Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#61
I wrote this one a while ago so idk if it is any good!

I was exhausted. I was restless.
I was so drained and yet my mind felt electric.
My body begged for me to walk out into the forest, for the world to claim me as its own.
For the willows to caress my face as I walk under then branches and tip my chin to the ever darkening sky and promise me that I am safe. I am loved. I will go on.
As my brain pushes me forwards never allowed to stop, my body longs for the sweet embrace of the muddy floor.
Maybe I could stop there for just a minute. Lie down amongst the roots, let them grow over me, feed from my strength and take everything I have left.
Maybe my final resting place would become a pilgrimage site of sorts, where young girls and boys would come and whisper tales of the girl who once loved so hard she let the world burn. They’d traipse through the forest, just like I have before, and stop under that old tree and tell stories. Tall tales about the poor girl who didn’t know how to go on, who’s world was changing so fast around her whilst she was stuck never able to change. Who’s sadness consumed her and heartbreak stole her future.
She came willingly to the forest, that’s what they’ll say, when it called for her to come rest. She was tired. She was drained. She was done.
But I am not done, I thought as I ran my hands through the branches of the willow trees, its leaves clung to my hand desperately, begging me for sustenance.
I am not done and I will not rest.

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#62

AlexaLee Wrote: I wrote this one a while ago so idk if it is any good!

I was exhausted. I was restless.
I was so drained and yet my mind felt electric.
My body begged for me to walk out into the forest, for the world to claim me as its own.
For the willows to caress my face as I walk under then branches and tip my chin to the ever darkening sky and promise me that I am safe. I am loved. I will go on.
As my brain pushes me forwards never allowed to stop, my body longs for the sweet embrace of the muddy floor.
Maybe I could stop there for just a minute. Lie down amongst the roots, let them grow over me, feed from my strength and take everything I have left.
Maybe my final resting place would become a pilgrimage site of sorts, where young girls and boys would come and whisper tales of the girl who once loved so hard she let the world burn. They’d traipse through the forest, just like I have before, and stop under that old tree and tell stories. Tall tales about the poor girl who didn’t know how to go on, who’s world was changing so fast around her whilst she was stuck never able to change. Who’s sadness consumed her and heartbreak stole her future.
She came willingly to the forest, that’s what they’ll say, when it called for her to come rest. She was tired. She was drained. She was done.
But I am not done, I thought as I ran my hands through the branches of the willow trees, its leaves clung to my hand desperately, begging me for sustenance.
I am not done and I will not rest.

Oof, brought me near tears that one. Kudos, lady.

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#65
I just... write things without trying to assign any particular meaning to them. But someone said it sounded like an apocalyptic poem, so let's just go with that...


The day when a black sun rose

A shadowless moon fell

Forgotten tales took their first breath

Sunken ships set sail

The land of Never bright as night

The sea a burning red

Some crawled some crept some wailed some wept

Some made the thorns their bed...




Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#68
My gosh. How long has my poem Make Me Wanna Holler been sitting on my Profile Page? It's time for something new! 

Here's a poem I wrote once for a girl I knew in Fiji. She was a bundle of pure joy, wrapped up in sweets and cuddles. Then I found out she had never been to a circus, and so very much wished she had. Nowadays of course, circuses are no more. That is such a shame. 

My brother literally ran off to join the circus --  as a roustabout, who is someone who sets them up and tears them down as they move from town to town. So I wrote this poem for my Fiji friend, to give her an idea of what a circus is like. Not from the outside looking in, like the paying public sees, but from the inside looking out, like how I imagined a circus looked like to my brother. It's called:

WeGotCandyHouston

Roller coaster Scrambler
Up end bottom top
Sideshow barker patter
Amusement never stop
Grand parade menagerie
Miracles abound
Bright light
Glass eyed
Stallion
Come on check it out.
 
Tent flap canvas architecture
Sawdust center ring
Acrobat amazement
Living like a dream
Brass steam pipe calliope
Fill my heart with sound
Remember this
Autumn begins
Tear the Big Top down.
 
Catastrophic changes
Step up roustabout
Semi-trailer caravan
Take the first road out
Wait till summer
They'll be here
But you and I...
 
...let's run.


