A Thread of Poetry ( Only Post Poetry HERE!! )

[Deviant Kitten]

Originally Posted by Santarea

I have become obsessed with the weather
since I met you. I look to the
skies for a sign. Some
change in the wind or a
wayward snowflake in
Middle March. One week
till the Ides. I look to the
weather segments of the
local news,
the radio,
and cable.
I look up, out,
I look to the next five days to
predict the future...
only two more days until they say it will rain. I
don't know if I can hold out that long,
I am drying out. The skies
show no sign of rain.
I try to sleep to pass the time of this
dry spell.

I imagine that I can feel your breath
as surely as the chill of someone
walking over my grave
or the impending touch of
another's warm hand at
the sudden,
inexplicable
ropping of a broom on a sandswept and
powder dry hardwood floor.

I look to the West,
knowing this impending weather
will touch me first.
That wind that tousles your hair
will take 23 hours of spin to reach
me, but the rain on my belly
will take only one hour
until I become as
equidistant from the sun as you
sixty minutes ago. We must pass
through some of the same noble gases
formerly inert, some of the same
halogenic elements
bonding
to create the salt in your ocean, but otherwise
stripping away life in their elemental form,
and there is one more
known- but yet undiscovered element here,
Ununseptium 117.
I can define the
properties and its diatomic nature,
but I cannot touch it. I don't know
the feel of it's subatomic particles
and the fire of it electrons- but
I have words for what
I think them to be all the same.
It's funny how
things become less stable as you
strip
them
down
to their singular
atomic state.
Table salt becomes combustible,
corruptible when left to its
own device of pure sodium (1-Na).
It needs Chlorine (1-Cl) to stay
sane in its covalent bondage.
The wild electrons spinning about, these
crazy unseen satellites lending to
instability and self destruction- it's
almost visible, almost tangible.
I am unstable in my element.

And I resent the Earth
for spinning counter-clockwise.

Over 4.533 billion years of cosmic dust
swirling nebulously before our
hearts beat at the same time,
the greatest irony and proof that there
is no higher power is the distance
from my river to your ocean. Else,
it is proof of some cruel higher power,
much in the way of the Turkish
flaw. If you weave the design
without error,
create perfection from
human hands,
it will undo
all of heaven and earth in a
whisper. In
Turkish art,
be it subtle or dead center,
there is an intentional flaw to preserve Creation.
The
intentional flaw on this planet is
about 847 fermi miles
in desperately
random
length
and encompasses the Smokies,
the Appalachians, and the
Black Hills of Eastern Tennessee
far from my beloved Memphis, itself too
far away.
I'm now north of the New Madrid fault,
that same fault that
in 1811
made the river at my feet run backwards.
It's movement was
felt on the stomping grounds of our founding fathers
and the Eastern
edge of America,
felt deeply where you are standing now,
having rung your
church bells nearly two centuries ago...
I want to ring them again with
only my hands and
bring down the whole of Creation.

Love never once asked me for my permission.

That's beautiful, Santarea.

[WolfMoon]

Wild Spider, did you ever stop to think that maybe your poetry is already good? You can tweak it if you feel you must, but it might lose something.


Santarea, I've felt all of the longing in your poem. Thank you for putting it in words.

[wild spider]

the weather poem is very good, i love the way you use the chemistry to create an image and feeling, very original

23 hours

also, nice 23 enigma reference :P

Wild Spider, did you ever stop to think that maybe your poetry is already good? You can tweak it if you feel you must, but it might lose something.

i'll see this as a compliment. I do realise I sound a bit pushy It's just i dont get a chance to share my poetry with people who actully would be able to asess it well, it's either friends who would say it's good no matter what or poetry sites which i have come to find are full of pretentious twats who do not understand my style of work...

i just want feed back!!

[wild spider]

flights of fancy

the dragon flies through blackened skies,
as i follow with sword in hand,
ultimate truth is born in lies,
you can try but youll never understand.

In the dragons fire i sit and and i smile,
the warmth of the flame brings me life,
a world of love, without hate or denile,
a world without pain or strife.

But out in the cold, this bitter, harsh cold,
I feel alone, and weak, without love,
i feel my mind disintigrate and my body grow old,
as the stars rain down from above.

i want, i need, i'll kill, i'll decieve,
anything to sit in the fire,
i'll lie, i'll cheat for this pain to leave,
for the dragon to take me higher.

the dragon flies through blackened skies,
as i follow with needle in hand.

