Poetry

[Vamps]

Ok, i was away for a while..in hong kong ><, sorry i didnt come on, but yea...i was kinda busy.
on topic, Mal, you ARE really good with words, i agree with Jewpin.
@ ScuicidalMuskrat, dont worry, i dont have any money to send to them XD. I cant find any of my slightly less emo poems >_<. Actually, i cant find any of my poems at the moment because all my notebooks that i write them in are in various places around the house and im too lazy to go and find them. I like Saddest. Are you saying that only through suffering that anything worthwhile can be achieved?

[MalReynolds]

The General The Waif

It was an odd day when the bomb went off
People did not see it coming, all they saw
Was the news, and the bright flashes outside
And that was the last thing they saw

Few people survived, and banded together
But a swift hunter ran through the world
Destroying brothers, friends and lovers
Claiming bodies regardless of sin

To escape this hunter, the people burrowed
Passing the moles and past fetid bones
To create a new sanctuary, away from
The deadly sportsman of the above world

And it was of this time, where people, desolate
Looked for solace, and found none. They looked
Up towards God, and found none. And they looked
To each other… And found none.

They lived down for hundreds of years, afraid
Terrified to enter the surface, for as soon
As they did, they were sure to be sniped
Brutally by the viscious swift hunter

The majority of people lived not past forty
And most children fell to various monsters
The Pox, The Mumps, Influenza… Common
And people were beginning to give up

A man of forty and two, older than all
Took to the podium, entranced the crowd
“We cannot live in fear, we cannot live
In desolation, for if we do, we will succumb.”

He knew to attack the people who resisted
His radical view could not be challenged
And if it was, you went to the surface
And died a lonely death.

For two more years, the General campaigned
And those who would not fight were cast aside
Not killed, but left behind, sick, weary, useless
Never looked back upon

Until the General returned home, to find a waif
Sitting in his hole in the wall, waiting
Her eyes fixed on the door, her skin a pallid green
And when he entered, she rose

“Why do you have to do this?” She cried
“You’re killing everything, when we should
Band together, live in peace, not hurt each other
Don’t you see that this is not the way?”

But he didn’t, and cast her aside.

He thought on her words, however, and they
Ate away at him. Had he been wrong?
How could he have been wrong? The people were
Happy, content, and fixated…

And no one realized the life expectancy

Dropped

The life expectancy fell, like a stone to the floor

And people were dying.

The General returned home again
And the waif was there, rocking
But he did not yell; he embraced her
The waif, in his arms was his saving grace

He no longer felt anger, but knew
They should know the truth
Not to shroud their death in mystery
But let them be proud

People were not happy with the change of
Ideals. No one would be
They threw stones through his window
And the glass claimed the waif

The General took the podium
And made a plea for the violence to stop
They were just killing themselves
And they did not realize.

The crowd sat unmoving, confused.
The General stood silent, on edge
The crowd shuffled, confused and angry
Until a new man took the podium

“We will continue the campaign,”
He cried, moving the mass to his words
“And those who stand opposed will fall
By my hand, and we will prosper.”

The crowd cheered, and clapped
The General returned to a broken home
Had she really been right?
For what is existence,
What is living without
Strife?

--

Mal

[msbrunnettemickey]

RE: Poetry

The Forgotten Foot Prints

Past,
unravels the time
when everything went wrong.

The sun,
looks rather dashing
in the time of night.

She can't remember
She is lost.
Everything that she could hold
and bear,
left her to burn in the desert alone.

She is tired of trying to remember.
Tired of the blank spot of darkness
in her mind, that she can't see.

Tired of life.

She was hurt, witnessed death,
death that she cannot remember.
She thinks she does not deserve to live,
But as she walks the empty street,
And sees the lonely, shy tree
She remembers.

Sky, sky, sky so blue
take me up
take me home
to the tree house
that’s painted in red
loved in all the colors,
and received all the love
in the universe.

The forgotten foot prints
will reveal,
once she will
find herself
watching from the sea.

Dear Sarah, don't be afraid.
Kneel down, there, next to the green bench,
Where your family used to share
How went their day.

And the picture captured herself, as a new day arrived.

[MonkeyFoo]

RE: Poetry

Psh, didn't I already post a poem on a different thread? It's called "slipping to somnolence", do a search for it if you want to read it... (not an emo poem; it's actually about being sleepy, not wanting to die.)

[edit] Looks like It might not be posted here on FFR after all. Here 'tis:

Slipping to Somnolence

The night is tiring now, it's crawling slow,
And all the day's fatigue is running deep.
My anesthetic yawns have me in tow,
I want to just collapse now, into sleep.
My eyelids now seem heavy, full of lead.
My lazy body seeks the touch of fleece.
A soporific weight upon my head
Surrenders me to doze in soothing peace.
Exhausting weight congeals into a yawn.
Lethargic legs begin to give from wear.
I'll sprawl in bed until the break of dawn
To end my absent, inattentive stare.
When flannel falls upon my dormant chest,
I'll let my weary corpse submit to rest.

I wrote it when I was tired, clearly. It's a shakespearean-style sonnet, iambic pentameter, heroic couplet and all that.

Also, try searching for yourself on poetry.com. You are very likely to find someone with your name, even if it's obscure.

