore the caps at the beginning of these it’s for artsy stuff in the word document.
46.
oxlin | March 19, 2008 at 8:35 pm
45- I really do love it. I like the capslock too. and yet again I love the last and the snowflakes line. and the imagery throughout. and the message. *applauds loudly* I now want to write a poem. I haven’t written one I truly enjoy in a while. I think I may write one on how Disney is overly saccharine and false. maybe.
47.
Lizzie | March 22, 2008 at 2:50 pm
if(computer.fail==true)
{
background.setColor(blue);
user.frown();
sys.shutdown();
user.scream(“OH, FUCK YOU”);
}
48.
Lady Montague | March 22, 2008 at 4:44 pm
47 – Insane brilliance.
49.
potatochip42 | March 22, 2008 at 6:20 pm
47- That’s really awesome!
50.
Lizzie | March 22, 2008 at 7:16 pm
48, 49 – yeah, I really like it – I didn’t write it, but who doesn’t love a dorky programming limerick?
51.
Lizzie | April 25, 2008 at 7:39 pm
from http://www.spiderwords.com/feature1.htm
The Day the Saucers Came
by Neil Gaiman
That day, the saucers landed. Hundreds of them, golden,
Silent, coming down from the sky like great snowflakes,
And the people of Earth stood and stared as they descended,
Waiting, dry-mouthed to find what waited inside for us
And none of us knowing if we would be here tomorrow
But you didn’t notice it because
That day, the day the saucers came, by some coincidence,
Was the day that the graves gave up their dead
And the zombies pushed up through soft earth
or erupted, shambling and dull-eyed, unstoppable,
Came towards us, the living, and we screamed and ran,
But you did not notice this because
On the saucer day, which was the zombie day, it was
Ragnarok also, and the television screens showed us
A ship built of dead-man’s nails, a serpent, a wolf,
All bigger than the mind could hold, and the cameraman could
Not get far enough away, and then the Gods came out
But you did not see them coming because
On the saucer-zombie-battling gods day the floodgates broke
And each of us was engulfed by genies and sprites
Offering us wishes and wonders and eternities
And charm and cleverness and true brave hearts and pots of gold
While giants feefofummed across the land, and killer bees,
But you had no idea of any of this because
That day, the saucer day the zombie day
The Ragnarok and fairies day, the day the great winds came
And snows, and the cities turned to crystal, the day
All plants died, plastics dissolved, the day the
Computers turned, the screens telling us we would obey, the day
Angels, drunk and muddled, stumbled from the bars,
And all the bells of London were sounded, the day
Animals spoke to us in Assyrian, the Yeti day,
The fluttering capes and arrival of the Time Machine day,
You didn’t notice any of this because
you were sitting in your room, not doing anything
not even reading, not really, just
looking at your telephone,
wondering if I was going to call.
52.
dark duke of darkness | April 25, 2008 at 10:34 pm
47-heh
using namespace fartomuchofthetime;
{
user==me;
}
is that python? it looks too easy!
53.
Jadestone | April 26, 2008 at 9:58 am
51- Oh, I like that one a lot.
54.
Jadestone | April 26, 2008 at 11:22 am
oh, oh, here we go
here we go spinning ’round again
here we go circling twisting turning
here we go wishing and dreaming of ends
here we go living and dying and dead
here we go–
there’s a place I was, a place I am
there’s a nowhere home in dreams of sand
there’s a nobody singing a sweet serenade
from the shadows of the moon stuck behind a barricade
and if a you and a me
could just slow down
and if somewhere the sea
ceased it’s pounding sound
we’d go walking across on the foam of the crests
we’d go laughing and crying into the west
if everything just stopped, for a day for a year
empty glass skyscrapers, rain and tears
would we dance through the city like a pair of lost souls
would we wander aimlessly, hurt and alone
if the world stopped spinning would we ever even know
if the world stopped spinning who would ever know?
There go the days of fortune there go the days of joy
there go the days of sweet sadness sorrow
there goes the young man’s ploy
and here we go circling and spinning again
here we go loosing ourselves in it my friends
the no-where road was one I longed to take
the no-place man and his heart awake
but there’s no way out and no way in
no way to make it or save it or win
and we’re all lost in this great big place
confusion and spinning and we all must wait
it’s a no-place land where all’s at stake
it’s a shadow-shifting land with eyes opaque
but we’re still spinning, still dancing our song
we’re still laughing, still going on strong
and although yes we’re crying we’ll get along
or so we tell ourselves when the nights grow long
we’ll get along, yeah, we’ll get along
so oh, oh, here we go, here we go once again
so oh, no, where do we go, where do we find the end
oh, no, oh, no, oh help me now my friends
no way into the sky but with wishes and whims
and no way to come back down again
and we’re still spinning, spinning, spinning
and we’re still dancing on threads
and we keep going, turning, twisting
until we’ve reached the end.
