That started out very sweet and got hilarious. I lost it at the Shining elevator doors reference I wrote this about a particular person but I think enough time has passed that I'm comfortable sharing it, she wouldn't begrudge it: Small Comforts In retrospect, it seems to me that more than naked honesty or quiet support through joblessness (although your parents held back less) more than a hundred overlaps on Venn diagram personality maps and swapping songs and TV shows and writing each other purple prose far more than pulling double shifts to buy each other insightful gifts and bedroom-bound weekend retreats (and having to launder all the sheets) a damn sight more than pharmacies and being lectured on STDs and local Church-attending wives inviting themselves to inspect our lives more than the autumn countryside when we would walk and you'd confide and I'd expound my half-baked views and you would try not to look bemused even more than needing you and feeling that I was needed too and knowing, when I'd start to roam that it was still worth going home the things I miss, when the chores are done and I've cleared away my meal for one and the town falls quiet and the house is still and dew forms on the windowsill are not your wit or gifts or trust or loving support or playful lust or how you sometimes looked at me (like I was an edible delicacy) it's all the smaller things I miss feeling you smile when we'd kiss sliding hands under your shirt while you tried to make dessert the warmth of you pressed up to me on winter nights at half past three your hair still smelling faintly sweet your slow breathing, your heartbeat your legs, one resting over mine, your shoulder tracing a gentle line, your soft breasts, eyelashes, your nose; it sounds quite shallow, I suppose. edit - I really need a new rhyming structure, ****'s getting old.
All Things Will Die - Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809 - 1892) Trees dappled by sun All Things will Die Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing Over the sky. One after another the white clouds are fleeting; Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating Full merrily; Yet all things must die. The stream will cease to flow; The wind will cease to blow; The clouds will cease to fleet; The heart will cease to beat; For all things must die. All things must die. Spring will come never more. O, vanity! Death waits at the door. See! our friends are all forsaking The wine and the merrymaking. We are call’d-we must go. Laid low, very low, In the dark we must lie. The merry glees are still; The voice of the bird Shall no more be heard, Nor the wind on the hill. O, misery! Hark! death is calling While I speak to ye, The jaw is falling, The red cheek paling, The strong limbs failing; Ice with the warm blood mixing; The eyeballs fixing. Nine times goes the passing bell: Ye merry souls, farewell. The old earth Had a birth, As all men know, Long ago. And the old earth must die. So let the warm winds range, And the blue wave beat the shore; For even and morn Ye will never see Thro’ eternity. All things were born. Ye will come never more, For all things must die.
One tall midget reached up high, Touched the ground above the sky, Tied his loafers, licked his tongue, And told about the bee he stung. He painted, then, an oval square The color of the bald man's hair, And in the painting you could hear What's undetected by the ear.
This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin They f*** you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. But they were f***ed up in their turn By fools in old-style hats and coats, Who half the time were soppy-stern And half at one another’s throats. Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, And don’t have any kids yourself
After reading the windy thread "12 killed in shooting at satirical newspaper office in Paris" like so many other threads in serious I thought this poem most appropriate Opinions On everything and anything they do like to have their say Opinionated people I do meet them every day And that their's is just one opinion that point they do seem to miss It is true with some people that ignorance is bliss On voicing their opinions they never do seem shy And that wisdom does not always come with age to them has to apply They can seem overbearing and can even cause offence As well as being opinionated they lack in common sense In them I cannot see anything in which I can admire I'd prefer not to meet them since of them I quickly tire On displaying their depths of knowledge seem to give them delight Suppose if they think they cannot be wrong then they have to be right I meet them far too often for my liking one might say To some wisdom does not come with age not to them anyway.
I occasionally write apocalyptic poetry. Sometimes grim, sometimes poignant - occasionally silly. I'm sitting on a couple of dozen draft (And I do mean draft!) poems, some are good and some are tat. When I get enough good ones I'll look to publish. So here, have a poem of mine. I'm NOT in the mood for grim, so here's something not too apocalyptic and a bit lighter than most of them. Blacked out cars. One, two, three. I feel them coming. Coming for me. Telekinesis, the power of thought. They want it all. Want me caught. Word on the net, is they scoop out your brain. Suck out your mojo, flush the rest down the drain. I want to be normal. Leave me alone. Where can I go, when I'm not safe at home? They're here, right now and right at the door. While I shake and shiver, curled on the floor. Inside they come, I don't want to cry. I won't let them take me. I'd rather die. They shout some strange noise. Can't make out the words. I look through the window, feel the joy of the birds. The wind through the grass, leaves on the the trees. I hear them, don't care about get to your knees. I stop them. I hold them. Each to a one. Get rid of their cuffs. Vanish each gun. I make them weigh nothing. All start to hover. It's easy to kill them. But why should I bother? I think of the birds, and of clear blue sky. I head for the door, with a desire to fly. I turn and I look. I enter each mind. Make them forget me. Make each more kind. Agents no more. They choose to move on. I close my eyes, and quickly I'm gone. Time passes, next year it is now. I think I'm a god, just don't ask me how. The agents are lovely. Each with a new life. With friends, family, small baby, new wife. A baker, a nurse. A father of two. A courteous dog walker who picks up each poo. A farmer, a painter. A writer of song. Now lovely guys, they do nothing wrong. And me, well the old body's no more. Each portal I make is an open door. I travel the stars, and make some new friends. One day I'll come back, to see how Earth ends.