So what do you think? Wanna run away with me and join the circus?
If I still knew my Fiji friend, I know what she'd say. 😻

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#69
In black of night
Peering into the burning light
Oh sorrow of the horrid sight
To which we view, oh morbid light
To which still burns in such blackest night
Oh pyre built on hateful lies
Oh fire built for which all dies
To which do you yet still burn in oh faithless night
From heaven's peaks to hell's own valleys
From which do we yet hear the call that rallies
From what we make of burning hate
To what ill hunger do we still yet sate
To what ill ways do we yet cultivate
Oh burning yet in oh darkest night
From which did call of violent light
To which did call for that hungered might
From which we claim our horrid ill gotten right

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#71
The Truth of Monsters and of Life's Inevitability

Oh how I yearn to be the monster. 
The monster gives in, and cannot change. 
The monster is evil by nature, and commits acts of cruelty for fun. 
I am only mortal. 
And mortals change. 
My nature is not good or evil
but to change. 
So whether I become evil or I become good, there will always be change to confuse things. 
And when it does, it'll inevitably change again.

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#72
So... I wrote this, whatever the hell it means...
Quote:Lock ‘n load let’s kill the toad

With spears of air let it explode

Slam and pound it to the ground

Bickering barking black hellhound

A day of hunt, a night of hunt, hunting beasts and monster runt

Aim at the sun, empty your gun

Monsters chasing gotta run

Diamonds shine in black coal mine

Pick up pickaxe, stand in line

Today you dig, too deep you dig, grunting panting light up a cig

Whips go crack on her back

She left her babies in a large sack

I was blind once I was kind

Fell from third floor, lost my mind

You are dead, I am dead, the sun went boom and red flames spread


Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#74
It's been quite a looooong time since I wrote any poetry, but here's something from years ago that has survived out of my dabbling which I still don't hate! That's saying something! 

That tongue is a loaded gun.
Point and fire away.

Take aim and let the flame of

what you have to say make them

pay.

Let its heat radiate with the power,

let it shower down in diatribes to be idolized,

soliloquize until you’ve civilized the madmen

raving in the street.

Defeat? You ain’t beat

until they’ve knitted your lips shut with

barbed wire.

Till they’ve broken every little finger

so you can’t take up a pen.

And then?

You still have your feet.


The Tower of Babble was a catalyst.

It was the wakening of every activist with a sign

and a grudge,

every antagonist with slander and a bottle of poison.

We didn’t reach heaven with bricks.

We didn’t cross Styx with a bridge.

We made angels tremble with our clamor.

We wove a glamor to enamor Narcissus through

our lips.

From our mouths drips a venom that makes

snakes quake,

we raise bedlam that breaks foundations of

nations and echoes throughout generations.

We conceived Salem by hissing through our

teeth.


This is a sword you can’t sheath.

They writhe underneath every half-assed

grave,

craved by the cowardly and taken up

by the brave.

They’ve been the liberators of slaves and

the tools of the depraved,

they’ve been the thing by which we are saved

and the roller that paves over our

fallen State.


Don’t hesitate.

Emulate the voices of the dead which you

admire,

Emanate this force until you are a spire,

climb higher,

never tire,

let it course through your veins and release

the reins and strain against every effort

to bring you back down again.


You’ve got words, baby.

When the world tries to bring you to your knees?

Say,

bitch, please.

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#75

ALittleMoreNovel Wrote: It's been quite a looooong time since I wrote any poetry, but here's something from years ago that has survived out of my dabbling which I still don't hate! That's saying something! 

That tongue is a loaded gun.
Point and fire away.

Take aim and let the flame of

what you have to say make them

pay.

Let its heat radiate with the power,

let it shower down in diatribes to be idolized,

soliloquize until you’ve civilized the madmen

raving in the street.

Defeat? You ain’t beat

until they’ve knitted your lips shut with

barbed wire.

Till they’ve broken every little finger

so you can’t take up a pen.

And then?

You still have your feet.


The Tower of Babble was a catalyst.

It was the wakening of every activist with a sign

and a grudge,

every antagonist with slander and a bottle of poison.

We didn’t reach heaven with bricks.

We didn’t cross Styx with a bridge.

We made angels tremble with our clamor.

We wove a glamor to enamor Narcissus through

our lips.

From our mouths drips a venom that makes

snakes quake,

we raise bedlam that breaks foundations of

nations and echoes throughout generations.

We conceived Salem by hissing through our

teeth.


This is a sword you can’t sheath.

They writhe underneath every half-assed

grave,

craved by the cowardly and taken up

by the brave.

They’ve been the liberators of slaves and

the tools of the depraved,

they’ve been the thing by which we are saved

and the roller that paves over our

fallen State.