[Mr.Crow13666]

by Jason Mick

The wind is howling through the trees
The fog is heavy but the eye still see's

The moons deep glow, caste upon her grave
She rises up to join the rave

The night is young the crows come near
The mortal world lives in fear

The fog clears around her, she had slipped
A man rushes towards her from the crypt

The man, mysterious, a masked fiend
He's the man that she had dreamed

He helps her up, they start to dance
On the day of the dead, they find romance

They start to dance slowly, then pick up the pace
As the night grows older their hearts start to race

Their lips lock, their hearts unite
They become one, on this Halloween night

He takes off his mask, and hands her a rose
A rose of a blacker shade, than that of the crows

He holds her close and whispers in her ear
I'll be yours forever, you’ve nothing to fear

He wraps his arms around her so tenderly
His touch broke her chains and set her heart free

They continued to dance through most of the night
The moon in her eyes, a most wondrous sight

To their horror they danced to sunrise
He gave her a kiss to close her eyes

The sun had killed them both or so it seems
His last words to her were, you’re the woman of my dreams.

Though the vampires are both dead and gone
Still in that graveyard their love lives on.

[Magpie_Tendencies]

Hi Crow. You know what would be cool? If you went over to Introductions and told us a little bit about yourself. Thanks.

[dlerium]

I wrote this over 10 years ago in my angsty-teens.



Madness

Anger overpowers me
Coursing redness I can't see
I feel it pounding through my veins
the force is driving me insane
I want to scream, I want to shout
"What the hell is this about?"
Angry lies, fury, hate
Circle round and wont abate
I am crying bloody tears
A scarlet river of my fears
As I drown in my own sadness
I feel myself slip into madness

[Schneider]

This is a short little poem I made.

Destroying Winter

The winter comes,
To chill all standing bone,
As the grim reaper drums,
And we struggle our way home,

No summers anymore,
Or springs or falls,
Just death at the door,
Just dust in our halls.

[Deviant Kitten]

Originally Posted by wild spider

flights of fancy

the dragon flies through blackened skies,
as i follow with sword in hand,
ultimate truth is born in lies,
you can try but youll never understand.

In the dragons fire i sit and and i smile,
the warmth of the flame brings me life,
a world of love, without hate or denile,
a world without pain or strife.

But out in the cold, this bitter, harsh cold,
I feel alone, and weak, without love,
i feel my mind disintigrate and my body grow old,
as the stars rain down from above.

i want, i need, i'll kill, i'll decieve,
anything to sit in the fire,
i'll lie, i'll cheat for this pain to leave,
for the dragon to take me higher.

the dragon flies through blackened skies,
as i follow with needle in hand.

I really like this, wild spider. I think it would sound better though, if you repeated the last two lines of the first verse at the end of the poem:

The dragon flies through blackened skies,
As I follow with needle in hand.
Ultimate truth is born in lies,
You can try but you'll never understand.

It just sounds more graceful to my ear that way, with the last two lines building on the reader's realisation of the poem's subject matter.

I'd also capitalise and spellcheck where necessary, to make it easier to read. Readers want to take in your words and not end up distracted by having to mentally correct grammar and spelling mistakes. Actually, the only spelling mistakes I noticed were 'denile' (denial) and 'disintigrate' (disintegrate).

Other than those small quibbles, I really liked it! I hope my ramblings helped a little

[Saxie]

The angel in the prophecy is a preacher,
not an angel from heaven,
not even a spirit nor a mortal,
but an organism from the outside world,
as the wind of timeless changes will come.

thanks in that this centuey,
someone sent here to preach,
but he didnt builld a church,
but he build a church without god,
his god might be in a form of an invisible worker,
and therefore, he preached his own gospel out of his imagination.

his church is out of his doctrine,
same as his and his follower's sweat,
his god is totally invisible,
unseen by many,
miracles are from machineries,
manned by oil and coal,
he is the head, the people are the body,
this is where salvation is,
this is where equality is,
this is where life eternal is,
we're inviting you here.......
come and see, to destiny.

but i didnt know who's that persaon,
he did'nt say his name.