Holy smokes, that was actually really good. Made me think how pervasive the idea of telekinetic kids hunted by agents is, despite having no clear origin point - from Firestarter, Akira and Second Sight to Beyond: Two Souls and the video for M83's Midnight City. It's never become a genre or had a defining incarnation. I've already stretched the boundaries of what could be considered on-topic by posting non-poetry in this thread, but I'm going to do it one more time. My reasoning is, the phrasing and ideas in this make me tear up every time, and that's what poetry is about. It isn't poetry but, like all of his work, it has an unmistakeably poetic quality to it, which is part of what made him so famous and loved. Certain phrases ("The frontier was everywhere.") are so rich and evocative that I find myself remembering them years after first reading it. The opening paragraphs of Carl Sagan's non-fiction work, Pale Blue Dot: We were wanderers from the beginning. We knew every stand of tree for a hundred miles. When the fruits or nuts were ripe, we were there. We followed the herds in their annual migrations. We rejoiced in fresh meat. Through stealth, feint, ambush, and main-force assault, a few of us cooperating accomplished what many of us, each hunting alone, could not. We depended on one another. Making it on our own was as ludicrous to imagine as was settling down. Working together, we protected our children from the lions and the hyenas. We taught them the skills they would need. And the tools. Then, as now, technology was the key to our survival. When the drought was prolonged, or when an unsettling chill lingered in the summer air, our group moved on—sometimes to unknown lands. We sought a better place. And when we couldn’t get on with the others in our little nomadic band, we left to find a more friendly bunch somewhere else. We could always begin again. For 99.9 percent of the time since our species came to be, we were hunters and foragers, wanderers on the savannahs and the steppes. There were no border guards then, no customs officials. The frontier was everywhere. We were bounded only by the Earth and the ocean and the sky—plus occasional grumpy neighbors. When the climate was congenial, though, when the food was plentiful, we were willing to stay put. Unadventurous. Overweight. Careless. In the last ten thousand years—an instant in our long history—we’ve abandoned the nomadic life. We’ve domesticated the plants and animals. Why chase the food when you can make it come to you? For all its material advantages, the sedentary life has left us edgy, unfulfilled. Even after 400 generations in villages and cities, we haven’t forgotten. The open road still softly calls, like a nearly forgotten song of childhood.
I don't think it's stretching anything to say that most of what Carl Sagen said was pure poetry. He's a bit of a hero in our household, but then I do live with a space scientist And thanks for the kind words. Akira will always be an awesome movie, as was Firestarter and Midnight City is such a cool video... All three have excellent music! Here's another apocalyptic rambling. A long one this one: We lived. Then. I watched and I shouted and we watched and we gawped and we watched and we watched and we watched. We cried and we watched and I shouted and we watched and we planned and you sobbed and we watched and you slept and I watched and I slept and you watched. We bought and we bought and I packed and you watched and you drove and I drove and you slept and I drove and you drove and I listened and we stopped and we queued and we queued and we talked and we listened and we queued and we fought and we grabbed and we walked. We walked and we walked and we walked. We stopped and we cooked and we ate and we talked and we slept. We woke and we shivered and we hugged and we talked and we packed and we squelched and we ate and we walked. We walked and we walked. We stopped and we ate and we walked and we walked. We stopped and we listened and we hid. We hid and we watched. We waited and we walked and we ran. We ran and we ran. We fell and we stopped and we shouted and we ran and we ran. I tripped and I fell and you fell and we slid. We slid. You hit and it broke and you screamed and we slid. We slowed and we stopped and I breathed. I breathed and I breathed and I listened. You breathed. I wept. I crawled and I found and you cried and I smiled. I collected and I cut and I cleaned and you clenched and I smiled and you sobbed and I smiled and you laughed and you cried and you cried. You shouted and I stayed and you begged and I stayed and you pleaded and I stayed and you threatened and I stayed. I stayed. You shivered and we hugged and I cooked and you ate and I ate and you sobbed and you vomited and I cleaned. You slept and you drank and you slept and you slept. I left and I searched and I found and I returned and you slept and you slept. You woke and you drank. You slept. You woke and you drank and you woke and you drank and you woke and you drank. And you ate and we talked. I searched