The Writing Thread - Page 8

BrokenHearted · #**106** 06-15-2010, 11:24 PM

Bump. I hate to keep reviving this thread, but I hate it seeing die, especially with all these very talented members sharing their work. Please, let me know if I'm beating a dead horse.

Like The Others Do

Don't make me
Don't make me think that...
I'm a waste
Don't break me...

Like the others do
I get a taste
Of what I'm faking
When I'm with you
I get a taste
Of what I'm taking
Of something new...

With your powders, your pills, and your pen and pad
You make me feel... not so bad
In a world gone mad, had up by us people
All I want is a needle
To be in the arms
Of an angel...

Like the others do
I get a sense
Of what I'm faking
When I'm with you
I get a taste
Of what I'm taking
To be not like I used to be

And all the empty
Melts away
And all misery
Doesn't need me today
Too selfish for company
And all the empty
Just melts away

Like the others do
I get a taste
Oh what I'm taking
To not be like I use to be
When I'm all blue
In a green, green world of taking
What didn't used to

And here is an apology
For who I used to be
And here is an apology
For who I am now
And here is an apology
It's all you can get from me

Now...

Musicman408 · #**107** 06-16-2010, 06:19 AM

No need to apologize at ALL!!!! This is one of my favorite threads- fantastic writing by the way!!!

Musicman408 · #**108** 06-16-2010, 08:01 AM

Just wrote this this morning, as of right now, the running title is "The Regathering"

Verse:
She speaks some slower,
so no one hears what she's thinking.
To playfully ride in the back,
of somebody's fulsome gray stagecoach.
The bar's been set above the Lancaster ceiling.
Yet she could only imagine where to begin.

He stares behind the stark white sand of September.
Pretending on why, for years it's been alone.
The handsome skies, are bleeding such crimson right now,
As he hands it all on the plaster wall.

Chorus:
The same old story's the show now.
With the same talented players, with the same parts.
Some stately man sits upon the window.
As he watches the glass reform after the fall.
Everyone else runs together, joining hands, laughing.
Two unmet lovers decide upon the regathering.

Her thoughts grow slower as she steps onto the stage.
She sets the pages down, the yellowing with age.
He's nearly on the other side of the Rudy long mile.
Sitting back at home- he begins to write awhile.

Chorus

The story transpires- like it's never been done before.
Mr. Rudy falls down, but then he meets Eleanor.
They run into each other like some pre planned meeting.
Then they hold hands atop the Lancaster ceiling.

So, what do we think??????

daniellaaarisen · #**109** 09-05-2010, 04:40 PM

Alright, two more.... in case you can't tell, I am currently jaded and pissed at every male I've ever known. Ever.

Syncopation

I told you to put your head there
on my chest
as we lay in our bed.

I wanted you to hear my heart beat
and seamlessly float into
its rhythm,
our rhythm
of delicate sways and boundless ease
with no name and face
and age, no
latitude and longitude.

I wanted your heart
to not be alone for a while,
to follow.

As you sleep, I collect
your snores and sighs
in a jar under our bed. I swallow them
like water, gulping you in
until morning, when
you insist to once again
become plottable.

We split, we multiply.
Into all of our moments
without one another, into all of our
feigned strengths,
embellished and worn,
adding distinct recognition
to each syllable of our names,
differentiating.

I climb into this bed—
our bed—
and watch the demarcation.
I watch you lean into
my body and consume
the smell of my skin, I feel
your palms stretch
underneath me, their
desperate hunger
for completion.

We have diverged and we
have merged, monogamous
in a moment, synonymous
in an experience.

I hate myself for loving
how you love me
the way you can.

daniellaaarisen · #**110** 09-05-2010, 04:41 PM

Untitled

The moon swayed against her bare back every time the wind pushed with enough vigor to weave her body left. Its light hugged the swell of her breast, swiveled down her side unevenly. For a moment, she was fully exposed in the paleness. Then the wind would rise up again and the broken pendulum would shift left like before, swallowing her body in darkness. She eluded both the dark and the light, unable to balance herself on the grass below her naked form. So she swung back and forth, left to center, dodging the shadows for the light before involuntarily swinging back into the black again.

She was used to this inconsistency; the artist in her could sense it from simple moments like this one. Everything became a metaphor once she acknowledged her thirst for one. She wanted to believe that her inability to stay still was somewhat uncontrollable, like the way the beads of a kaleidoscope fall with the slightest movement, like the wind that eased her sideways. So she spent a good part of her evenings on the grassy hill behind her house, rising and falling with each breath, swinging left to right inside of the evening's unpredictable beat.

This is the woman I fell in love with. A woman who defined herself by the world surrounding her, a woman who eased her way into the universe as precisely and delicately as I eased my way into her mind, into her open body. This woman was poetry that flowed in the perfect places-- her hips melodically dipped into her waist and rose up again, billowing into the fullness of her chest. Her eyes were the punch line that killed, that broke the immaculate curvature I knew so well. Sometimes, I'd find myself lost in her softness, wrapped in the overwhelming effect of such subtlety. I'd watch her write in bed, following her lips and her hair and her spine and her fingers until she'd catch me staring and stare right back, breaking her general sense of tenderness with something staccato and poignant. Her eyes reminded me that she had meaning; she had a distinct and riveting pulse. She existed beyond me; she existed beyond herself.

And then she fell in love with me in return. She let herself succumb to the warmth between us and melt, molding inside of my every breath. She abandoned each curve that she loved, slapped her arms lifelessly around my ribs, dropped the look in her eye that once kept me hungry. All of a sudden, her pulse walked in step with mine.

I was lost—slithering away from her on a buttery track that she had kneaded with her own hands. Each touch became a more and more obsessive attempt for completion; she searched my body with her fingers, frantically seeking any trace of herself in my skin. And as she slept, in her only gentle moments free of desperation, I realized that she had cascaded into the most beautiful loss of self that I had ever seen.