[Rasputin]

My enemies like numbers, numbers meant orders.
With a number on their backs, luggages
50 kg per person, they were brought to the ghetto.
They were examined physically, including their luggage, And left ourselves and herded into the ghetto.

In the ghetto, we work like animals.
Forcing to work in the mines, building areas, et cetera.
Carpenters, masons, bricklayers, miners, gemcutters worked hard.

But they havent got the fruit of hard work,
nor soup and bread for them, nor a coin, what is the result of our job?

What is our balanced diet?
I thought, mashed potatoes and carrots and gravy,
Or roasted meat and bread.
The results are
Putrid sausage for roasted meat,
Stale bread for kulich and andana,
Broth soup for mashed potatoes, carrots, and gravy?

People called up for transport,
Assembled with themselves and their supply of luggage, Driven up on their backs, with their numbers to cattlke cars.

30.............60..............90....in
A car to be send in a death camp far away,
Full of gas camps bearing "bath and disinfectant", crematoriums, and anything we did'nt know.
Some of us were directly to their deaths.

The prisoners were making pits-to be buried themselves after execution. Making mass graves in the soil of creation.

After making their grave,
They were killed by gunshot,
Some by grenade toss, or by the sword.
They were buried by the ones who killed-using shovels, pickaxes, et cetera.

Some are send directly to gas camps,
They smell the farewell perfume.
Then Xyklon B and Cyanide.

Some are electrecuted, died of typhus,
Air raid, Death in diffrent form.

I survived the battle,
I survived thje camp,
I don't know where are they,
Are they in heaven?
Maybe.

If I die, where will I be? in heaven?
No!
I might be in hell.
No.
I might be in purgatory,
Maybe.
I might be in the casket,
My soul is in the casket,
My life is in the casket,
Yes.
I absolutely end up in the casket,
Like the ones in the mass grave.

[corporalaccident]

I'm reposting this in hopes that someone might give me some feedback. Somebody let me know how you feel about it.



May
captures every last breath
they lay there in the streets and lack souls;
do you see the light that I see?
Today
the common crowd dies still.
And if you unravel, I can't blame you
I can't erase the mark left by your wings;
if you corrupt me, I die happy
and brush away the prick, although it stings.
A thorn in your hand,
a thorn in your hand
soon enveloped in beating heart of mine,
let me sheath your guilt and power,
or shall I be the one to hold
On-
going stream of envy,
I leave here in the midst of its birth.
Unmasked violence, the light in your eyes
to stay
forever ill in this.
And if you unravel, I can't blame you
I can't escape the madness that you sing;
if you corrupt me, I die happy,
belligerence of shadow dance in spring.
A thorn in your hand,
a thorn in your hand
soon enveloped in beating heart of mine,
let me sheath your blunt deception,
or shall i be the one to hold
on?

God,I hate angsty Emo poems.

Originally Posted by corporalaccident

I'm reposting this in hopes that someone might give me some feedback. Somebody let me know how you feel about it.



May
captures every last breath
they lay there in the streets and lack souls;
do you see the light that I see?
Today
the common crowd dies still.
And if you unravel, I can't blame you
I can't erase the mark left by your wings;
if you corrupt me, I die happy
and brush away the prick, although it stings.
A thorn in your hand,
a thorn in your hand
soon enveloped in beating heart of mine,
let me sheath your guilt and power,
or shall I be the one to hold
On-
going stream of envy,
I leave here in the midst of its birth.
Unmasked violence, the light in your eyes
to stay
forever ill in this.
And if you unravel, I can't blame you
I can't escape the madness that you sing;
if you corrupt me, I die happy,
belligerence of shadow dance in spring.
A thorn in your hand,
a thorn in your hand
soon enveloped in beating heart of mine,
let me sheath your blunt deception,
or shall i be the one to hold
on?

It sounds exactly like all the other little poets that try to be mysterious with their message, dark, gothic, whatever. It's trite at it's best, and sad at it's worst. You have no actual rhythem to it, as if you're trying to throw off the strictures of poetry. It comes off sounding confusing and utterly tedious to read.

The poem meanders all over the place, making the reader lose interest in it's purpose/message/what have you.

Basically, it sounds like something a 15 year old emo goth cutter would write in the dark in a cemetary.

You're welcome.

