Poetry and Prose

[IronCretin]

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~

[Nighthawk]

Not to shabby.

Like the beginning and the end - the middle verses stand out because of the consecutive rhyming. The 'that/hat' part doesn't have that effect, but the next four verses do.

Constructive criticism. Hope you don't mind

On a non-nitpicking topic... memory. *sighs*

Three verses came to mind upon reading your opening verse:
Welcome to where time stands still
No one leaves and no one will

and

Abandon all hope ye who enter here

(the latter has many versions [the hazard of translation], but they all boil down to the same)

As I've said, it reminds me of memory... and no, no pun intended. The question I'd put on the table is - does our memory transcend us?


As for me, I usually write... stuff. I think that, if I came right down to it, I'd find I write more poetry than prose, although I consider myself a writer rather than a poet. (I never said I was good at either - I just consider myself someone who likes to express himself in that way) The reason, methinks (damn, *meknows*), is that it takes less time to write a poem than it does a story (or, heavens forbid, something longer). I get the flash and get to it - and it's pretty much get behind me Satan from there on. A *story*, on the other hand, demands attention. At least, a different kind of attention than a poem.

Of late, I mostly write lyrics, although I could call them poems if need be.

This poem I wrote while not paying attention at the university.


...


What? No one ever told me I *should* pay attention.

Well, okay, they did. I just didn't pay attention when they said it.


So, the nameless poem:

Deformed
And reformed
And out of bounds,
Bound to come up
(And what goes up
Must come down
Or go up, up and upward
Or stay in its status quo)
And called and called for
And trap and side door;
But what for?

Listen to the old man speak -
Greek, it's all Greek to me -
He tells us it's all gone
And worth it.

Out of bounds
It was bound to come up
And he was bound to say:
“Come back”
(“and come forth”)

[Sheep]

Simple baaaah!
So much pain and will of life...
Endless plains and meadows around
Simple baaaah!
So much pain and will of life...
Endless grassy hills around
Simple baaaah!
Strong in numbers
Humanity is into slumber
They will suffer for all those years
They will get!
20 red roses with barbed wire binded
Is it a gift or punishment?
Simple baaaah!
Strong and weak
Simple baaaah!
Your soul must sleep!
Your mind devoured
You're beeing controlled...
Simple life...

[Nighthawk]

I will not even pretend I didn't see that one coming.

[Markus]

Hi there,

you can view some of my less serious works in the "True Therion Lyrics", but right now I have no serious poem to post here.

Cheers, anyway!

Markus Nonshakespearicus

[Loke]

 I refuse to post here since i open the "...of  poetry and something else" topic .


  yo yo yo

[IronCretin]

Sorry Loke, I didn't see a Poetry thread. . .  but I never seem to search hard enough. . . Mods feel free to combine the two threads. . . or close this one, w/e works.

Nighthawk. . . ur work seems like a stream of conciousness poem. . . I can't think of the correct terminology for such work at this moment.  I have a couple pieces that are arranged in a similar manner. . . basically writing what comes to me. . . But they're pretty vulgar, and are very esoteric.

~The (I know, you know, we know) Cretin~

[Sirius13]

I refuse to post here...

but...  you've just...  but...   

[Lucy]

Um... Alex... I think you did it well. Keep posting your poems, I'm curious to read them. And I think we'll sacrifice Loke on the next NTSMS party!

[Nighthawk]

Nighthawk. . . ur work seems like a stream of conciousness poem. . .

Well... yes and no. I mean, yes, it does seem like I'm battling with my stream of (un)consciousnesses, but it's actually pretty straightforward, just a little obscure without the context. Still, context? <heavy eastern-european accent> It is for the weak. </heavy eastern-european accent>

My apologies to Loke since I didn't see the poetry thread either.

[IronCretin]

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. 

[Lucy]

Thx Lucy (I'm assuming u were talking to me). . .