Don’t hesitate.

Emulate the voices of the dead which you

admire,

Emanate this force until you are a spire,

climb higher,

never tire,

let it course through your veins and release

the reins and strain against every effort

to bring you back down again.


You’ve got words, baby.

When the world tries to bring you to your knees?

Say,

bitch, please.

Damn.

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#76
Sonnet

As clouds, which clear the way to sunny morn,
Give every sinner something to believe in,
So too the pieces of my pride are borne
Upon that morning breeze for me to breathe in;
And while this buoyant feeling lasts, I smile
In gratitude as I have done of old,
As if to shirk my burdens for a while
And let sweet nature fill my heart with gold.
And yet, despite the semblance of good cheer,
There clasps the subtle clutch upon my heart
That still reminds me of my public smear:
How can I rid myself of such a smart
When shame reminds me of these hidden scars?
How can I right the fault within my stars?

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#77
There is a certain oneness

Finding exhilaration upon the knife’s edge,

Betwixt life and death,

The closer you reach,

An indescribable feeling takes over,

As time loses all meaning,

As if the universe never existed,

Everything outside, your thoughts,

Shrinking, narrowing,

Until fixated upon a singular point,

Transfixed by the moment beyond time,

Stretching beyond eternity,

Deeper still, another layer,

Yet, still closer…

A deafening silence,

The faint beginnings of a song,

In melodic rhythm,

In harmony with the soul,

Reaching out beyond this mortal coil,

Matching the flow,

Trapezing amidst this sea,

Of Wordless, emotional phenomena,

Until finally,

At this precipice,

Of moments beyond moments,

Where everything and nothing,

Exist in harmonious chaos,

A light….

Rapture.

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#78

ALittleMoreNovel Wrote: It's been quite a looooong time since I wrote any poetry, but here's something from years ago that has survived out of my dabbling which I still don't hate! That's saying something! 

That tongue is a loaded gun [...]

I love the opening! Tongue as a loaded gun is such awesome imagery; I'm here for it. Also the rhyme's super effective and the mic-drop at the end? Y e s.
(PS, the Tower of Babel is spelled that way <-- I think I remember it from Babelfish and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy or maybe a fever dream lol)

Fox-Trot-9 Wrote: Sonnet

As clouds, which clear the way to sunny morn,[...]

That's a perfect sonnet! Fitting certain (stricter) forms is such a hard challenge for me, so I totally commend you on it :D Also amazing last line!

ArlenBrandt Wrote: There is a certain oneness [...]


Nice job with enjambment here! I like the finality in the end; if really closes the envelope for the ideas you have here!

Edit: removing extra spaces :"D apparently I got Enter-key happy haha

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#79
I just wanted to compliment the last few poems posted above now--aaaand here's a little baby one (that I also included in my story in a weird junction point between universes, but it stands as its own poem imo, if tweaked slightly (into this) lol. Inspired by the Climate Crisis and finding out that Hurricane Sandy cost 8 billion dollars. Cheers lol  :DrakanWine: )

Hurricane Season


Inevitable, because the profit-margin prize above

Us. We

are too late to stop the ice-crash, the

end as beginning. Typhoon sweats cities into seas.

Ouroboros lives within the ever-warming ocean.

Humanity recalls why it is afraid to swim.

Re: POETRY MEGATHREAD

#80
This one came to me a couple of days ago:

Birthdays are strange for me,
As someone who once wished for death.
I used to hate them, hate the attention that came with them,
The cheesy “another year older!” and the seemingly edgy “another year closer to death!”
I used to think “just one more year? Why could I not be even older? Even closer to death?”
I was already ready to die. 
I hoped it would claim me, 
I wanted it to come in the night and welcome me into its dark embrace.
I was weary of this dark, torturous world.

Things change, trauma heals.
Life continued without my consent but I’m glad it did.
Now, I relish it. 
Birthdays are a celebration. 
An example of the adversities I have overcome.
Those close to me whisper in hushed tones,
“You’ve come so far, escaped so much!”
Whilst those far from my heart cry 
“Another year closer to death” and laugh, unaware of my childhood dreams.

Tears cloud my eyes as they bring out the cake but I will not allow them to see. 
They cannot know, 
I do not fear death, I do not welcome it. 
It will come for me and when it does, 
I won’t cry, I won’t fear.
I’ll look back on my birthdays,
And on those I love and think
I’m glad I lived.