[corporalaccident]

Originally Posted by GeishaGirl

It sounds exactly like all the other little poets that try to be mysterious with their message, dark, gothic, whatever. It's trite at it's best, and sad at it's worst. You have no actual rhythem to it, as if you're trying to throw off the strictures of poetry. It comes off sounding confusing and utterly tedious to read.

The poem meanders all over the place, making the reader lose interest in it's purpose/message/what have you.

Basically, it sounds like something a 15 year old emo goth cutter would write in the dark in a cemetary.

You're welcome.

Haha. A 15 year old emo goth is exactly what I was when I wrote it. No, I never cut. No, I didn't write it in a graveyard. Nice catch with the rest, though. To be honest, I don't like this piece too much. I only shared it as my first poem because I thought you people, being "gothic," would appreciate it more than the other things I've written. Anyway, I just found it hilarious that you pinpointed me so well. Golly. Gotta love emo kids.

[corporalaccident]

Alrighty. But it'll get torn to shreds. Eek. OH, and by the way, that "may" thing was a song.



Here goes nothing:



the edges allowed to slip into sound,
laced with ideas and colored uneven—
an aster above
a senate of space,
so callous and aged by the author somehow;
to the dismay of the altar
and several contenders—
denounced on arrival and
withdrawn holding hints
of a cardboard democracy—
were six fingered hands and half-minded heads,
Infinitely more equipped to drown with a secret
than to plead with the river.




All apologies for improper capitalization, it's how I write my poetry, and it doesn't feel the same to me if it's not written like that.

[Empty_Purple_Stars]

Actually I liked them both.

Particularly the last one.

The first may be angsty, but it IS well-written. Which is more than you can say about most of the Angsty poems that new members post here.

The last one is REALLY good though.

Don't worry about capitalization in your poetry, that's an entirely different animal. I write a lot of my stuff the same way.

Thanks for the contribution.

[corporalaccident]

pieces of Caroline sewn into your backyard
thread, my dear, and cripple me
blue diamonds she wore in space
well this surely can not hurt
no one knows oak emotion
grow, overgrow
there's nothing left
and only Birch knows her skin's story
like the Bible of anarchy
come and undone a fragile plaiting
deep the soil flower white bud, darling
if you just hold out and
they never care...
then to waste a building on a brass frame
and i don't care
no one ever...
play her a song
the Christ of language
paper thin, the digital beat
"oh to be your flesh of angel"
i'll carve a star beneath your number
pieces of broken heart sewn in your underground
bled solely to understand
why the world can't mix

[corporalaccident]

Thank you so much for the compliment. You're definitely making me want to tough it out here and stay. I'm glad you liked the the "edges" poem, it means a lot. I didn't even like it after I wrote it. I kind of crumpled it up and said "screw this, I have writer's block." But I gave it a second shot, and realized I kind of liked it. Thanks again!

[corporalaccident]

Break off those cursed lips
take away the energy
of the malinformed,
the desecrated
the rest of the pity we’re able to salvage,
along with the glory
I leave on the table.
Not one step but all are imperfectly set.
so as to tremble with being aware,
it’s suggested to abscond
but the corridor’s full.
Frames dismantled-
empty and sullen,
too wan to correct.
Opening files
the last boy incarnated
The rest of the shelf but it fell with the math.
which crawls over words and directs the attention?
which appeases the world and describes without sense?
The lack of contracts is true to discourage,
and daunt with the back
of a skeletal mill.
Parade the packs of militant frailties,
so hung from descent of miles of stonework,
Clockwork. Determined
a script interrupted,
collect the remaining refusers of lines.

[corporalaccident]

Anybody want to give me some feedback?

[bloodlust_punk]

hey ppl i'm bac and i'm ready 4 close up screw that i was only kidding
besides i don't have a sense of humor so anywyayz one day as i was on my to 6th period my lalaney comes up to me and says oh priscilla ian's going out with karie no and karie knew that i liked him a lot!!!!!
man she pisses me off i juss want 2 smack her in her damn face

[bloodlust_punk]

i'm so bored

[Magpie_Tendencies]

I want to smack your damn face. Why is this in the POETRY thread?
I'm fairly certain that there was a point to your post, but due to your brutal massacre of the English language, I can't figure out what it is.

[Magpie_Tendencies]

Oh. I see. Thank God for that magic "Ignore" button.

*edit*
Hey! This is my 100th post. Yay!