—-
Wowwwww that was random. I have no idea what it means, and I was defiantly going somewhere with it in the first verse but I don’t know where it went O.o
55.
Jadestone | July 10, 2008 at 12:59 pm
*attempts to save thread*
Found this in an old journal a while ago. Don’t remember writing it, but…
—
I can taste the ash on your lips
remnants of that fatal fire
you stand alone now –
I can hear your heartache
and I hurt to but
maybe now you will see me?
I know it is probably wrong
and I should be ashamed but
how can I? I have waited
behind the smoke
and I long for closeness
just as much as her
more
but ghosts don’t get chances
and even if there was one —
ever so slim –
have I the courage to take it?
better do die from a quick, wrenching stab
or to be lost forever
drowning in your eyes?
sorrow is not bitter
it is a sweet taste
however melancholy
and it flows over your skin in waves,
I wish I could help
kiss your tears to darkness
but I can only wait
and watch
and send butterflies to dance
in your glow.
—
56.
Jadestone | January 8, 2009 at 9:28 pm
a trip to the doctor.
I paste little reminders to myself
on the mirror, the headbord,
my mind,
to make sure I know who to be
don’t mention the taste of music in darkness,
how you sometimes think in pictures,
how colors have personalities too,
how sadness is a seperate person in the room,
(sitting stiff and stuffed-animal bodied,
grey-blue skin and dark shining eyes
watching
as you stare into nothingness)
how the stars sometimes sing you lullabies
(and drift you, softly,
to some sifting version of sand-filled sleep)
don’t mention the little voices in your mind
the soft ones the scuttling ones the horrid ones
whispering things you’d never dream
(or maybe you have
and that really is the problem)
smile, speak clearly
sit patiently in that chemical room
be careful not to misspell your own name
or perhaps they will suspect–
that I am an alien being, an island uncharted
a desperate dream, feelings false-started
mechanical veins or chemical waves
twisting and turning
spinning and whirling
gears inside my body, or flowing green blood,
or fossilized amber-coated butterflies from some prehistoric year
just waiting to be freed
what if they find something wrong
what if it’s cancer
what if it’s superpowers
(what if they tell me)
what if I am different
from anyone or anything or any body that they have ever seen before, and they tell me so
with wide-eyed wonder
(or is it fear)
what if they tell me
what if they
what if
(what if I’m not?)
57.
penguini | January 9, 2009 at 4:58 pm
56- yes.
“don’t mention the little voices in your mind
the soft ones the scuttling ones the horrid ones
whispering things you’d never dream
(or maybe you have
and that really is the problem)”
I know that feeling.
58.
Potato Chip (Kelly) | January 9, 2009 at 6:14 pm
56- that is really good!
57- yeah, me too.
59.
Shadow Gallery | January 10, 2009 at 8:32 am
I love it! And yeah, very true. I love the doctor theme to introduce the insecurities…and I think you should tie it up and make it a bit clearer in the end, instead of sort of leaving it in the dust. I don’t think it should distract from the rest, but it’d be a neat way to tie it all up.
Fantastic
60.
FrigidSymphony | January 10, 2009 at 4:24 pm
Listen to the performance as well, the comic impact is increased by Zappa’s humurous voice. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uaD3f5djkQI&eurl=http://www.thinkingaloudforum.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=17&t=1731&p=134817&feature=player_embedded
Fuck Yourself
Lyrics by Steve Vai
Warning: these lyrics are pretty coarse and are not intended to be read by children or anyone easily offended by written words. You’ve been warned.