Musicman408 · #**111** 09-05-2010, 07:25 PM

Dani, two pieces in a day? That's AWESOME!!! I'll read them tomorrow morning since I've been working on school work ALLL day today.

I'd posted this earlier, but thought I'd repost to get some feedback!

The Regathering
Verse:
She speaks some slower,
so no one hears what she's thinking.
To playfully ride in the back,
of somebody's fulsome gray stagecoach.
The bar's been set above the Lancaster ceiling.
Yet she could only imagine where to begin.

He stares behind the stark white sand of September.
Pretending on why, for years it's been alone.
The handsome skies, are bleeding such crimson right now,
As he hands it all on the plaster wall.

Chorus:
The same old story's the show now.
With the same talented players, with the same parts.
Some stately man sits upon the window.
As he watches the glass reform after the fall.
Everyone else runs together, joining hands, laughing.
Two unmet lovers decide upon the regathering.

Her thoughts grow slower as she steps onto the stage.
She sets the pages down, the yellowing with age.
He's nearly on the other side of the Rudy long mile.
Sitting back at home- he begins to write awhile.

Chorus

The story transpires- like it's never been done before.
Mr. Rudy falls down, but then he meets Eleanor.
They run into each other like some pre planned meeting.
Then they hold hands atop the Lancaster ceiling.

So, what do we think??????

daniellaaarisen · #**112** 09-05-2010, 08:33 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Musicman408

Dani, two pieces in a day? That's AWESOME!!!

Haha, sorry to burst your bubble but nope-- I just forgot about this thread until now.

ButterCookie · #**113** 10-18-2010, 11:22 AM

First pop at a sonnet.

So as I stop to tie my shoe,
The rain does fall upon my back.
I look up to the swing which I outgrew,
and then glance to mine own name carved upon a weathered plaque.
The wind whips my florals about my knees,
The tired old swing creaks and groans.
Whilst Mr. Wind whistles to a gentle breeze,
Yet still he rattles through my aching bones.
As I press on, my skin cracks,
My lips blister.
and I think of my kingdom and that which it lacks,
My mind wrought in a deep, gray twister.
I wish for a bed under the stars, on which Mr. Wind can steal my woes,
calmness upon me, he bestows.

daniellaaarisen · #**114** 10-18-2010, 02:06 PM

A Nautical Room

Your sweet breath swells
into mine, fills a sail
softly undulating as if
the winds of the world
waned away. So you

blow heavy on my back
when the sound of your
discomfort fills the room;
you slip into
my sheets and watch
them billow above us,
giving half-satisfying
direction towards a
horizon lost. So we

sail on, buck up,
tie our shoes and wait
while sea water slaps
against the hardwood floor
and the breathless coastal fog
hovers above our bed. So we

wait for the instant when
I can make you better, wait
for when ecstasy isn’t
a curse, wait for
the moment when you can
finally love me, wait
for the day
I raise mast by myself.

GODDESS6 · #**115** 10-18-2010, 02:13 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by daniellaaarisen

A Nautical Room

Your sweet breath swells
into mine, fills a sail
softly undulating as if
the winds of the world
waned away. So you

blow heavy on my back
when the sound of your
discomfort fills the room;
you slip into
my sheets and watch
them billow above us,
giving half-satisfying
direction towards a
horizon lost. So we

sail on, buck up,
tie our shoes and wait
while sea water slaps
against the hardwood floor
and the breathless coastal fog
hovers above our bed. So we

wait for the instant when
I can make you better, wait
for when ecstasy isn’t
a curse, wait for
the moment when you can
finally love me, wait
for the day
I raise mast by myself.

that is beautiful~

daniellaaarisen · #**116** 10-18-2010, 02:14 PM

Glass Messiah

I have a crown of thorns twisted in my side, its
bleeding and festering
and somehow healing me from
the inside out, wrapping
its arms around each
muscle and vein, stretching
and squeezing until
I stop. I stop
fighting back, stop asking you to
make me holy again, stop
begging you to give
me a reason to pull
this tiara out of me, wash
it with some holy water and
wear it on my head
like the messiah
I was meant to be.
I stop bathing my own
feet, kissing my own
footsteps, weeping
in my own untimely death and all
because I’m not as satisfied
as Jesus was to be
naked and forsaken.
I can’t pretend to love myself
well enough for you
to love me, too. So please
leave me on a dirt road,
make sure I’m shoeless.
Break both my legs
and say, “walk.” Break me
beyond recognition,
enjoy the clamor of
the shatter. F*ck me up
so badly that I have no
choice but to start
from the ground up.
Douse me in self-loathing,
wrap me in the ugly truths,
believe that I shouldn’t
be believed in.
Because I’ll never make myself
into anything until
I’m absolutely nothing
to you.

daniellaaarisen · #**117** 10-18-2010, 02:19 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by GODDESS6

that is beautiful~

Thank you!

daniellaaarisen · #**118** 10-18-2010, 02:22 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by ButterCookie

First pop at a sonnet.

So as I stop to tie my shoe,
The rain does fall upon my back.
I look up to the swing which I outgrew,
and then glance to mine own name carved upon a weathered plaque.
The wind whips my florals about my knees,
The tired old swing creaks and groans.
Whilst Mr. Wind whistles to a gentle breeze,
Yet still he rattles through my aching bones.
As I press on, my skin cracks,
My lips blister.
and I think of my kingdom and that which it lacks,
My mind wrought in a deep, gray twister.
I wish for a bed under the stars, on which Mr. Wind can steal my woes,
calmness upon me, he bestows.

Well it's not really in sonnet form BUT I really like it anyway. Haha.