[Tps222]

The Autumn Wind is a pirate
Blustering in from sea
With a rollicking song he sweeps along
swaggering boisterously

His face is weather beaten
He wears a hooded sash
With his silver hat about his head
And a bristly black moustache

He growls as he storms the country
A villain big and bold
And the trees all shake and quiver and quake
As he robs them of their gold

The Autumn wind is a Raider
Pillaging just for fun
He'll knock you 'round and upside down
And laugh when he's conquered and won

[MalReynolds]

There's glass in my gums
And a stone on my back
It's the first piece of
A larger piece that I
Was moving for the masses.

My lungs are half full
There's sweat on my brow
My blisters are bleeding
And the blisters that reside
On my blisters are bleeding.

The people clap and smile
As I shift the rock over
And in my shoes stained red
My socks are stained red
But my shoes shine white.

I go back for another slab
Of this mountain which I had
Promised to move for them
My muscles ache and my throat
Is raw, but my voice still booms

And while I create this,
Piece by painful piece,
You all smile, and you all leave
Done with it, done with him
And I am left with no one

They clap and they cheer
They're happy to hear
What a marvelous thing
That I've done...

But I stand alone, in my shoes
My shoes stained red, alone
In my socks stained red, alone
With my arms dead, alone
My lungs swimming,
My throat torn

But I look fine, and no one
Not even you will ask me why.

-

Mal

[bill_clinton]

lord_carbo's Five Meals is the best poem so far

[Tps222]

Eh, not into poetry too much. Decided to write one, comepletely not related to my life. A bit emo, but oh well.

Why did you have to do this to me
I just don't understand
To turn away and try to flee
To break this so brittle band.

I know I wasn't great
I know I tried my best
I guess now it's too late
You treat me like the rest.

It's really not worth it
The time I put in
I know my ideas weren't a hit
But at least i tried to win.

This is all I have to say
Good luck with your life
For every night I will pray
That you won't be my knife.

Time for a happier one.

The Race

My legs are burning
The goal is so far away
Though i must keep on churning
So I can reach my dream one day.

I am approaching the bend
Quite curved and steep
Breaking away from the trend
Taking a giant leap.

I'm almost done, halfway there
I can almost smell it now
Unfortunately, this race is not fair
To explain as to why, I don't even know how.

It really doesn't matter
I'm not out to win
To empty the full bladder
Will surely bring me a grin.

I'm approaching the line
The end is almost near
Though I know I did fine
I wish I wasn't the one who had to steer.

The pressure is too great
In order to win, I need to conform
My time is getting late
The final gun, she warns.

100 meters to go
I've decided to stay true
I don't care how slow
As long as I finish with my own view.

[Rediahs]

If this were not critical thinking, I would post one of my two-minute poems.

Instead, I'll post a much-more-than-two-minute poem.

God never was that important
when we sat on the floor to watch TV,
stretching our fingers through one another's,
feeling cold cement on our backs
as we hung the television from the roof.
God never mattered when it was 9:52 PM
and the fireflies peeked out of the dark,
taunting our hands that gripped mason jars.

You asked me whether I knew God
while holding onto a tree branch seven feet
above the damp grass. You dropped
and as I hesitated,
you told me that now,
you knew God.

You didn't come out and say it, of course,
but your eyes were
like a cat's, and your lips blossomed as
they pursed,
preparing for unspoken words.
And then there was
the limber in your fingers
when mine grabbed yours but yours slipped away impossibly
and you gave me a look
that could make passive a wild horse.
Of course you knew God.

God didn't care if I didn't pray last night,
if I fed my carrots to the dog,
if I touched myself in bed,
or if I couldn't pronounce "syllable".
God just cared that I was alive,
and he watched me as I tipped open my window,
smiled as I ran barefoot through the soybean field
to get high under a tree at 9:30 PM with
the guy my parents told me not to be seen with.

God didn't really care what I did and so
God was never very important to me.

[cowboy_b_bop2787]

I wrote this for a contest and did ok with it. I write enough stories and poems to fill a library, I have them all in spiral notebooks in my closet (its the only thing in the whole closet) and I like this the best.



It's a story about a myth and it tells what happened.


By Procris' Hand

A lovers fall
Scornfully met
Across the plane
A lion was set
She hid until the hour came
When she would see her lover's flame
Never again the two would rise
Caused by a stranger unknown to their eyes
He arrived and saw her kerchief stiffened with blood
And plunging his sword thought to join her in mud
So the blood ran to the root of the ancient mulberry
To forever change the color to cherry
Running to him bid him alive
His life was ended in front of her eye
She thinking she the cause died the same
For she had taken all the blame
By procris' hand two met their demise
And both now live in constant surprise
At the simple mistake that love can make
By making a life and the life it take


Feel free to PM me and tell me what you think...

[cowboy_b_bop2787]

After reading mickey's poem, I decided to make up an haiku on the spot.

Sniper
He lies far away
Watching as his target comes
And pulls the trigger.

Does anybody know why people still like haiku? I'm not sure about the reason myself, so I'd like to hear what you think is the reason...

To be quite technical that isn't a haiku. You follow the same structure as a Haiku but theres one main problem, you didn't speak of nature. A haiku is a poem about nature writen with a basic cyllabic structure of five, seven, five. but the main thing is that it is about nature. So you have jsut writen a free form poem.