Fuck yourself with a rubber hose
Stick it in your mouth and down your throat
Up your nose and in your heinie hole
I don’t care where it goes
And it don’t matter if you’re straight or gay
You should fuck yourself anyway
Now, you don’t have to listen to a word I say
But I know you, you’ll be humpin’ away
Fuck yourself with your neighbor’s nose
If you can’t use that, use a 10-foot pole
Stick it up your ass and go for a stroll
Everyone will know you’ve been to this show
If you can’t take, eat my stool
Masturbate with some crazy glue
I don’t care what you do
Fock yourself with a garden tool
Fuck yourself with politics
Ahh they’re full of fuckin’ fuckin’ shit
I mean you know we’ve been lied to ever since we were born
It’s amazing that we’ve been getting fucked that long
Fuck yourself with the world wide web
Man you could ride that sucker right from your bed
You may even meet a Tom, Dick, Jane or Billy
Then grab onto your modem and fuck yourself silly
Fuck yourself with your heart and soul
Give it everything you got, hey I’m talkin’ to you
If you can’t even fuck yourself,
How ya gonna fuck somebody else?
Fuck yourself with my microphone
I’ll give it to you later when we’re all alone
We can turn it up loud
And see if you come, but
Don’t get your jizz on my microphone
Fuck yourself with organized religion
Now that is some seriously sinnin’ business
If the Lord sees their pathetic crimes
He’ll be fuckin’ them ’til the end of time
And can someone explain to me this racist crap
I know it isn’t white, but it isn’t black
And to all you people who only see things your way
Well, you can suck my dick and take all day
Fuck your nose with a pound of blow
Watch your money get up and go
but when you burnt your brain and you say
I don’t know!
I hate to tell you but I told you so
Fuck yourself with this grunge rock noise
I mean, stuff those albums in your groin
They come down on me because I know how to play -
Hey… fuck you!
Fuck yourself with a copy of Rolling Stone
Or are they too holy for your holiest of holes
Now those people think they’re holier than Moses
But aren’t they just a bunch of fuckin’ posers
Fuck yourself with your mother’s jewelry
I won’t tell, I ain’t a stooly
If you pounce hard enough you’ll cough up a ruby
Your blood will be rich and so will your doodie
Fuck yourself with the latest fashion
With your spikes and your hair and those cute little buttons
And if you happen to have some leather and lace
Fuck yourself ’til you’re blue in the face
Fuck yourself with your income tax
They’re fucking you and that’s a fact
Before you know it your money’s all spent
And you’ve just been fucked by the government
Fuck yourself with your lawyer friend
You’re the only one that’s getting fucked in the end
I have been so fucked by legal bills
that my asshole is the size of Beverly Hills
Fuck yourself with your full-length sweater
With your minks and your diamonds and your Irish Setter
With your cash and your trash and your sinks and your drinks
Just fuck yourself ’til you can’t even think
Those of you who enjoy this song
thank you thank you, I love you
Let’s get it on
But for those of you who are totally outraged
Fuck yourself with your face
61.
Shadow Gallery | January 10, 2009 at 6:11 pm
That is badass.
I should be writing more…sometime soon I’ll have a poem up, I hope, I was working on one during dinner break at the lab today.
62.
tetracontakaidigon | January 10, 2009 at 6:11 pm
54-56- You sound like I want to sound when I write poems. I really like them. especially the last one.
63.
kricket | January 11, 2009 at 9:36 am
No Hope
From the barnyard hall,
I hear the call of the dove.
No hope, it cries, no hope.
As we march to the train,
I read the words on a man’s lips.
No hope, he says, no hope.
Sitting on the train,
I hear the wails of a baby.
No hope, it wails, no hope.
Walking past the gas chambers,
I see the eyes of the Jews lined before them.
No hope, they say, no hope.
As I stand at the door of the chamber,
I hear the shriek of a bird.
No hope, it shrieks, no hope.
Now, as gas fills the chamber,
I know there’s no hope for me.
No hope, I whisper, no hope.
———
I wrote that in 8th grade. Not sure if I’ve posted it here somewhere or not.
64.
Jadestone | January 12, 2009 at 3:15 pm
57/58- Thanks ^^
59- Yeah, it was just sort of a burst of madness a few days ago. I had the idea for that poem a long time ago, the ‘what if I’m special/what if I’m not’ theme, but it didn’t come out till now. It needs a bit more revising…
60- Haha
62- Thank you ^^ You just have to write a lot. Eventually you get better… my poems when I started writing were pure crap >.<
63-
65.
Pan | January 12, 2009 at 6:15 pm
54-56: Those are great! I like the rhythm.
63: I like the scene! If you want to revise, I’d suggest adding more images. Instead of telling what’s going on, show it through language with more detailed imagery.
I’m not sure if I’ve posted this before, but here’s a poem I wrote last fall for a project with Carnegie Mellon’s poetry class. It still needs a lot of revision, but I’m way too lazy.