You told us that your name was "Alex". Anyway, I won't call you a cretin.

[IronCretin]

Stop Stalking MEEEEEEEEE!  LoL.  *kidding*

Actually, the word Cretin is derived from the Vulgar Latin of Christian.  Which I think is quite cool.  So, yes, it's a backhanded insult, but it's also a proclamation of my beliefs and the prejudices that are endured through it.  Or some such nonsense.

~The (The Walrus Said) Cretin~

[Loke]

   I' ll be sacrifice , sniff sniff   

yo yo yo

[VladH]

The one poem to the all of us... one of my favourites:



William Blake
A DIVINE IMAGE

[An early Song of Experience included in one late copy]        t


Cruelty has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face
Terror, the Human Form Divine
And Secrecy, the Human Dress

The Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal'd
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.

[Nighthawk]

The Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal'd
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.[/i]

I half expected it to be 'hungry George'.

Damn, you got my hopes up.

[Persephone]

Here's a rewrited Czech fairytale... Devoted to Adamant... (:

     Long time ago... there was a little kingdom. It was called Kingdom of Gladness.
In the palace was living princess with her suitors. She was always happy, never cried and never was sad, she laughed all the time. Rule of the Kingdom dictated to be happy upon any terms. Whenever there was a someone feeling sad he went to the palace and princess always found a way how to jollify his mind.
One day there was an old woman waiting in front of the portal. She was a widow, wore completely black clothes. Beldame was very gloomy and serious. Princess asked her: "What happend to you? You look very sad."
And the beldame answered "I have a grief dear... Wish you won't have to recognise it." And then she came away.
Since this day princess was still wondering about grief. She wanted to know what is it and how does it feel like.
After nine days came an old man with a great cage to market place and said that he has right the thing which princess was longing for... Princess bought a cage covered with black stuff.
Brought immediately to the palace and then uncover the cage. There was a big black raven incarcerated in. He considered princess for a long while and then said: "I am a Bird Grief. Please set me free and I'll show what does the grief mean... ".
Princess was scared but curious at the same time. So she decided to set Bird Grief free. And Bird Grief flown off with words "Now princess you'll get to know how bitter is taste of grief!"
Everything around turned around...

Princess woke up alone in dark forest. Looked like a poor girl... Everywhere she came, nobody liked her because with her coming Bird Grief came too. Everything turned bad at the place she was living. Finally the people always bundled her out.  Princess was very fortuneless and hopeless. Nobody trust her that she was a princess.
After years of wandering all around the kingdom, she came to a little village. Started to work ate grange. There she met a boy, who wanted to marry even after all disasters coming with her. But princess was still sad cause she knew there's still Bird Grief waiting for it's chance.

After one year she gave birth to a little boy. Then came Bird Grief and took him. Princess knel in front of the Bird Grief and pleased him to give a baby back. And Bird Grief said:
"Now dear princess you have an option. I can return you back to your palace in past. Everything was like before, and you will not remeber what did you pass when you were taken away from palace. You'll forget what is grief - but at the same time, you will lost your husband and your little son. Another possibility is that you will stay here in this situation, never be princess again and never forget what does the grief mean. But you will have a husband and son."
Princess have cried but wondered about the time spent out of the palace. Soon she find out that people in palace behaved false and were unsincered and people which she met in the village are nice and honest even when they have hard life.
Therefore she decided to stay in this very situation and chose the way of grief...

- Black Bird Grief smiled at first time and said "You have chosen well princess. Because without Grief no one knows how is the real Gladness..."


And every cloud has silver lining...

[Elena]

Beautiful fairy tale, Praha

[Loke]

  OMG , my luv you are certainly a talented one , very nice , very very nice indd...

miss ya


   yo yo yo

[Persephone]

Refusing to talk to human who wants to listen,
- means loss of human.
Speaking to human who doesn't want to listen,
- means loss of words.
Wise one do not lose humans neither words.

-=Konfu-tse=-