Poetry

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  • Vamps
    FFR Player
    • Aug 2005
    • 64

    #31
    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?
    Romans 10: 14-15a
    \"How then can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent?

    Comment

    • MalReynolds
      CHOCK FULL O' NUTRIENTS
      • Sep 2003
      • 6571

      #32
      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
      "A new take on the epic fantasy genre... Darkly comic, relatable characters... twisted storyline."

      "Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, Ill give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor


      My new novel:

      Maledictions: The Offering.

      Now in Paperback!

      Comment

      • msbrunnettemickey
        FFR Player
        • Sep 2004
        • 1780

        #33
        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.

        בקצה השמיים, ובסוף המדבר, יש מקום רחוק מלא פרחי בר
        מקום קטן, עלוב ומשוגע, מקום רחוק מקום לדאגה
        יש אומרים שם שמשיקרה וחושבים אל כל מה שקרה
        אלוהים שם יושב ורואה ושומר אל כל משברא
        אסור לקטוף את פרחי הגן
        אסור לקטוף את פרחי הגן
        ודואג ודואג נורא

        Comment

        • MonkeyFoo
          FFR Veteran
          • Sep 2004
          • 397

          #34
          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.
          How has it been 15 years

          Comment

          • Tps222
            FFR Player
            • Nov 2004
            • 6168

            #35
            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

            Comment

            • MalReynolds
              CHOCK FULL O' NUTRIENTS
              • Sep 2003
              • 6571

              #36
              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
              "A new take on the epic fantasy genre... Darkly comic, relatable characters... twisted storyline."

              "Readers who prefer tension and romance, Maledictions: The Offering, delivers... As serious YA fiction, Ill give it five stars out of five. As a novel? Four and a half." - Liz Ellor


              My new novel:

              Maledictions: The Offering.

              Now in Paperback!

              Comment

              • bill_clinton
                FFR Player
                • Aug 2005
                • 438

                #37
                lord_carbo's Five Meals is the best poem so far
                Hi.

                Comment

                • Tps222
                  FFR Player
                  • Nov 2004
                  • 6168

                  #38
                  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.

                  Comment

                  • Rediahs
                    FFR Player
                    • Jun 2005
                    • 75

                    #39
                    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.
                    Remember when the platform was sliding into the fire pit and I said 'goodbye' and you were like 'NO WAY!' and then I was all, "we pretended we were going to murder you"? That was great.

                    Comment

                    • cowboy_b_bop2787
                      FFR Player
                      • Sep 2005
                      • 5

                      #40
                      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...

                      Comment

                      • cowboy_b_bop2787
                        FFR Player
                        • Sep 2005
                        • 5

                        #41
                        Originally posted by Eyoshi
                        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.

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