I dunno if there are any poets, or aspiring writers in our midst. . . but I thought I'd create this thread for kicks. There's a similar one on the IMOC forum. . . I'm not really a poet, but I've written a fair bit of prose, and some poetry. Probably my favorite poem is this:
Take
There is a home here for all who enter,
And time is held still.
When the moment of love finally transcends all else,
I take a snapshot, preserve that which shines.
Remember this, remember that,
I keep it all under my hat.
Cherish that which I hold dear,
But only out of fear,
That I may loose my treasured prize,
And bring a tear forth to these eyes.
. . .So. . .
I shatter.
Grip me tightly, hold me tenderly,
And if I should break,
do not mourn,
For it is but the natural path I must take.
I mean, it's hardly something worthy of Yates, or Blake. . . but I like it. Esp. 'Remember this, Remember that/I keep it all under my hat' I really like the pacing on those lines. The Prize/Eyes lines I like too. As I said, I usually write in prose. . .
~The (Prosthetic) Cretin~
Thx Lucy (I'm assuming u were talking to me). . . I don't have much in the way of poetry. I quite like this piece, though, not great, but I like some of the imagery (esp. that second line, 'a glorious. . . (to). . . angel.' Think of a camera's flash, and dust in the sunlight, I think it's almost noir, that second sentence. A bit cliche in concept I guess. . . but it makes a decent monologue:
The world rotates and my mind clicks along with it like a worn out slide projector.
*click*
A glorious flash brings the dust into striking clarity and the wind stills. Droplets of fire fall to the earth, slowly, like the feathers of an angel. I hear a voice in my mind and as it comes forth I realise,
*click*
Awaken. I do so, my body worn out from the former day’s work. I rise and feel my bones grind together and
*click*
I’m not where I was, where I should be. I call out and no one answers. What happened? I look around and see only walls, sealing me in. I struggle to breath, my mind reels. I tumble.
*click*
I walk towards the door. Hello? I call out. I hear my son in the next room, my wife laughing alongside him. Home.
*click*
Alone. I stand and brush myself off. My legs whimper in protest, but I ignore their pleas and walk to the lone window. Hello? I inquire. I hear footsteps, not my own but
*click*
Others are in the house besides me, that brings comfort. I walk into the kitchen and look at the knives, the light reflecting off them. I know what must be done in order to assuage my guilt, in order to
*click*
Heaven? Certainly death. . . Perhaps hell? Purgatory? I call out my wife’s name. My son’s. Hello?
*click*
My body tenses, my own life taken, my own wife taken, everything. . . gone.
*click*
Awaken.
*click*
I can’t move.
*click*
Awaken.
*click*
I’ve been here.
*click*
Awaken.
*click*
The world rotates and my mind clicks along with it like a worn out slide projector.
*click*
Oh, and to Nighthawk:
I didn't mean to say yours was esoteric, it just sort of flowed like a stream of conciousness work.