Poetry

[diedan]

So, I'll post a few little poems I wrote, uhhhh...like years ago but still think are decent. Most were originally for classes and then I shaped them up a bit more later. So, here's the first:

 

We walk to

the river—

and we sit,

while gazing

at the stars.

 

No sound but

our breath and

the waves of

the water

beside us.

 

The fish jump,

laughing—we

see ourselves

as sunfish,

side by side.

 

Then we talk

of all things—

naming gods,

and shapes in

the dark sky.

[diedan]

The second one I wanted to post has some rather specific formatting I can't seem to duplicate here, so here's a link to it:

 

http://diedan.tumblr.com/post/2068539739/c-p01

 

I have a few others I can drop off here later as well as some excerpts from some longer work. Feel free to love/hate on it. I really don't take it personally anymore (unless you love it...then it's soooooo personal).

[diedan]

Well, I guess I may as well post more! The sestina is got to be the hardest form of poetry to write, ever. I wrote this in 2002 for a class and then slowly worked it over until I felt I had created some kind of narrative. I don't I've read it for years. It's...okay, but like I said, the sestina is damn near impossible to write without it sounding disjointed. (Spoiler tags because it's long.)

 

 

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The Sea

 

Prologue: A Disdainful Visage

 

The sand ascends into the Forever;

it is as infinite as the sea.

The sun cowers behind a thick wall

of dark clouds, casting eerie shadows on

the ground that resemble forgotten gods.

And he sits here, merely thinking.

 

Chapter One: Away! Away! Death!

 

He picks up countless silver stones, thinking,

wishing that one would contain magic, forever

allowing him to call down the power of the gods—

the gods of the air, of the earth, of the sea.

He lost his priceless joy—his daughter—on

the day previous. Today, he builds another wall.

 

Chapter Two: Linger Not, O Tide, and Consume Me

 

He is in love with his impenetrable walls,

concealing pain from the world, not thinking

of anyone else, but always focused on

himself. Realizing this darkness, he ponders forever

banishing his soul to the waves of the eternal sea,

and giving up his life to the dark gods.

 

Chapter Three: I Will Not Collapse to You, O Seeker of My Soul

 

But why should he bend his will to the gods?

He is merely infuriated with himself, his wall.

Could he have made his daughter see

the harrowing emptiness that comes from thinking

that through death, the pain recedes forever?

O god! can he discover the secret that life is to be based upon?

 

Chapter Four: Rise O Foolish One

 

Emotion surges and he quickly stands on

his feet, screaming to the water, to the gods,

pleading that they would not forever

bring this pain to mind—that they would crush his wall.

Then with a hollow sigh, he sits again, thinking

himself mad for conversing with the sea.

 

Chapter Five: O Desperate Soul

 

He is motionless, gazing into the purple sea,

his feet shifting in the warm sand, his mind on

his daughter dangling from a thread of evil thinking,

as she had given up her essence to the gods.

And then he weeps, loosing the stones from the wall,

hoping that with himself, the world will crumble, forever.

 

Chapter Six: Speak Not

 

He empties himself now, and gives up on thinking,

gives up on the gods, on himself, and on his emotionless wall.

 

Epilogue: Delve into My Reaches

 

He looks to the sea, the Infinite Sea, as it stretches on forever.

 

 

Edited January 14, 2011 by diedan

[diedan]

And one more! I was reading a lot of haiku at the time and liked the simplicity of the structure mixed with the peaceful or harrowing references to nature, so I attempted to write something that would be about that simplicity crescendoing into awe and disbelief at something so wondrous and terrifying at the same time. Again, this one is from college (so probably 2002 or 2003).

 

 

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Painted visions

of Li Po,

of Tu Fu,

and their wide hats,

wide smiles,

pass before my eyes.

 

The hot air amidst

broken trees

crawls over my skin,

like moist breath

of the eternal sun.

 

My sight wanders

up to the—

up;

and I am called

by the wind.

 

I take the path,

path like a snake,

like Icarus’ ambition—

rushing to the sky

then gliding to a gentle halt

before—

 

god.

 

—the horizon.

 

It steals my breath

and tosses my sighs

into the precipice

below.

 

 

Edited January 14, 2011 by diedan

[TheForgetfulBrain]

I like! Very much so.

 

Particularly the rhythm of the last poem.

 

The second poem brings to mind legends of the selkie. If you haven't seen the excellent 'Island of Roan Inish,' I highly recommend this gem from my childhood.

 

The first poem, I dig the atmosphere. It feels like a real moment.

 

I wish I could explore these things deeper, but I am rubbish at deconstructing real poetry.

[TheForgetfulBrain]

kk, hijacking the thread.

 

these are from facebook notes (yep, I was that guy poastin poetry on facebook, but I only did it like three times), posting the two outta three I like more along with the pictures I had put the notes at the time. the other one I like on and off so meh, not poastin that. the first is one of the few poems I've written that I happen to like very much.

 

I would take pictures.

 

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And I would take them with me.

Taking them from my pocket,

And saying-

"See?

I have been here.

I have done these things-

I have lived."

 

And then one day

would die,

having seen none of it

 

telling myself I had.

 

 

 

 

ink blot miracle.

 

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There are puddles of me

Around your feet.

I led you to the shallows

Asked you what it was

To be like you-

Just like you,

Only you.

But I couldn't speak.

 

The clever ones never made it out of here.

The silence.

The clever place to stay.

 

 

[Kau_Kau]

I've skimmed through the poems and will be back to read them but I just really wanted to say thanks for poetry with some kind of form to it. I was tired of seeing poetry on other writing sites that consisted mostly of rhyming the word love with love and focused on the feelings of love.