and I found and I cut and I tore and I made and I tied. I packed and you talked and I pushed and I pulled and you cried and you talked. You smiled and I pulled and I pulled and you talked and I pulled and you slept and I pulled and I ate and I pulled and you slept and I pulled. You slept and I stopped and you slept and we slept. You woke and you shook and I woke and you whispered and we watched and we smiled and we watched. I threw and it fluttered and it returned and we smiled and it fed and we watched. It flew. We sat and we waited. We drank and I searched and you ate and you spoke and I spoke and you ate. I searched and I searched and you ate and I ate. We hugged and we slept. I dreamt and I screamed and I woke. You slept. I woke and I pulled and I stopped and I rested and I pulled and I pulled. We stopped and I searched and I searched. I pulled and I stopped and I searched and I pulled and I stopped and I searched and I pulled. You shivered and you shook and I examined and I gasped and I breathed and I cleaned and I promised and you wept and we hugged. I pulled and I rested and I pulled and I rested. You shivered and you slept and you slept and you shivered. You slept and I pulled and you slept and I pulled and you died and I pulled. I pulled and I stopped and I spoke and I checked and you… I dug and I wept and I dug and I wept and I dug and I buried and I cried and I fell and I cried and I cried and I cried. I walked and I cried and I shuffled and I cried and I walked and I cried and I cried and I cried. I slept and I walked and I slept and I shuffled and I found and I slept and I walked and I stopped. I hid and I watched and I shook and I watched and she hit and I watched and he sobbed and I watched and he died and I watched. She cut and I watched and she cooked and I watched and I smelled and I watched and she ate and I watched. I salivated. She ate and I watched and she packed and I watched and she left. I watched. I stood and I turned and I walked. I walked and I stopped and I thought and I thought and I refused and I walked and I walked. I walked and I walked and I heard and I saw and I hid. They heard or they saw and I shouted and they grinned and I ran. They ran and I ran and they ran and I ran and I twisted and they ran and I ducked and they ran and I tripped and they ran and I scrambled and they ran and I walked and they ran and I stumbled. They ran. I stumbled. They ran. I crawled. They ran. I stopped and I turned and they smiled. And… They ate and they lived.
Sorry, I'm trying to factor this into the amount of awesome stuff I already knew about you but I can't. It overloads the integer or something.
Adonis and Aphrodite, why is Adonis so crazed with jealousy, as Aphrodite is as delicate as the morning dew and Adonis grip is as strong as the desert sun. Adonis is as mature as any mountain and Aphrodite adorns him in the wildest flowers, the scent of passion is carried on Adonis like a glacial breeze, bountiful lust abounds as Aphrodite is in full blossom, Adonis is saturated in the most glorious saffron pollen. Adonis has turn to the deepest darkest ocean, his tears are his foundering waves that lap what was once a mountain, that is now a shore where nothing lays, Aphrodite petals are laden sparsely caressing Adonis undercurrent and tumble in the swell, light flickers from them like diamonds as the sun's rays try to snare their last remnants of beauty, to Adonis depths they fall. Adonis encapsulates Aphrodite as if she is bound to him, foraging and coveted by snow driven flesh, Adonis sediments are deep within Aphrodite and cut like coral shards, Aphrodite's nectar flows still lingering on lips so soft ones tongue should never know, Adonis rises with the heat of molten lava to boil away the ocean to devour Aphrodite's heart, yet it was already given with one look as if to gaze at the eternal heaven, Aphrodite cascades over Adonis just like a waterfall, plunging, frothing, foaming, white, constantly spiralling out of control, so Adonis carries Aphrodite as any sea eagle would clutch its prey.
The Idiot Almost Shades of pine in derision on the loom/ Generous sway through timeless appease the trees, Brandished by timely groves chased after wind breeze, Sullen... I hit my head on a passing potatoe through the leaves; The Idiot Charmed in an almost decadence shattered fragments They say that we are young only once on point Visible Shattered glass amidst the decorum shredded braid, Tempted again through the wind/ Blatant My head swell as if an almost glow; Black ash through peach cornerstones Farmers in delusion there frequent solution Viable breach of peace Sullen fragments out on the pavement floor lest I implore, Control freeks in sullen apartment dealings fly's on wall The ocean with sun no fun we run in timeless fight Shallow scheme amidst the chore a quaint bore of illusion Fought back the tears with a smile etched in the decorum once more A tree to loom in timeless bleed Achieve Certain factual death? The idiot would squirm ego burn another page is now turned; Ass!