Little Traverse
My eyes squint as I look ahead
at the churning bay. In almost seconds
the bright clear blue water
morphed into a tunnel of black,
deep blue caverns whipping the hull like rockets
scratching their way up and over the deck
plunging into the cockpit and soaking everything in sight.
The water is lifted by the wind
combining into a lethal mixture
lashing out against my neck,
gusts of knives clawing against me.
I sit silently, frozen to the spot,
almost singing in fear.
My hand, rigidly stiff,
as if prematurely jolted into rigor mortis,
pushes the tiller back and forth
the traveler scraping against my finger
shards drifting away with the ripples.
A wave hooks itself over the boom,
grabbing tight and yanking it sideways
lurching the boat into a deadly heel
the wind filling the sail
pushing the mast closer and closer
to submersion.
The water constantly shows its strength
rippling to its full potential.
It soaked my shirt long ago,
its bright red color now a dark maroon
trying to push me into hypothermia.
But the fleece grasps my arms tightly,
warming my frigid arms.
The boat refuses to wait for the sea to open its gates
to swallow us up,
to let us plummet to the bottom of the lake
to rest silently on the bed,
bubbles drifting up, yearning for sunshine.
I close my eyes and let the mainsheet slip through my fingers,
the rope burning my hands which have grown numb,
a symphony of shattered raindrops dissolving behind me.
The rigging rests and my eyes open,
a soft nudge beneath my feet
I lift the daggerboard and coast home.
66.
Shadow Gallery | January 13, 2009 at 1:34 pm
63– Fantastic rhythm. Like Pan said, be a bit more descriptive. But I really do love that.
65– I love the progression and the imagery. Great!
Here’s my contribution:
Sticks and Stones
will break my bones
but words will never touch me.”
shuddering
with all the air that pressures my lungs to
yawn
ache
stretch
blink and
slowly regain consciousness before
drifting back
into a hazy dream
my eyes switch on a dusty movie screen
play fragmented frames
and wait
for the breaking scene beneath the
technicolour stars
at a pause, an offscreen voice graces the din
and gently asks
are you ready are
you ready for this are
you okay are
you sure?
you won’t be the same anymore
no you
won’t be the same anymore.
my head nods: unpauses the frame,
and pries cracked fingers from
my eyes
snow stops falling in the picture and
jolts back to an inky whirlpool in the sky:
my eyes flicker and filter light,
blurring lines and morphing shapes
a looming cloud drifts fast and obscures the stars
my eyes close
completely, a
wordless embrace that electrifies the previously
sleeping flesh with an eerie
frequency,
reverberating in the wall
skin trembling
surprised
awoken
frightened
creeping closer and closer and closer to
giving
in
to trusting you
to holding you
in
and maybe even
not wondering if
this was all
you and I
have waited for.
67.
Shadow Gallery | January 13, 2009 at 1:35 pm
grr…it fucked up my line breaks and spacing…
68.
tetracontakaidigon | January 13, 2009 at 8:31 pm
66- I have no idea what the fuck that meant or even said but it was beautiful.
69.
Jadestone | January 13, 2009 at 10:16 pm
I do believe I know exactly what you were saying, and it indeed was a very beautiful way to say it.
70.
Shadow Gallery | January 27, 2009 at 4:34 pm
“Poems”
by Solo Buffalo, from a book of poems my dad bought at a bazaar over Christmas.
War poems
and love poems
can be one and the same
one of my favourites
is simply
your name.
71.
tetracontakaidigon | January 30, 2009 at 10:53 am
70- aww, that’s sweet.
72.
Jadestone | February 13, 2009 at 7:08 pm
We laugh ourselves awake
to keep from crying
collapsing from the effort of being alive
There’s no other escape but those which we dream
fingers idly stroking the faces of the moon
longing to reach out and kiss
the darkness of the sky
(so silky flow the words)
burning paper, ink glows
illuminating our desire
to explode out of our bodies
and swirl into the heavens
like a long-ago painting
of stars
Together we are drunk on moonlight
laughing ourselves to dust
so the nightmare’s can’t find us
We wander this desert land
no color from that cold white light
shadow light shadow light shadow
no differentiation
(hold me closer)
all is dark
all is lost
all is gone
all is here
all is now
and now is all we are
as tears fill our eyes
because we laughed to long.
_______
Old but I would really appreciate comments preferably before… Monday. Or Sunday night rather.