[slithy toves]

not me

dystopia but beautiful all the same

 

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I am so tired,

Sometimes I feel so tired,

I can't eat I can't sleep.

So tired.

The pressure builds and builds.

Seems like theres no release.

The things I see go unnoticed by some.

Fills my eyes and heart.

Anger and guilt and frustration,

And depression makes waking up every day harder and harder.

Where's my fitness to the world with my chance to survive.

I got to get money so I can have a home.

So I can breathe, eat and live in this society.

I don't even like money,

And I got to work everyday just to feed myself.

God it makes me sick.

I just wanna curl up into a hole and die in this.

This isn't worth it.

I need a raise man!

I can't survive on this faith anymore.

I can't live on this,

I'm hungry,

And I've had service,

And I can't eat daddy.

God I am the creator of hell.

And I have seen all hell,

And I have seen no arms, no limbs no brains.

You don't care, you don't love me!

I only love myself.

No one will love me like I love thee.

 

Life's been swell now I want to die

My body it hurts me sigh after sign

I call it torture you call it life

A slave to money and everything I despise

Like everyone in general

Fuck eat sleep destroyi am a disposable being

Who will fuck all life

I multiply and the air gets thinner and dirty

I take up space

I smell

I consume

But I produce nothing

I abuse

I have no reason to exist

The toilets clogged in this world o shit

I breathe filth everyday

Living fucks up my brian

Why? Why must I wake up today?

My eys are heavy

Why? Why must I see your face?

Your life is ugly

Why? Why did I buy into these things?

I don't want them

Tension. Tension

Frustraton. Alone

Tension. Despair. Tension

All these pressures on my life

 

[Kau_Kau]

I've included a poem I wrote a couple of months ago for fun called evergreen.

 

I hope this spoiler thing works, haven't done this before.

 

 

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Snow doesn't fall anymore.

 

For many it's but a bitter memory that the elders keep alive in stories and fairy tales. Snow has become a luxury, enjoyed by only the elites.

While the masses

maze around

the horse weed.

 

"One day", the leaders say, "One day we too will know the feeling of snow between our toes. One day, we too will be able to feel the frigid frost upon our tongue."

 

Hell would literally have to freeze over before we'd even get to see the pure stuff. Because for most of us this is where we live.

This is home, at the epicenter of forever and eternity.

 

There are no survivors here and I would surmise to say that those you do find are hardly living. They're floaters, like the shadows in your eyes. Eventually they disappear from your sight or you go blind; only to be left with the sound of babies crying atop a sea or seemingly never-ending murmurs that crash and eventually thunder until Stopping only for a single-

 

Coo.

 

A coup that rises to offset the tainted tide;

causing hope to thump

from every heartbeat

and quake the arid earth beneath;

revealing

the dark soil that survived and sustained revolutionary dreams.

These miracles,

that braved through the dirt

beneath our feet

to touch the canvas of the sky.

For they had the will

to taste the frosty frigid snow

upon their leaves.

 

They simply had a desire to be.

 

The snow does not fall anymore, yet here we are.

 

To be. To be.

 

[topekaguy]

Rain

Soft as a lambs wool, quiet, joyful, vanguard of the spring,

Rhythmic, soulful, tears of the soul,

Bringer of fruit and bounty.

Provider,

Caregiver,

Fountain of being.

Rain

Hard, strong, unyielding,

Cold, violent, unforgiving.

Pain and hardship.

Harbinger of destruction,

Bane of the order of things.

Death.

Rain

All things that bind us and all things that constrict us,

All thing moral and all things corrupt.

The beginning and the end.

The nature of our nature.

The very essence of our existence,

Life

Edited January 27, 2011 by topekaguy

[MasterDex]

I've got a bunch of poetry I wrote when I was around 17-19. I won't share them all here right now but I'll throw in a few and if you like them, I'll throw up some more. They're mostly melancholic or atheistic in theme though so if that's not your thing, you've been warned.

 

 

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The Thinking Man’s Disease

 

When the world is seen as it is,

So true that ignorance is bliss.

The damned the favoured of us all,

How does one keep up this trawl?

Do they slowly creep and humbly crawl?

Or do they stand tall

As the rightful leaders who will not brawl?

 

The young are innocent and rightly so.

The wheel of time spins and then they go.

This is it, the only thing,

That each creature dies but first will sing

And sing they will in different ways,

Variety very much pays.

 

 

 

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Crossing the Styx

 

I lie awake,

And seek the Styx,

But know in my heart,

No boat exists.

No sadness, no pain,

No happiness or kin.

 

There is no thought,

No heaven wrought,

Or hell to hold my sin.

 

But yet I ponder.

I want to wander,

And find a bed to rest in.

 

 

 

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Wandering into Darkness

 

I’ve become that which I least desire,

That thing that bites, that creeps, conspires.

I’ve walked too long on the road alone,

I’ve lost my path and can’t get home.

My worries ten-fold, too much to grasp,

I’ve become one most loathsome ass.

My morals gone, of that I’m sure,

Will I ever find the elusive cure?

Will I find peace in a humble mind

And find the one to end my grind?

 

 

Edited February 9, 2011 by MasterDex

[diedan]

Yay! Atheist poetry! I only have one, and I wrote this yeaaaars ago:

 

 

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This is the wide path

that leads to nothingness;

where some destroy truth,

where others find life.

 

This is the bench

where the monks sit,

gazing into the infinite well

while spiders cool their brow.

 

This is the ancient book

that History has written,

rewritten, and writes again

with the ink of uncertainty.

 

And this——this is the altar,

covered in unpleasant salt

by our foolish forefathers,

now abandoned in the forest.

 

Aged with ample time,

it is a mere gravestone

with a single word

for its epitaph—

God.