Gilgamesh here I write poetry as well (and not the soppy stuff) but they are of my OWN composition, rather than someone else's work. I-Iraqi Came to liberate us they said, have they lived with us, and sat down, and broken our bread? How can they offer help, when they know, not our ways? Do they live with us? where do they spend their days? Come to give us freedom, they may have said, but their 'armoured horses, say ' born to kill' only to see our people, crimson, screaming shrill. They come from the land, with a brand new sun, where life is bought, by the barrel of a gun. They come from a world known for friendly fire, a place of cowboys, just goons for hire. Here we stand our ground, for this is our soil, a land of the ancients, not of grinding gears and the smell of, powered gun oil. and strange crops, polluting the soil Can we speak with these men, the ones with the shaded eyes? walking around like world, is trembling at their feet, a cold father of lies. Do these people, deserve our thanks? but what good, are thrown shoes, at heavily armoured tanks? Gloat now you people, of the land of no history, and powerful banks. As we will still be here, and know we are from, as your world will turn to dust and your name, unfettered,shriven, lost transparent and gone. written by Christopher Cressey (g1lgamesh)
A song for Hussain (i wrote this one SPECIFICALLY for the SHIA muslims in southern Iraq and the poem has gone around IRAQ and back to the UK again) this was written (i was a bit late) for their Ashura festival.but as i said it was late and as such it will be used for this years. A Song For Hussain. A song for Hussain When the world trembles, as equine hooves thundered, and a broken treaty, has forced its way. When exhausted minds And thrashing manes Has eclipsed, all but heat of the day. When curled tongues and snarled breath, Has paved way to a raven’s death. With maddened eyes And horses sighs Does peace make way, to the red flower of lies. Ashura! Two men, that will stand firm against the night, Not for glory nor might, but what is human, And to see beyond sight. Scimitar in hand, they rise from sand And face an avalanche Of an onrushing tide. Heads held high with pride open as azure like the sky. Whilst asking not for reason , or a swirling lie. Ashura Armies clashed Whilst swords danced, and maddened faces, as sky-born hopes. are broken, feeble and dashed. Ashura Yelling men with horses screams, Spells a dark flight, of broken dreams. Ashura The two men unbowed And with straight backs Fend of swift as lighting attacks. Ashura Dust in mouths and with stinging eyes The two screamed defiance into the lies. All the world waited with baited breath, as these men well stand, and taunt our brother with a lightning dance of death. Ashura Snarling arrows flew straight and true, Like the sting of wasps, Full of woe and rue. Ashura Swirling sand and flashing spears, Thick as broken tears. for the two fought for you and I Not as god or hero, But simply as men… So stretch forward, your hand, and bring the two, forth towards, a moonlight sky. composed by C cressey (g1lgamesh)
I caught the few post apocalyptic poems earlier in the thread and as such I will show an old one of mine (this is the non-rhyming type of poetry) that is along a similar vein. Horizons Dark Clouds.... Frigid wind rushes through the autumn leaves, which blow through the yellow withered grass. The overgrown bushes and trees resemble the ramparts of a castle Funnels of destruction, reach down from, the ink-drenched sky, that stir into a conflagration of parts My sight reaches out, To the dreaded horizon, And spy the proud structures of man, now all but a memory. It’s cities jutting out from the soil Like the jaw bones of a whale, beached aeons ago. I glean domes of fire on the horizon, Reflecting into the squalid clouds. The sight of mushrooms in the sky Fills me with angst, to mine very marrow. White flakes fall from the sky But they are not of snow. Rather of countless thousands That once existed in a terrible light. I fall to my knees, And lament for the multitudes. The gnashing of my teeth begins And the wail of my throat greets the dawn Of a false sun. I once existed, however I have now become torn! by c cressey (g1lgamesh)
Zombie thread revival ! Well, I decided that as I'd written a few apocalyptic poems it would be good to get them into print. So that's what I did. "Poems For The Apocalypse" is now available in paperback from Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1516910397 And feel free to add some likes to me on that book-face website I hear is a thing. https://www.facebook.com/poetapocalypse
Humanity i love you because you would rather black the boots of success than enquire whose soul dangles from his watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both parties and because you unflinchingly applaud all songs containing the words country home and mother when sung at the old howard Humanity i love you because when you’re hard up you pawn your intelligence to buy a drink and when your flush pride keeps you from the pawn shop and because you are continually committing nuisances but more especially in your own house Humanity i love you because you are perpetually putting the secret of life in your pants and forgetting it’s there and sitting down on it and because you are forever making poems in the lap of death Humanity i hate you ~e.e. cummings
